And so Laura McIntyre became duly engaged to Raffles Haw, and old
McIntyre grew even more hungry-looking as he felt himself a step nearer
to the source of wealth, while Robert thought less of work than ever,
and never gave as much as a thought to the great canvas which still
stood, dust-covered, upon his easel. Haw gave Laura an engagement ring
of old gold, with a great blazing diamond bulging out of it. There was
little talk about the matter, however, for it was Haw's wish that all
should be done very quietly. Nearly all his evenings were spent at
Elmdene, where he and Laura would build up the most colossal schemes of
philanthropy for the future. With a map stretched out on the table in
front of them, these two young people would, as it were, hover over the
world, planning, devising, and improving.
“Bless the girl!” said old McIntyre to his son; “she speaks about it as
if she were born to millions. Maybe, when once she is married, she won't
be so ready to chuck her money into every mad scheme that her husband
can think of.”
“Laura is greatly changed,” Robert answered; “she has grown much more
serious in her ideas.”
“You wait a bit!” sniggered his father. “She is a good girl, is Laura,
and she knows what she is about. She's not a girl to let her old dad go
to the wall if she can set him right. It's a pretty state of things,” he
added bitterly: “here's my daughter going to marry a man who thinks no
more of gold than I used to of gun-metal; and here's my son going about
with all the money he cares to ask for to help every ne'er-do-well in
Staffordshire; and here's their father, who loved them and cared for
them, and brought them both up, without money enough very often to buy
a bottle of brandy. I don't know what your poor dear mother would have
thought of it.”
“You have only to ask for what you want.”
“Yes, as if I were a five-year-old child. But I tell you, Robert, I'll
have my rights, and if I can't get them one way I will another. I won't
be treated as if I were no one. And there's one thing: if I am to be
this man's pa-in-law, I'll want to know something about him and his
money first. We may be poor, but we are honest. I'll up to the Hall now,
and have it out with him.” He seized his hat and stick and made for the
door.
“No, no, father,” cried Robert, catching him by the sleeve. “You had
better leave the matter alone. Mr. Haw is a very sensitive man. He would
not like to be examined upon such a point. It might lead to a serious
quarrel. I beg that you will not go.”
“I am not to be put off for ever,” snarled the old man, who had been
drinking heavily. “I'll put my foot down now, once and for ever.” He
tugged at his sleeve to free himself from his son's grasp.
“At least you shall not go without Laura knowing. I will call her down,
and we shall have her opinion.”
“Oh, I don't want to have any scenes,” said McIntyre sulkily, relaxing
his efforts. He lived in dread of his daughter, and at his worst moments
the mention of her name would serve to restrain him.
“Besides,” said Robert, “I have not the slightest doubt that Raffles
Haw will see the necessity for giving us some sort of explanation before
matters go further. He must understand that we have some claim now to be
taken into his confidence.”
He had hardly spoken when there was a tap at the door, and the man of
whom they were speaking walked in.
“Good-morning, Mr. McIntyre,” said he. “Robert, would you mind stepping
up to the Hall with me? I want to have a little business chat.” He
looked serious, like a man who is carrying out something which he has
well weighed.
They walked up together with hardly a word on either side. Raffles Haw
was absorbed in his own thoughts. Robert felt expectant and nervous,
for he knew that something of importance lay before him. The winter had
almost passed now, and the first young shoots were beginning to peep out
timidly in the face of the wind and the rain of an English March. The
snows were gone, but the countryside looked bleaker and drearier, all
shrouded in the haze from the damp, sodden meadows.
“By the way, Robert,” said Raffles Haw suddenly, as they walked up the
Avenue. “Has your great Roman picture gone to London?”
“I have not finished it yet.”
“But I know that you are a quick worker. You must be nearly at the end
of it.”
“No, I am afraid that it has not advanced much since you saw it. For one
thing, the light has not been very good.”
Raffles Haw said nothing, but a pained expression flashed over his face.
When they reached the house he led the way through the museum. Two great
metal cases were lying on the floor.
“I have a small addition there to the gem collection,” he remarked as he
passed. “They only arrived last night, and I have not opened them yet,
but I am given to understand from the letters and invoices that there
are some fine specimens. We might arrange them this afternoon, if you
care to assist me. Let us go into the smoking-room now.”
He threw himself down into a settee, and motioned Robert into the
armchair in front of him.
“Light a cigar,” he said. “Press the spring if there is any refreshment
which you would like. Now, my dear Robert, confess to me in the first
place that you have often thought me mad.”
The charge was so direct and so true that the young artist hesitated,
hardly knowing how to answer.
“My dear boy, I do not blame you. It was the most natural thing in the
world. I should have looked upon anyone as a madman who had talked to me
as I have talked to you. But for all that, Robert, you were wrong, and I
have never yet in our conversations proposed any scheme which it was not
well within my power to carry out. I tell you in all sober earnest that
the amount of my income is limited only by my desire, and that all the
bankers and financiers combined could not furnish the sums which I can
put forward without an effort.”
