Part 27 (1/2)
”Gentlemen,” he said, ”you are wonderful men. You have discovered something that benefits humanity enormously. But take my advice--leave your other theories alone. Stick to the facts--that your germ cures sickness. Drop the talk about immortality and desire. It's too fantastic, even for me. In the meantime I shall spread abroad the news that the end of sickness is at hand, and that humanity is on the threshold of a new era. For that I believe with all my heart.”
”One moment,” said Sarakoff. ”If you believe that this germ does away with disease, what is going to cause men to die?”
”Old age.”
”But that is a disease itself.”
”Wear and tear isn't a disease. That's what kills most of us.”
”Yes, but wear and tear comes from desire, Mr. Jason,” I said. ”And the germ knocks that out. So what is left, save immortality?”
When Jason left us, I could see that he was impressed by the possibility of life being, at least, greatly prolonged. And this was the line he took in his newspapers next day.
CHAPTER XXII
THE FIRST MURDERS
The effect of Jason's newspapers on public opinion was remarkable.
Humanity ever contains within it the need for mystery, and the strange and incredible, if voiced by authority, stir it to its depths. The facts about the healing of sickness and the cure of disease in Birmingham were printed in heavy type and read by millions. Nothing was said about immortality save what Sarakoff and I had stated at the Queen's Hall meeting. But instinctively the mult.i.tude leaped to the conclusion that if the end of disease was at hand, then the end of death--at least, the postponement of death--was to be expected.
Jason, pale and masterful, visited us in the afternoon, and told us of the spread of the tidings in England. ”They've swallowed it,” he exclaimed; ”it's stirred them as nothing else has done in the last hundred years. I visited the East End to-day. The streets are full of people. Crowds everywhere. It might lead to anything.”
”Is the infection spreading swiftly?”
”It's spreading. But there are plenty of people, like myself, who haven't got it yet. I should say that a quarter of London is blue.” He looked at me with a sudden anxiety. ”You're sure I'll get it?”
”Quite sure. Everyone is bound to get it. There's no possible immunity.”
He sat heavily in the chair, staring at the carpet.
”Harden, I didn't quite like the look of those crowds in the East End.
Anything big like this stirs up the people. It excites them and then the incalculable may happen. I've been thinking about the effect upon the uneducated mind. I've spread over the country the vision of humanity free from disease, and that's roused something in them--something dangerous--that I didn't foresee. Disease, Harden, whatever you doctors think of it, puts the fear of G.o.d into humanity. It's these sudden releases--releases from ancient fears--that are so dangerous. Are you sure you can't stop the germ, or direct it along certain channels?”
”I have already told you that's impossible.”
”You might as well try and stop the light of day,” said Sarakoff from a sofa, where he was lying apparently asleep. ”Let the people think what they like now. Wait till they get it themselves. There are rules in the game, Jason, that you have no conception of, and that I have only realized since I became immortal. Yes--rules in the game, whether you play it in the cellar or the attic, or in the valley, or on the mountain top.”
”Your friend is very Russian,” said Jason equably. ”I have always heard they are dreamers and visionaries. Personally, I am a practical man, and as such I foresee trouble. If the ma.s.ses of the people have no illness, and enjoy perfect health, we shall be faced by a difficult problem.
They'll get out of hand. Depressed states of health are valuable a.s.sets in keeping the social organization together. All this demands careful thought. I am visiting the Prime Minister this evening and shall give him my views.”
At that moment a newspaper boy pa.s.sed the window with an afternoon edition and Jason went out to get a copy. He returned with a smile of satisfaction, carrying the paper open before him.
”Three murders in London,” he announced. ”One in Plaistow, one in East Ham and one in Pimlico. I told you there was unrest abroad.” He laid the paper on the table and studied it ”In every case it was an aged person--two old women, and one old man. Now what does that mean?”
”A gang at work.”
He shook his head.