All the other papers had leading articles, but the tone of them varied from straightforward approval to positively ecstatic adulation. It was sickening to wade through some of the pages, especially those of the picture papers, in which Karelsky's face, fat and smiling, stared out from amidst a journalistic rake-up of all his earlier stunts—rejuvenation, Thibetan monasteries, and the rest. "Hats Off To Karelsky!" shouted the Daily Wire rampantly, and even went so far as to praise Karelsky for "talking to the public in words that the public can understand." The Messenger's stuff was evidently the work of old 'Pot' Higgins, for it quoted Tennyson, Goethe, Peter the Great, and (incorrectly) Disraeli.... And to think that it was Saturday, and that the scribes of the Sunday papers were already at work! Oh, my God....
Perhaps it is rather silly to have written that. But I am feeling now, as I write it, what I felt during that journey from Rugby to Euston—not so much hatred of Karelsky for being a mean thief, but disgust at the way everybody was taken in by him. Perhaps I am prejudiced. Perhaps I am bound to be. And, anyhow, it doesn't matter....
I reached London in time for a very late breakfast, and in the early afternoon I went up to Hampstead to see Severn.
CHAPTER NINE
I
MIDWAY through that April afternoon at the End House I thought: I shall feel like continuing the novel to-night.... I didn't do so, as a matter of fact, because I was too sleepy; but the desire was there, reawakened by the extraordinary way in which events were developing.
Helen was out when I called, but Severn himself, reading in his invalid-chair, was delighted to see me. I think he was still more delighted when I recounted to him the full details of my interview with June. His eyes quickened with excitement, and when I had finished he said: "Well, Hilton, it all sounds most decidedly queer, but let's join in thanking Heaven that something has happened. If you only knew how bored I am in this chair all day, you'd understand my deep gratitude to Karelsky."
"To him?"
"Yes. For doing something interesting at last. When I read his stuff in the papers last night, I said to myself—'Ah, the usual thing—some discovery that will either be discredited within a fortnight or superseded within a year....' But it isn't the usual thing, if he's stolen his ideas from Terry.... By Jove, it's going to be interesting—damned interesting." He asked me to get him a box of Havanas from a cabinet nearby, and when I brought it to him I saw that his eyes were filling with tears. "Interesting!" he repeated, offering me the box and lighting a cigar for himself. "D'you know—I've wondered some times if I should ever have to use that word again? But this news—well, it deserves it. And it's jolly good of you to use up your valuable time in coming to tell me about it."
"It's more than interesting," I said. "It's serious. And it's going to be made serious, too—for Karelsky."