“I have had ample proof of your immense wealth,” said Robert.
“And you are very naturally curious as to how that wealth was obtained.
Well, I can tell you one thing. The money is perfectly clean. I have
robbed no one, cheated no one, sweated no one, ground no one down in the
gaining of it. I can read your father's eye, Robert. I can see that he
has done me an injustice in this matter. Well, perhaps he is not to be
blamed. Perhaps I also might think uncharitable things if I were In his
place. But that is why I now give an explanation to you, Robert, and not
to him. You, at least, have trusted me, and you have a right, before I
become one of your family, to know all that I can tell you. Laura also
has trusted me, but I know well that she is content still to trust me.”
“I would not intrude upon your secrets, Mr. Haw,” said Robert, “but
of course I cannot deny that I should be very proud and pleased if you
cared to confide them to me.”
“And I will. Not all. I do not think that I shall ever, while I live,
tell all. But I shall leave directions behind me so that when I die you
may be able to carry on my unfinished work. I shall tell you where those
directions are to be found. In the meantime, you must be content to
learn the effects which I produce without knowing every detail as to the
means.”
Robert settled himself down in his chair and concentrated his attention
upon his companion's words, while Haw bent forward his eager, earnest
face, like a man who knows the value of the words which he is saying.
“You are already aware,” he remarked, “that I have devoted a great deal
of energy and of time to the study of chemistry.”
“So you told me.”
“I commenced my studies under a famous English chemist, I continued
them under the best man in France, and I completed them in the most
celebrated laboratory of Germany. I was not rich, but my father had left
me enough to keep me comfortably, and by living economically I had a
sum at my command which enabled me to carry out my studies in a very
complete way. When I returned to England I built myself a laboratory
in a quiet country place where I could work without distraction or
interruption. There I began a series of investigations which soon took
me into regions of science to which none of the three famous men who
taught me had ever penetrated.
“You say, Robert, that you have some slight knowledge of chemistry, and
you will find it easier to follow what I say. Chemistry is to a large
extent an empirical science, and the chance experiment may lead to
greater results than could, with our present data, be derived from the
closest study or the keenest reasoning. The most important chemical
discoveries from the first manufacture of glass to the whitening and
refining of sugar have all been due to some happy chance which might
have befallen a mere dabbler as easily as a deep student.
“Well, it was to such a chance that my own great discovery--perhaps the
greatest that the world has seen--was due, though I may claim the credit
of having originated the line of thought which led up to it. I had
frequently speculated as to the effect which powerful currents of
electricity exercise upon any substance through which they are poured
for a considerable time. I did not here mean such feeble currents as
are passed along a telegraph wire, but I mean the very highest possible
developments. Well, I tried a series of experiments upon this point. I
found that in liquids, and in compounds, the force had a disintegrating
effect. The well-known experiment of the electrolysis of water will, of
course, occur to you. But I found that in the case of elemental solids
the effect was a remarkable one. The element slowly decreased in weight,
without perceptibly altering in composition. I hope that I make myself
clear to you?”
“I follow you entirely,” said Robert, deeply interested in his
companion's narrative.
“I tried upon several elements, and always with the same result. In
every case an hour's current would produce a perceptible loss of weight.
My theory at that stage was that there was a loosening of the molecules
caused by the electric fluid, and that a certain number of these
molecules were shed off like an impalpable dust, all round the lump of
earth or of metal, which remained, of course, the lighter by their loss.
I had entirely accepted this theory, when a very remarkable chance led
me to completely alter my opinions.
“I had one Saturday night fastened a bar of bismuth in a clamp, and had
attached it on either side to an electric wire, in order to observe what
effect the current would have upon it. I had been testing each metal in
turn, exposing them to the influence for from one to two hours. I had
just got everything in position, and had completed my connection, when
I received a telegram to say that John Stillingfleet, an old chemist in
London with whom I had been on terms of intimacy, was dangerously ill,
and had expressed a wish to see me. The last train was due to leave in
twenty minutes, and I lived a good mile from the station, I thrust a few
things into a bag, locked my laboratory, and ran as hard as I could to
catch it.
“It was not until I was in London that it suddenly occurred to me that
I had neglected to shut off the current, and that it would continue to
pass through the bar of bismuth until the batteries were exhausted. The
fact, however, seemed to be of small importance, and I dismissed it from
my mind. I was detained in London until the Tuesday night, and it
was Wednesday morning before I got back to my work. As I unlocked the
laboratory door my mind reverted to the uncompleted experiment, and it
struck me that in all probability my piece of bismuth would have been
entirely disintegrated and reduced to its primitive molecules. I was
utterly unprepared for the truth.
“When I approached the table I found, sure enough, that the bar of metal
had vanished, and that the clamp was empty. Having noted the fact, I was
about to turn away to something else, when my attention was attracted to
the fact that the table upon which the clamp stood was starred over with
little patches of some liquid silvery matter, which lay in single drops
or coalesced into little pools. I had a very distinct recollection of
having thoroughly cleared the table before beginning my experiment,
so that this substance had been deposited there since I had left for
London. Much interested, I very carefully collected it all into one
vessel, and examined it minutely. There could be no question as to what
it was. It was the purest mercury, and gave no response to any test for
bismuth.
