HOW THEY ALL WENT TO THE HOUSE IN REGENT'S PARK
The little door in the wall of Sir William Gouldesbrough's old Georgian
house stood wide open. Carriages were driving up, and the butler was
constantly ushering visitors into the vast sombre hall, while a footman
kept escorting this or that arrival up the gravel path among the laurel
bushes.
It was afternoon, a dull and livid afternoon. Clouds had come down too
near to London, and thunder lurked behind them. Never at any time a
cheerful place, the old walled house of the scientist to-day wore its
most depressing aspect.
The well-known people, who were invited to the demonstration of a
stupendous and revolutionary discovery, looked with ill-concealed
curiosity at the house, the garden, and the gloomy dignity of the hall.
There has always been a great deal of surmise and curiosity about Sir
William's home and private life. That so distinguished a man was a
bachelor was in itself an anomaly; and, though Gouldesbrough went
continually into society, when he himself entertained it was generally
at restaurants, except in very rare instances. So the world of London
had come to regard the house in Regent's Park as a sort of wizard's
cave, a secret and mysterious place where the modern magician evolved
wonders which were to change the whole course of modern life.
About forty people had been invited to the demonstration.
Lord Malvin was there, of course. He came in company with Donald Megbie
and Sir Harold Oliver.
All three men seemed singularly grave and preoccupied, and, as the other
guests noted the strange, and even stern, expression upon Lord Malvin's
face, they whispered that the leader of the scientific world felt that
on this day he was to be deposed and must resign his captaincy for ever.
But in this case, as it generally is, gossip was at fault. Nobody knew
of the strange conference which had been held by Donald Megbie with Lord
Malvin and Sir Harold Oliver. Nobody knew how Miss Marjorie Poole had
driven up to Lord Malvin's house in Portland Place one afternoon with
Donald Megbie. Nobody would have believed, even if they had been told,
how the two grave scientists (who realized that, however many truths are
discovered, there still lie hidden forces which we shall never
understand this side of the Veil) had listened to the extraordinary
story the journalist and the society girl had to tell.
Therefore, on this important afternoon, though Lord Malvin's seriousness
was commented upon, it was entirely misunderstood.
Various other scientists from France, Germany and America were present.
Donald Megbie, the editor of the _Eastminster Gazette_, and a famous
novelist represented the press and the literary world.
The Bishop of West London, frail, alert, his grey eyes filled with
eagerness, was one of the guests. Dean Weare came with him, and the
political world had sent three ambassadors in the persons of Mr. Decies,
the Home Secretary, Sir James Clouston and Sir William Ellrington. There
was an academician who looked like a jockey, and a judge who looked like
a trainer. The rest of the guests were all well-known people, who, if
they were not particularly interested in science, were yet just the
people who could not be ignored on an important occasion. That is to
say, they belonged to that little coterie of men and women in London
who have no other _metier_ than to be present at functions of extreme
importance! For no particular reason they have become fixtures, and
their personalities are entirely merged in the unearned celebrity of
their name and the apparent necessity for their presence.
The men in their black frock coats passed over the great galleried hall
like ghosts, and the white furs of the ladies, and the grey plumes and
feathers of their hats, did little to relieve the general note of
sadness, or to bring any colour into Sir William Gouldesbrough's house.
Among the last arrivals of all were Lady Poole and her daughter.
The guests had congregated in the hall where servants were handing about
tea, and where two great fires warmed the air indeed, but could not
destroy the sense of mental chill.
Sir William had not yet made his appearance, and it was understood that
when the party was complete the butler was to lead them straight to the
laboratories. The fact marked the seriousness of the occasion.
This was no social party, no scientific picnic, at which one went to see
things which would interest and amuse, and to chatter, just as one
chatters at an exhibition of water-colours in Pall Mall. Everybody felt
this, everybody knew it, and everybody experienced a sense of awe and
gravity as befitted people who were about to witness something which
would mark an epoch in the history of the world and change the whole
course of human life.
As Marjorie Poole came into the hall with her mother, every one saw that
she looked ill. Her face was pale, there were dark rings under her eyes;
and, as she stepped over the threshold of the door, one or two people
noticed that she shivered. It was remarked also, that directly the two
ladies entered, Lord Malvin, Sir Harold Oliver, and Mr. Megbie went up
to them in a marked manner, and seemed to constitute themselves as a
sort of bodyguard for the rest of the stay in the hall.
"She does not look much like a girl who is engaged to the most
successful man of the day, does she?" Mrs. Hoskin-Heath said to Lord
Landsend.
"No, you are right," Lord Landsend whispered. "She is afraid Sir
William's machine won't work, and that the whole thing won't come off,
don't you know. And, for my part, though I don't profess to understand
exactly what Sir William is going to show us, I bet a fiver that it is
not more wonderful than things I have seen scores of times at Maskelyne
and Cook's. Wonderful place that, Mrs. Hoskin-Heath. I often go there on
a dull afternoon; it makes one's flesh creep, 'pon my word it does. I
have been there about fifty times, and I have never yet felt safe from
the disappearing egg."
The butler was seen to come up to Lord Malvin and ask him a question.
The peer looked round, and seemed to see that every one was prepared to
move. He nodded to the man, who crossed the hall, bowed, and opened a
door to the right of the great central staircase.
"My master tells me to say, my lord," he said, addressing Lord Malvin,
but including the whole of the company in his gaze--"my master tells me
to say that he will be very much obliged if you will come into the
laboratory."
A footman went up to the door and held it open, while the butler, with a
backward look, disappeared into the passage, and led the way towards the
real scene of the afternoon's events.
As that throng of famous people walked down the long corridor, which led
past the study door, not a single one of them knew or could surmise that
all and severally they were about to experience the emotion of their
lives.