Many Dimensions, Charles Williams [black authors fiction TXT] 📗
- Author: Charles Williams
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where we were before.”
“Not quite,” the Hajji said, “for as there is but one End, so there is
now but one Stone with you, and it may be one path for the Stone. It
may be that the path and the Stone and the End are shown you that they
may be one.”
Lord Arglay had turned to go to the Type that remained when he was
interrupted by the entrance of the maid with a telegram. He took it
from her, opened and read it, and gave a low exclamation. Then, “There
is no immediate answer,” he said, and as the maid went out he went back
to the other two.
“They have dealt with Reginald,” he said. “Your friends again, I
expect, Hajji.”
Chloe said, “What has happened to Mr. Montague?”
“They have killed him,” Arglay answered, and for once
negligent of an absurdity read the telegram aloud.
“From the Hotel Montespan, Brighton. Gentleman seriously injured by
burglars and afterwards died here registered as Reginald Montague
Rowland Street West gave your name as that of relation burglar
unfortunately escaped but no apparent trace of theft would like to
confer Gregson manager.”
After a moment’s silence Arglay said, “I am sorry for Reginald. He was
a fool but he wasn’t malevolent. And now there is only
us—and the others.”
“Shall you go to Brighton?” the Hajji asked.
“Certainly I shall go,” Lord Arglay said, “for if by chance it was not
a thing done to gain the stone then any that he had may still be there.
I do not think that I shall find one, but I will take no risks.
Besides, as things are, I would not have even Reginald’s death quite
unnoticed, whatever catastrophe awaits us.”
“And this Type that you have?” Ibrahim asked, pointing to it.
“That I will leave here,” Lord Arglay said, “and Miss Burnett shall
guard it for the few hours that I shall be gone. They will not attack
the house of the Chief Justice in full daylight, and if any come to
take it in the name of the Law then Miss Burnett shall do what she
chooses. And you, “ajji?”
“If this is true,” Ibrahim answered, “I will not go back to those who
are already shedding blood.”
“Then you also shall be here,” Lord Arglay said, “and you shall talk
together, and see if there is anything to be done. For so far,” he
added with an unwonted outbreak of anger, “I
have done nothing at all. Nothing. I have been only a useless
loquacity.”
“It isn’t true,” Chloe said.
“Well—if you can think of anything, excepting trying to bring a
laboratory assistant out of yesterday.” the Chief JUstice
answered, still bitterly.
“You may have been more than you know,” the Hajji put in.
“O I may…” Lord Arglay said. “They also serve who only sit about and
chat. But after believing in God—”
“Ah but you do!” Chloe cried, “and is that doing nothing?” Lord Arglay
looked at her. “It is giving a new name to old things,” he said. “Or
perhaps an old name to new things. Don’t worry, child. I will go to
Brighton, and do you consider the doctrine that is within the Stone.”
THE DISCOVERY OF SIR GILES TUMULTY
The same afternoon while Lord Arglay was hearing at Brighton of the
extraordinary events (so the manager called them) of the previous
night—how someone, so far untraced, must have got into Mr. Montague’s
room, and how Mr. Montague’s mutilated body had been discovered there
in the morning; while he himself was finding that there was no trace of
any Type of the Stone among Reginald’s belongings; while this
separation of a single Type from the rest was proceeding, Lord
Birlesmere and Mr. Garterr Browne sat in a room at the Home Office and
talked. Lord Birlesmere was agitated; Mr. Garterr Browne was calm and
bright.
“Tumulty tells me nothing,” the Foreign Secretary was saying. “I tried
to get hold of him yesterday, but I couldn’t. That fellow Palliser who
was with him would only say that he hoped in time to find some way of
control.”
“It might be awfully useful if he did,” Mr. Garterr Browne said, “I see
that. But it’s going to take time, and I don’t think at present either
of us can afford the time.”
“That’s quite true. I don’t know what’s happened,” Birlesmere answered,
“but there was an unpleasant note in the Persian man’s voice. I’ve just
seen him, and they’re more sure of themselves. He even began to hint at
Geneva and perhaps something more.”
“Well,” Mr. Garterr Browne went on, “I think I may say that, as soon as
I heard of it, I saw what would have to be done. One thing, anyhow, I
don’t know about Persia, but I think it’ll quiet things here.”
“And what’s that?” Birlesmere asked.
Mr. Garterr Browne smiled slyly. “Ask yourself,” he said, “why people—this Mayor, for instance—are making such a fuss about the Stone. Why,
because they think it does things.”