“I at once grasped the fact that chance had placed in my hands a
chemical discovery of the very first importance. If bismuth were, under
certain conditions, to be subjected to the action of electricity, it
would begin by losing weight, and would finally be transformed into
mercury. I had broken down the partition which separated two elements.
“But the process would be a constant one. It would presumably prove
to be a general law, and not an isolated fact. If bismuth turned into
mercury, what would mercury turn into? There would be no rest for me
until I had solved the question. I renewed the exhausted batteries and
passed the current through the bowl of quicksilver. For sixteen hours I
sat watching the metal, marking how it slowly seemed to curdle, to grow
firmer, to lose its silvery glitter and to take a dull yellow hue. When
I at last picked it up in a forceps, and threw it upon the table, it had
lost every characteristic of mercury, and had obviously become another
metal. A few simple tests were enough to show me that this other metal
was platinum.
“Now, to a chemist, there was something very suggestive in the order in
which these changes had been effected. Perhaps you can see the relation,
Robert, which they bear to each other?”
“No, I cannot say that I do.”
Robert had sat listening to this strange statement with parted lips and
staring eyes.
“I will show you. Speaking atomically, bismuth is the heaviest of the
metals. Its atomic weight is 210. The next in weight is lead, 207, and
then comes mercury at 200. Possibly the long period during which the
current had acted in my absence had reduced the bismuth to lead and
the lead in turn to mercury. Now platinum stands at 197.5, and it was
accordingly the next metal to be produced by the continued current. Do
you see now?”
“It is quite clear.”
“And then there came the inference, which sent my heart into my mouth
and caused my head to swim round. Gold is the next in the series.
Its atomic weight is 197. I remembered now, and for the first time
understood why it was always lead and mercury winch were mentioned by
the old alchemists as being the two metals which might be used in their
calling. With fingers which trembled with excitement I adjusted the
wires again, and in little more than an hour--for the length of the
process was always in proportion to the difference in the metals--I
had before me a knob of ruddy crinkled metal, which answered to every
reaction for gold.
“Well, Robert, this is a long story, but I think that you will agree
with me that its importance justifies me in going into detail. When
I had satisfied myself that I had really manufactured gold I cut the
nugget in two. One half I sent to a jeweller and worker in precious
metals, with whom I had some slight acquaintance, asking him to report
upon the quality of the metal. With the other half I continued my series
of experiments, and reduced it in successive stages through all the long
series of metals, through silver and zinc and manganese, until I brought
it to lithium, which is the lightest of all.”
“And what did it turn to then?” asked Robert.
“Then came what to chemists is likely to be the most interesting portion
of my discovery. It turned to a greyish fine powder, which powder gave
no further results, however much I might treat it with electricity.
And that powder is the base of all things; it is the mother of all
the elements; it is, in short, the substance whose existence has been
recently surmised by a leading chemist, and which has been christened
protyle by him. I am the discoverer of the great law of the electrical
transposition of the metals, and I am the first to demonstrate protyle,
so that, I think, Robert, if all my schemes in other directions come to
nothing, my name is at least likely to live in the chemical world.
“There is not very much more for me to tell you. I had my nugget back
from my friend the jeweller, confirming my opinion as to its nature and
its quality. I soon found several methods by which the process might
be simplified, and especially a modification of the ordinary electric
current, which was very much more effective. Having made a certain
amount of gold, I disposed of it for a sum which enabled me to buy
improved materials and stronger batteries. In this way I enlarged my
operations until at last I was in a position to build this house and
to have a laboratory where I could carry out my work on a much larger
scale. As I said before, I can now state with all truth that the amount
of my income is only limited by my desires.”
“It is wonderful!” gasped Robert. “It is like a fairy tale. But with
this great discovery in your mind you must have been sorely tempted to
confide it to others.”
“I thought well over it. I gave it every consideration. It was obvious
to me that if my invention were made public, its immediate result would
be to deprive the present precious metals of all their special value.
Some other substance--amber, we will say, or ivory--would be chosen as a
medium for barter, and gold would be inferior to brass, as being heavier
and yet not so hard. No one would be the better for such a consummation
as that. Now, if I retained my secret, and used it with wisdom, I might
make myself the greatest benefactor to mankind that has ever
lived. Those were the chief reasons, and I trust that they are not
dishonourable ones, which led me to form the resolution, which I have
today for the first time broken.”
“But your secret is safe with me,” cried Robert. “My lips shall be
sealed until I have your permission to speak.”
“If I had not known that I could trust you I should have withheld it
from your knowledge. And now, my dear Robert, theory is very weak work,
and practice is infinitely more interesting. I have given you more than
enough of the first. If you will be good enough to accompany me to the
laboratory I shall give you a little of the latter.”