I said to Nowell at the time that I didn't altogether like the notion.
He seemed astonished.
"I thought you stipulated for something both novel and surprising?"
"Yes," I admitted, "I did. But I do not want the roof blown off. I
don't want either the novelty or the surprise to go so far as that.
This is an evening party, Nowell. The persons present will be friends
of mine."
Nowell was sarcastic--almost rude. He appeared to be of opinion that
"A Battlefield Up-to-Date, with Realistic Illustrations and
Experiments," was just the theme for a drawing-room lecture.
"Steingard," he observed, "is an enthusiast--a man in a million. Think
of the kudos it will bring you to have the ideas of a man like that
first given to the world upon your premises--your party'll be
immortal. Steingard's theories will revolutionise the art of
warfare--they'll amaze you."
Steingard was the individual who was going to lecture. I never saw him
before that fatal night--and I've never seen him since. He had better
let me catch him.
I did not mention to my wife what was to be the lecturer's theme until
the actual morning of the appointed day--I had had my qualms all
through. She at once remarked that the party would have to be
postponed--or the lecture. She was not going to have cannons let off
in her drawing-room--nor dynamite either. Was I insane? or was I
merely a senseless idiot? Did I not know that the mere explosion of a
pistol at the theatre brought her to the verge of hysterics? Did I or
did anyone else suppose that machine-guns discharging two thousand
shots a minute could be fired with impunity at her guests? Was that my
notion of an evening party? If so, perhaps I had better let the people
know before they came.
I assured her that there would not be any machine-guns nor
dynamite--nor, indeed, anything of the kind. Nowell had given me his
word of honour that there would be no explosives of any sort. What
there would be I did not know, but I had obtained a distinct guarantee
that there would be nothing to "go off." Still, I went to Nowell to
tell him I thought that perhaps after all the lecture had better be
put off. Only as he turned out to be out of town, and I didn't know
Steingard's address, I felt that all I could do would be to hope for
the best.
If I had had the faintest shadow of a notion of what that best would
be!
As soon as the guests began to arrive I perceived that the little
programme I had arranged to open the evening with was not altogether
relished.
"Well, Mr. Parker," asked Mrs. Griffin, as I met her at the door,
"what are you going to give us this time to amuse us till the dancing
begins? Your ideas are always so original. Last year you gave us that
beautiful little play."
"And this year I am going to give you something novel and surprising.
The distinguished scientist, Steingard, will give you a vivid
impressionistic picture of a battle up-to-date, as it will exist under
conditions created by himself."
"Oh!" She looked a trifle blank. "And where is he going to give it
us--in here?"
She glanced round the room, as if she felt that, for an exhibition of
that particular kind, space was a little restricted. I admitted to
myself that the apartment was getting filled. My wife's mother became
quite excited directly she heard what was about to take place.
"My goodness gracious, Henry," she exclaimed, "whatever do you mean?
You know I am so sensitive that I cannot bear the slightest allusion
to war and bloodshed. I shall insist on remaining in Louisa's bedroom
till all is over."
And she did insist--showing herself to be wiser than she supposed. As
I gradually became conscious that others would have insisted had they
not feared the appearance of rudeness, I felt that Nowell had been an
ass in supposing that such a subject would fitly usher in a little
dance, and that I had been another in not snubbing him upon the spot.
So, as Steingard was behind his time, I decided that when he did come
I would ask him to stop and join the party and have a bit of supper,
and just casually as it were put off the lecture to some future
occasion.
But I was not prepared for the kind of man Steingard proved himself to
be.
Directly he arrived I ran out into the street and found him getting
out of a four-wheeled cab, the top of which was covered with large
wooden cases.
"You are Mr. Steingard? Delighted to meet you. You are a little
late; so, as we're just beginning dancing, I think we'll have the
lecture some time next week. But of course you'll stop and join
the--eh--festive throng?"
"Your name is Barker?"
I explained that my name was Parker. He spoke with a strong foreign
accent, and in a tone of voice which I instinctively disliked. He was
about six and a half feet high, and had a moustache which stood out
three inches on either side of his face; not at all the sort of
looking person with whom one would care to quarrel.
"I have not come to be made a fool of," he remarked. "I have come to
give a lecture, and that lecture I will give!"
And he gave it. It is all very well to say that when I saw what sort
of man he was I ought not to have let him into the house. But he was
invited, and I have the instincts of a gentleman. So they hauled four
great wooden cases up the stairs. It took six strong men to do it;
they broke the banisters and knocked pieces out of the wall as they
went. When the cases were opened they proved to be full of bottles of
all sorts, shapes, sizes, and colours.
"Reminds you of the old Polytechnic. Do you remember the Leyden jars
they used to have?"
When George Foster said that in a sort of whisper I thought of
Edison's ideas of the dreadful part which electricity might be made to
play in modern warfare. I did not require any illustrations of
electrocution in my house, so I asked the lecturer a question.
"I suppose it has nothing to do with electricity?"
"Electricity? It is not electricity which kills men like flies, do not
believe it. It is what I have in here."
He waved his hand towards his bottles. His manner was not reassuring.
"And of course there's nothing explosive?"
"Explosive? What have I to do with explosives?--ask of yourself. It is
not dynamite, it is not melinite, it is not cordite which destroys
millions. It is noding of the kind. The Great Death is in these
bottles."
He said this in a way which made me quite uncomfortable--it was most
unsuited to an evening party. Every moment I liked the fellow less and
less, towards his bottles I felt an absolute aversion. I own that my
impulse would have been to have sneaked out into the street and
strolled round the square till the lecture was finished. But as I
occupied the position of host I was in duty bound to see it through.
And I did. Shall I ever forget it? Anything more monstrous than
Nowell's idea of what was a fitting prelude to a little party I never
yet encountered.
The lecturer commenced. He was as grave as a judge. It gave you the
creeps to hear him. There was nothing humorous about him; he was a
dreadful man. His accent was peculiar.
"In modern warfare de battle is not to de soldier, it is to de
ghemist. I will prove it to you very easily. I have here dree bottles.
They are little bottles"--they were, quite small--"yet I have only to
take de stoppers out and you will know it as certainly as if I had
exploded dree dynamite bombs."