"Oh! and there is one other thing, my Lord, I have to ask you. Mr. Donald Megbie, the writing gentleman is here, and begs that he may be allowed to see you. Should I be right in admitting the gentleman?"
"Certainly, certainly," Lord Malvin replied. "Bring him in at once, please inspector."
In less than a minute a plain-clothes policeman ushered Donald Megbie into the laboratory.
He went up to Lord Malvin, and his face was bright and happy.
"It is all right, my Lord," he said, "Rathbone is recovering swiftly. Miss Poole is with him, and the doctors say, that though they feared for a short time that his reason would go, they are now quite satisfied that he will recover. He is sleeping quietly in a private room at Marylebone Hospital, and Marjorie Poole is sitting by his side holding his hand."
Then Megbie looked at the wreck upon the floor.
"Ah!" he said, "so you have destroyed this horrid thing?"
"Yes," Lord Malvin answered; "I discussed it with Decies, and Decies went to see the King. It was thought to be better and wiser for the safety of the commonwealth—for the safety of the world indeed—that Sir William Gouldesbrough's discovery should perish with Sir William Gouldesbrough."
"Ah!" Donald Megbie answered; "I felt sure that that was the best course. It would have been too terrible, too subversive. The world must go on as it has always gone on. I have thought, during the last few hours, that Sir William Gouldesbrough was not himself at all. Is it not possible that he himself might have died long ago, and that something was inhabiting his body, something which came out of the darkness behind the Veil?"
"That, Mr. Megbie," said Lord Malvin, "is the picturesque thought of the literary man. Science does not allow the possibility of such sinister interferences. And now, I am going home. You will realize, of course, that your supreme services in this matter will be recognized, though I fear that the recognition can never be acknowledged publicly."