Читать книгу The Table - Edgar Wallace - Страница 7

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AS the door closed behind Jeanette, Allerman waved a hand towards a chair in front of his desk.

"Sit down, Barlow."

Paul seated himself and waited for a full minute while Allerman, toying with a pencil, gazed at him searchingly. It was a disconcerting stare, neither friendly nor unfriendly—the same sort of stare that Allerman had given him when he had interviewed Paul as his prospective assistant. It gave Paul a queer sensation that he was some interesting specimen on a microscopic slide, and that Allerman was examining calmly and critically through a microscope.

He was particularly anxious to create a good impression on Allerman, and he was undecided whether he would create a better impression by appearing unaware of the Doctor's prolonged scrutiny, or by making an effort to meet the gaze of his cold, piercing eyes without allowing his own gaze to waver. He tried the latter plan, but after a few seconds abandoned it and looked, with as convincing an air of unconcern as he could manage, at the microscope under the glass bell that stood on Allerman's desk. He was annoyed with himself for having so quickly surrendered to Allerman's masterful eyes, but there was something behind those eyes, an enormous strength, a tremendous personality, an irresistible determination, a ruthless will, and he had not been able to help himself.

He suppressed a start when at last Allerman spoke. "If you are to remain here as my assistant, Barlow, there are one or two points which it is essential for you to remember. No man is of the least use to me who is not capable of implicit and unquestioning obedience."

"Of course, I understand that, sir."

"I require unswerving loyalty and absolute confidence. Any man who is to share my work with me must co-operate with me whole-heartedly. Grudging service is of no use to me, and if you are not prepared to give me the kind of service I require it is no use your staying here."

"I am ready to give you the best service of which I'm capable, sir."

The older man nodded.

"I believe you are capable of giving me very valuable service, Barlow," he said. "If I didn't believe that, you wouldn't have interested me. But I want you to realise that in the work which I am doing I tolerate no interference and no criticism. You may see things here which will, perhaps, shock you, but I shall expect no comment. Whatever happens here you will accept with complete confidence in me, and if I do anything of which you may disapprove you will keep your disapproval to yourself and not allow it to interfere with the efficiency of your work."

"You need have no fears on that score, sir," said Paul. "I consider myself extremely fortunate to have the chance of working with you."

Allerman raised his eyebrows.

"Yet just now, Barlow, when you came into the room and saw me treating a patient in a rather unorthodox way your confidence in me was shaken. No, don't trouble to contradict me. I happen to have very acute powers of observation and I could see that when I struck that woman with the whip you were shocked and horrified. You thought me a callous brute, and just for an instant you wondered whether you would not be wise to refuse the position of assistant to me. Is that correct?"

Paul smiled.

"Quite correct, sir. Just for a moment I did feel that."

"Good!" said Allerman. "You are not afraid of the naked truth, and that is a very valuable quality. Very well, we will take it that in future, no matter how shocked you may be, you will keep to yourself any repugnance you may feel and make no attempt at interference or criticism. You will accept what I do as right—and I can assure you, Barlow, that it will be right—right from the scientific view-point, even though it might not seem right to an unscientific sentimentalist. Nature is cruel, and if nature is to be conquered it is sometimes necessary to use against her methods which appear cruel to those who possess less knowledge than I possess."

"I understand, sir," said Paul. "A sentimentalist could never become a great surgeon. But I don't think I am a sentimentalist."

"I'm not so sure," smiled Allerman. "But I give you credit, Barlow, for being able to keep your sentimentalism decently under control. And now there are one or two other points I want to impress on you. No matter what you may see in this house, you are strictly forbidden to mention it outside the house. You are not even allowed to discuss with any inmate of the house any matter connected with my work. You will be living here, and I must ask you, as long as you remain with me, to avoid contact with anyone outside. Personally, I know no one in the district, and I want you to keep yourself as detached and inaccessible as I am."

"I know no one at all in the district, sir."

"Good! Actually there is no one in the district worth knowing," said Allerman, "and if I had not been convinced that you are not the type of young man to be interested in the puerile amusements and the flabby sort of minds which are all my neighbours can offer you, I should certainly not have invited you to come here. My assistant must be a young man whose whole mind and body are completely concentrated on his work and who has not the least inclination to waste his time on such trivial frivolities as bridge, or tennis, or dancing."

"As long as I get a little exercise, sir," said Paul, "I can do without amusements."

"Ten minutes night and morning with a pair of dumb-bells, and a brisk walk in the afternoon, will supply all the exercise that is necessary to keep your body healthy and your mind alert, Barlow. This fetish of exercise is all very well if one's object is merely to become as nearly as possible a perfect animal, but for a man whose aim is to develop and use his mind it is not only unnecessary but a definite hindrance. The man who sets out to conquer nature must be prepared to make sacrifices."

