I had sat there, flabbergasted, my mouth open like a moron, the incredible statement echoing through the suddenly empty chambers of my brain.
"The ferret...." Pat spoke through the horror-stiffened fingers that clawed at her mouth. Her eyes stared widely at the deliberately composed features of the director.
"Yes, my dear ... the ferret."
"Oh, no.... Oh, God no ... not now!" It was not a cry of anguish for the world but something personal, deeper, a cry of despair.
"What's all the fuss about?" I said crossly. "I don't get it." I turned to Pat. "What're you having a hissy about?"
Hallam looked at me with patient resignation.
"If you were a woman you'd be having a hissy too, as you call it."
"That's her word for it sir," I said. "If you two are all up in the air because a ferret has an abortion I can't see why. There are plenty of diseases that affect animals differently to man. What about undulant fever? It causes abortion in cattle but doesn't affect pregnant women any more than many other serious diseases do. So a ferret drops its kittens! So it might have done it equally with any other high fever."
"You're quite right John," Hallam said, "but remember, this is no ordinary disease. This is a secret weapon and, if it does cause miscarriages and perhaps permanent damage to the ovaries, the result will be a catastrophe for the West."
"Doggone it, Chief, if you'll pardon my saying so, you're getting positively paranoid about this whole business. We haven't a shred of real evidence so far."