Mr. Guest smiled horribly. "Very possibly, William," he said, "I have thought that it may be so myself. But why should I care? I'm not like you. I have no human interests. Nothing matters to me except my work."
"And if you die in delirium tremens you won't be able to go on with your work."
"My dear William, there is nothing left for me to do. In this new discovery of ours, yours has been the master-mind. I quite admit that. But you could not have done without me. I know, as you know, that there is no one else in Europe except myself who could have helped you to bring the toil of years to such a glorious conclusion. Well, there is the end of it. I am nearly fifty years old. There is no time to start again, to begin on something new. Life will not be long enough. I have used up all my powers in the long-continued thought-spectrum experiments. I have no more energy for new things. I rest upon my laurels, content that I have done what I have, and content from the purely scientific point of view. I've fulfilled my destiny. My mind is not like the minds of other men I meet. It is not quite human. It's a purely scientific mind, a piece of experimental apparatus which has now done its work."
He laughed, a laugh which was so mirthless and cold that even Gouldesbrough shuddered at the soulless, melancholy sound. Then he got down from the table and shambled over the floor of the laboratory towards a cupboard. He took a bottle of whisky from a shelf, half filled a tumbler with the spirit, and lifted it towards his chief in bitter mockery.
"Here's luck, William," he said, "luck to the great man, the pet of Europe, the saviour of the race! You see I have been reading Mr. Donald Megbie's articles in the papers." He drank the whisky and poured some more into the glass. "Yet, William, most fortunate of living men! you seem unhappy. 'The Tetrarch has a sombre air,' as the play says. What a pity it is that you are not like me, without any human affections to trouble me! I don't want to pry into your private affairs—I never did, did I?—but I presume something has gone wrong with your matrimonial affairs again? I'm right, am I not? Can't Miss Marjorie make up her mind? Tell me if you like. I can't give you any sympathy, but I can give you advice."
Gouldesbrough flushed and moved impatiently in his chair. Then he began to speak.
"If what you say is true, Guest, then you must be a happy man. Your life is complete, you have got what you wanted, you have done what you wanted to do. And if you choose to kill yourself with amyl alcohol, I suppose that's your affair. What you say is quite right. I am terribly worried and alarmed about the success of my great desire, the one wish remaining to me. I don't expect or want sympathy from you, but your advice is worth having, and you shall give it to me if you will."
Wilson Guest nodded. "Tell me what is worrying you," he said.
"You know that I have had great hopes of obtaining Miss Poole's consent to our re-engagement. Everything has been going on well. Miss Poole believes—or did believe—that the man Rathbone is dead. I used your suggestion and hinted at a vulgar intrigue. At Brighton, when Charliewood shot himself, I was constantly with Miss Poole and her mother. My pretended efforts to solve the mystery of Rathbone's disappearance told. I saw that I was winning back all the ground I had lost. I had great hopes. These seemed to culminate the other night at Lord Malvin's reception. Miss Poole promised to receive me the next day and give me a definite answer. I knew what that meant; it meant yes. I was prepared to stake everything upon it. When I called at Curzon Street in the evening I was told that she was unwell, and could not see me. The next day I succeeded in seeing her. I was taken aback. There was a distinct change in her manner. The old intimacy and freedom which I had been able to re-establish had gone. There was almost a shrinking in her attitude—she seemed afraid of me."
"Well, that is easily accounted for. You have done something hitherto beyond human power. Naturally she regards you as a person apart—some one who can work miracles. But what did she say?"