The Germ Growers: An Australian story of adventure and mystery by Robert Potter (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

I looked up into the sky, and, notwithstanding the apparent daylight, I saw the stars quite [155] plainly, and a monstrous moon, a little past the new phase, nearly overhead, with very distinct markings upon it. I watched steadily the markings near the edge, and I saw that they were moving very slowly, like the minute hand of a huge clock. Looking steadily still, I recognised the markings. I was looking at the earth. I could even distinguish some of the coasts and seas and islands, as it seemed to me, quite plainly recognisable. Now I knew where I was and I started to my feet. I had intended to stand up, but the force which I had exerted with that purpose in view made me bound several feet from the ground, so that my head reached beyond the edge of the cave. I felt as if my breath were suddenly stopped, and I fell back gasping to the ground again.

Then I gave myself up for lost, but in a moment sight and hearing again left me, and the strangely vivid consciousness came back. Then I felt a sense of rapid motion, and presently I found myself sitting on the bench with Signor Davelli bending over me and Jack standing by. Immediately I glanced at the shadows round me, and I saw in a moment that my journey, whatever was its nature, had lasted much longer than Signor Davelli’s. I knew at once that he had deceived me, that my lust of knowledge was [156] baulked, and that I had been no nearer to his world than I was now.

I cried out, “You have shown me the moon, perhaps in trance, perhaps you have transferred me there. But what of that? You’ve shown me nothing of the dwellers in space.”

“Be quiet,” he said, lifting his hand, and again using the same tone, masterful and yet persuasive, “you have done very well for once;” and then he added in a lower and quite different tone, “and so have I.”

I never could make you understand the mixture of contending feelings which began to harass me now. No one, I think, could understand it without undergoing it. I was astonished at what had happened to myself, and yet I was grievously disappointed.

Even if I had been sure that I had been actually transferred to the surface of the moon, that would have seemed as nothing to me now. For what I had looked for was a far greater thing. I had long learned to regard the ether which pervades the interplanetary spaces as the hidden storehouse of material out of which the visible worlds are made, and yet the ether is utterly impalpable to any of the senses, and we know of its existence only by roundabout processes of reasoning, [157] and I had been fool enough to believe that I was going to be put in possession of powers of sense which would enable me to examine the ether just as one might examine any of the ordinary material with which we are familiar. I thought I was going to have a near view of the secret forces which lie behind all mechanical, chemical, and electrical action. And what, in view of such a prospect, did I care about seeing the surface of the moon, even if I did really see it? I knew that on the surface of the moon I should only see, under different conditions, the same sort of material as that with which I was already familiar. And I felt sure, or nearly sure, besides, that I had not seen anything but some picture which this wonderful and mysterious being contrived to impress upon my mind.

Besides, I felt sure now that he was deliberately deceiving me, and the sense of horror and repulsion with which he had more or less affected me from the first were now very greatly increased.

Besides, I felt that his power over me was great and was growing greater, and I began to doubt if I could ever shake it off.

But, above all—and now for the first time a bitter sense of remorse filled me on account of my own action in respect of him—I saw that I had been paltering [158] with my conscience, and playing with right and wrong, for the sake of mere intellectual attainment. I knew that I had been doing this ever since this man or devil had first spoken to me. And I felt that my own words deliberately spoken but a little while ago had brought my wrong-doing to a crisis. I felt now that when the words, “Send me where you will, then,” had passed my lips I had put myself, to what extent I knew not, within the power of one whom I deeply suspected of some horrible plot against humanity.

I must not say that I was overwhelmed by these feelings, for stronger than any of them was the resolve I now made, with the whole force of my being, that I would never again surrender my will to him on any pretext whatever. And yet I felt very nearly in despair, for I could not but seriously doubt if I had now the power to keep this resolve. I feared that I might be like the drunkard who has taken the first glass.

I suppose there is hardly a man anywhere who has never really prayed. And so I think every reader will understand me when I say, that I lifted up my heart to God silently, and on the moment, with far deeper energy and fervour and self-distrust than ever I thought possible before.

[159] Just then I became aware that Signor Davelli’s eyes were off me and that he was talking to Jack: his manner to him was quite courteous and gracious. He was, as it seemed, apologising to him.

“You must pardon me,” said he; “I am afraid that my interest in your friend’s conversation has diverted my attention unduly from my other guest.” Then, after a slight pause, he added, “Now I propose to take your friend to-morrow on an aerial journey, to see the other extremity of the valley, and some of the operations there. I can only take one at a time: you will probably like to come again. But, for to-morrow, how shall we provide for your amusement? we shall be back early in the afternoon.”

