"That is the germ of an idea!" I said. "If we could plant
something--something--far away from here--very far away--if we could
bury something--like the Cardiff Giant--"
"Hundreds and hundreds of miles away!"
"Thousands!" I insisted, enthusiastically.
"Tee-hee! In Tasmania, for example! Maybe a Tasmanian Devil might acquire
her!"
"There exists a gnat," said I, "in Borneo--_Gnatus soporificus_--and
when this tiny gnat stings people they never entirely wake up. It's
really rather a pleasurable catastrophe, I understand. Life becomes
one endless cat-nap--one delightful siesta, with intervals for light
nourishment.... She--ah--could sit very comfortably in some pleasant
retreat and rock in a rocking-chair and doze quite happily through the
years to come.... And from your description of her I should say that
the Soldiers' Home might receive her."
"It won't do," he said, gloomily.
"Why? Is it too much like crime?"
"Oh not at all. Only if she went to Borneo she'd be sure to take a
mosquito-bar with her."
In the depressed silence which ensued Dr. Fooss suddenly made several
Futurist observations through his nose with monotonous but authoritative
regularity. I tried to catch his meaning and his eye. The one remained
cryptic, the other shut.
Lezard sat thinking very hard. And as I fidgetted in my chair, fiddling
nervously with various objects lying on my desk I chanced to pick up a
letter from the pile of still unopened mail at my elbow.
Still pondering on Professor Bottomly's proposed destruction, I turned
the letter over idly and my preoccupied gaze rested on the postmark.
After a moment I leaned forward and examined it more attentively. The
letter directed to me was postmarked Fort Carcajou, Cook's Peninsula,
Baffin Land; and now I recalled the handwriting, having already seen it
three or four times within the last month or so.
"Lezard," I said, "that lunatic trapper from Baffin Land has written to
me again. What do you suppose is the matter with him? Is he just plain
crazy or does he think he can be funny with me?"
Lezard gazed at me absently. Then, all at once a gleam of savage interest
lighted his somewhat solemn features.
"Read the letter to me," he said, with an evil smile which instantly
animated my own latent imagination. And immediately it occurred to me
that perhaps, in the humble letter from the wilds of Baffin Land, which I
was now opening with eager and unsteady fingers, might lie concealed the
professional undoing of Professor Jane Bottomly, and the only hope of my
own ultimate and scientific salvation.
The room became hideously still as I unfolded the pencil-scrawled sheets
of cheap, ruled letter paper.
Dr. Fooss opened his eyes, looked at me, made porcine sounds indicative
of personal well-being, relighted his pipe, and disposed himself to
listen. But just as I was about to begin, Lezard suddenly laid his
forefinger across his lips conjuring us to densest silence.
For a moment or two I heard nothing except the buzzing of flies. Then
I stole a startled glance at my door. It was opening slowly, almost
imperceptibly.
But it did not open very far--just a crack remained. Then, listening with
all our might, we heard the cautiously suppressed breathing of somebody
in the hallway just outside of my door.
Lezard turned and cast at me a glance of horrified intelligence. In dumb
pantomime he outlined in the air, with one hand, the large and feminine
amplification of his own person, conveying to us the certainty of his
suspicions concerning the unseen eavesdropper.
We nodded. We understood perfectly that _she_ was out there prepared to
listen to every word we uttered.
A flicker of ferocious joy disturbed Lezard's otherwise innocuous
features; he winked horribly at Dr. Fooss and at me, and uttered a faint
click with his teeth and tongue like the snap of a closing trap.
"Gentlemen," he said, in the guarded yet excited voice of a man who is
confident of not being overheard, "the matter under discussion admits of
only one interpretation: a discovery--perhaps the most vitally important
discovery of all the centuries--is imminent.
"Secrecy is imperative; the scientific glory is to be shared by us alone,
and there is enough of glory to go around.
"Mr. Chairman, I move that epoch-making letter be read aloud!"
"I second dot motion!" said Dr. Fooss, winking so violently at me that
his glasses wabbled.
"Gentlemen," said I, "it has been moved and seconded that this
epoch-making letter be read aloud. All those in favor will kindly
say 'aye.'"
"Aye! Aye!" they exclaimed, fairly wriggling in their furtive joy.
"The contrary-minded will kindly emit the usual negation," I went
on.... "It seems to be carried.... It _is_ carried. The chairman will
proceed to the reading of the epoch-making letter."