"I am prepared for that, sir."

"But the sacrifice, Barlow, in your case, will not be without compensation. You will have the advantage of working with me, and if you care to make use of your opportunities there is nothing to prevent your becoming one of the greatest names in your profession. And apart from mere material advantages, you will gain knowledge which few men in the world possess—knowledge, perhaps, which no one possesses at the moment but myself. I can do things which no other surgeon has ever dared to attempt. That may not sound very modest, Barlow, but when modesty contradicts truth I prefer the truth. I am perfectly well aware that as a surgeon I am a few hundred years ahead of any other member of the profession, and it would be absurd of me to pretend that I don't know it. The profession knows it"—he smiled faintly—"and the profession doesn't like it any more than mediocrity ever likes genius. In comparison with me, Barlow, the average surgeon is a clumsy, muddle-headed fool, working by rule of thumb, hidebound with tradition, a mere imitator, for the simple reason that he has neither the brains nor the courage ever to become anything else. I am satisfied that you have the brains, and that under my instruction you can develop the necessary technical skill. It remains to be seen whether you can also develop the necessary courage."

Paul smiled.

"I don't suffer from nerves, sir."

"There are other kinds of courage, Barlow, than the mere physical self-control which is needed in the operating theatre. The surgeon who is a pioneer, blazing new trails through the jungles of ignorance and prejudice, must have the courage to press on in the face of a thousand emergencies and failures. He must have the courage to defend himself, to face abuse and ridicule and slander without allowing them to hurt him and make him waver. He must be able to trust himself when all men doubt him, as Kipling puts it. In fact, Barlow, if you want to become a great surgeon you would do well to read Kipling's 'If' every morning before you start your day's work. And now, if you have any questions to ask, ask them."

"I should like to know, sir," said Paul, "what lines you are working on—what particular trend your experiments are taking."

"As to that, Barlow," replied Allerman, "I cannot give you much information at the moment. For years I have seen my goal clearly ahead of me and have been advancing slowly towards it. What that goal is you will learn in due course; but I prefer that you should come to the knowledge of it gradually. You can take my word for it that it is a goal which, when I reach it, will mean an enormous betterment of the human race. It will mean that nature's gold can be separated from nature's dross. But you will understand better later. I have already advanced a long way. Over a period of many years I have made countless experiments—some failures, some successes—and each success has taken me one step nearer to my goal. Stark is one of my earlier successes."

He saw Paul's quick glance of surprise and smiled.

"Naturally, Barlow," he said, "you find it hard to accept Stark as a success, but that's only because you didn't know him as he was before I treated him surgically. If I tell you about Stark, it will give you some idea of the lines on which I am working. When he came into my hands Stark was as low a type of perverted degenerate as it is possible to conceive—no mind worth mentioning, with the worst instincts of a brute coupled with the worst instincts of a human being; not merely incapable of rendering any useful service to society but actually a positive menace to it. I could hardly have found a less promising subject for experiment, and I consider him one of my most brilliant early successes."

"He seems an extraordinarily efficient servant, sir—almost like a machine."

Allerman nodded.

"Stark is not a beauty to look at," he said, "but he is as near to the perfect machine as a human being can be. That's what I have done for Stark: I have transformed him from a dangerous degenerate into a useful member of society. I have taken away all that was bestial in him and made him a harmless, useful member of the community. And I did it, Barlow, on my operating table."

"It sounds immensely interesting, sir, but—"

"That's all I can tell you at the moment. My experiments are continuing. In fact, I am hoping to make an experiment very soon which will prove beyond all question that I have reached my goal. The woman, Lorna, whom you saw here just now, will probably feature in it. What the experiment is, I don't propose to explain, because at the present moment you are quite incapable of understanding. Your work, at first, will be less practical than theoretical. You will have a room of your own in which to work, and you must understand that unless I invite you to come to this room or to my operating theatre, you are forbidden to enter either of them. Anything that I wish you to see, I shall invite you to see, but I do not wish you to make any attempt to discover anything for yourself. No one enters this room without my permission."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Paul. "I didn't realise that. Miss Fayre told me that I might find you here—"

"Miss Fayre should have known better. She knows the rules of the house. But I'm saying nothing about that, Barlow: I'm only warning you that if you wish to remain here and work with me, I expect implicit obedience, and however much you may disapprove or fail to understand anything I do, neither interfere nor criticise. I want your definite assurance on that point."

"You have it, sir," replied Paul.

Dr. Allerman nodded and got up from his chair.

"Then come with me, Barlow," he said, "and we will test the value of your promise."