Jack replied civilly, but with an air of indifference which I thought was feigned, “I should be glad of an opportunity of examining some of the curious engines that we have seen yonder.” He pointed as he spoke in the direction of the platform.

“Very well,” was the reply; “I will see that you have a guide.” As he spoke he took an odd-looking little instrument from a pocket at his girdle, and whistled upon it. The resulting sound consisted of a few recurring notes, with a wild, odd strain of music in them.

[160] In a few moments a man appeared. He came from some place towards the further end of the valley, and he was no doubt one of those whom we had seen on this very square the day before. Signor Davelli spoke to the man. “You will meet this gentleman,” he said, “here, to-morrow; his name is Mr. Wilbraham. Meet him at whatever hour he pleases, and show him whatever he wishes to see.” Then he spoke a few words in the same strange language as before, and accompanied his words with the same sort of action.

Then he turned to me and said, “Will you meet me here at nine o’clock to-morrow, and I will take you to see what we are doing at the further end of the valley?”

I hesitated for a moment, and then I said, “Yes, I will meet you.”

Whether my hesitation, or anything in my tone, indicated that I meant not to commit myself to more than to meet him, I cannot say, but as I spoke a scowl passed over his face. It came and went in a moment, and then he said, “Very well,” rather curtly, to me. And then, addressing us both in the same gracious manner as before, “And now you are tired,” he said, “and it is getting late; I hope you find your quarters convenient and your commissariat sufficient.”

[161] We assured him on both points briefly, made our parting salutation, and retired. I may here mention that the salutations which passed between us and him were never anything more than a formal inclination of the head.

Two more facts must be put on record before I close the account of this eventful day.

We met near the foot of the great stairway the man whom I supposed to be James Redpath. He appeared to be engaged in setting right some detail of the machinery made use of by the workers on the platform. I could not but think as I looked upon him that he had all the appearance of being a machine himself, worked by an intellect not his own. Yet he was evidently working with a will.

I stepped forward and stood before him, having first made a sign to Jack.

“James Redpath,” I said; “surely it must be James Redpath?”

He started, and looked at me with a surly scowl, but said nothing. The name (of course I used his real name) seemed to remind him of something, but there was no recognition in his eyes. “Don’t you remember Bob Easterley?” I said. He looked at me and then his eyes wandered. There was a muddled, wicked look [162] about him, such as you will sometimes see in the eyes of a very bad-tempered man when he is drunk. “Don’t you remember Penruddock?” I said, again of course using the real name. He started again, and I thought he brightened, but it was a queer sort of brightening.

“Penruddock?” he said. “Penruddock and Bob Easterley: curse him and curse the little beggar!” And then he gave a nasty laugh. His voice was thick, like the voice of a man half stupefied with drink or suffering from active brain disease. I thought at first that the name Penruddock had awakened no recollection in his mind, but that he mistook it for the name of a man. Since then, however, I have thought that perhaps “the little beggar” was the boy that he was cruel to, and that the name of Penruddock had reminded him of the matter. Anyhow he turned and looked steadily at me and said slowly, “Oh, so the governor has got you; I wish you joy of the governor.” And then he laughed a coarse, harsh kind of laugh. It was not loud, and there was not much expression in it, but what there was was cruel. Then he made as if to pass us, and we let him pass: there was nothing to be got out of him. I am not absolutely sure to this day whether he was James Redpath or not.

That night Jack and I talked long and earnestly. I [163] told him as I have told you my latest thoughts about the matter, and then we talked of our engagements for the coming day.

Wilbraham. There’s a crisis near, Bob. It is as likely to come to-morrow as not.

Easterley. How do you think it will come?

Wilbraham. Well, this way. Davelli, I think, overrates the power that he has contrived to get over you. The disappointment you speak of, and your distrust of him and resolve against him have somehow checked the effect of his action on your will, and he does not know that. Not knowing it, he will reveal some villainy to you to-morrow. You will revolt and he will try to kill you. If you are on your guard you may escape yet. The minute you defy him shoot him through the body.

Easterley. What harm will that do him?

Wilbraham. Not much, but some. Did you notice what he said yesterday?

Easterley. Yes, and he was telling the truth. The shot would probably send him to his own place, but he will be back again presently.

Wilbraham. Yes, but meanwhile you will have got a start, and if you are in one of the cars and can manage it you may escape.

[164] Easterley. Not very likely; but supposing I did, what is to become of you?

Wilbraham. I shall be working for myself all the time. Look here: this fellow who is to guide me will either try to kill me or to put me in the way of killing myself. I believe that he has instructions to that effect. I’ll watch him, and if I see any treachery I’ll send him to his own place and make off if only I can manage the car. For I intend that he shall take me into one of the cars. Then