“So it does,” Lord Birlesmere said.
“Never mind whether it does or not,” Garterr Browne said sharply. “The
point is that they believe it does. Very well. What do we want to do
then? Stop them believing it. How do we do that? Tell them, and show
them, that it doesn’t.”
“But it does,” Lord Birlesmere said again.
“The first thing I said to myself,” Mr. Garterr Browne went on, “when I
realized it, was—people must simply not be allowed to believe in it.
The second thing was—thank God it’s stone. “
Lord Birlesmere sat and stared. Mr. Garterr Browne sat and smiled, then
he resumed.
“How can one stop them believing in it? As I’ve just saidtell them it
doesn’t work; show them it doesn’t work. And if it does, show them
something that doesn’t.”
“Good God!” Lord Birlesmere exclaimed.
“Stone,” the other said, still smiling, “isn’t rare. Marked stone isn’t
rare. Of course, to a shade the markings…. I don’t say that the tints
are exactly…. But near enough. I got hold of a man, and I went over
his place, and I found bits. I’ve known him rather well for years—he
was a contractor for the new Government buildings—and I found a bit of
what I wanted.”
He pulled out a drawer and extracted something from it which he threw
across to Lord Birlesmere. It was a fragment of square stone, having a
black streak or two in it. But it was a poor imitation of the Stone of
Suleiman, and so Lord Birlesmere, having considered it, felt compelled
to say.
“No one would take it for the same thing,” he said.
“No one who hasn’t got the original is likely to be able to compare,”
Garterr Browne said. “And who’s got it? Sheldrake—well, he must keep
his for the present; the Persians—well, if
they know we’ll keep it quiet they won’t want to make a fuss; Tumulty
and Palliser—well, they must be careful in their experiments, but
they’re not likely to act in public; you—that’s
all right; Arglay—that is a little awkward, but he’s a sensible fellow
and we’ll talk to him. I fancy Merridew’s trying to get a bit but I
don’t think he has yet—and anyhow he’ll want it kept quiet; he was here
saying so.”
“But, good God,” Lord Birlesmere said, “people won’t believe that these
cures and so on didn’t happen.”
“We shan’t ask them to,” Garterr Browne explained. “They may have
happened; they don’t happen now. Something has changed—the Stone has
been exposed to the air or something. Rays… rays might have been
exhausted. Tumulty and—and I’ll manage a convincing statement. just
keep it firmly in your mind that people must not be allowed to believe
in it.”
“But then why worry about having this thing?” Birlesmere asked. “You
can tell them all that anyhow.”
Mr. Garterr Browne almost winked. “You wait,” he said. “That Mayor’s
coming round here again, and it’ll sound more convincing if I produce
this. Besides—I’m not certain, but I may decide to get a few scientific
opinions on the virtue and age of the thing, a few doctors or
something.”
“They certainly won’t believe that that did anything,” Lord Birlesmere
said.
“Nor very likely did the other,” Garterr Browne answered. “Think of the
number of people who don’t believe in it now, and those who don’t want
to. All we need for public opinion is a focus.” He got up in great glee
and pointed to the bit of stone. “This is the focus.” He made gestures
with both hands.
“We concentrate,” he said, “by a semi-official statement. Now how many
people, in face of that, and their neighbours, are going on believing
in an obviously absurd Stone? Ask yourself, Birlesmere, would you?”
“If, I’d seen it…” Lord Birlesmere began.
“Pooh! coincidence,” said the other. “Pure coincidence.”
“And suppose one of the original Stones gets about somehow?” Birlesmere
asked. “How will the Government look then? It’s a damned risky
business, Browne, and I don’t half like it.”
“Nor you mayn’t,” Mr. Garterr Browne, a little huffed, answered. “But
you don’t like simplicity. Look here—this is the Stone, don’t you see?
It is; just is. And it doesn’t do anything at all. Of course, we shall
try and get hold of all the others. Tumulty ought to do that.”
“Tumulty won’t do anything but what he wants.” Birlesmere said. “And I
don’t like the way the Persians are talking. Suppose it does come up at
Geneva?”
“Well, give them this,” the Home Secretary suggested. “Who’s to know?
They only want it for a temple or something, I suppose, so this would
be just as good. It isn’t as if it was a matter of practical
importance. And would even they know the difference? Why, I can hardly
believe there is any.”
“O I think there is,” Birlesmere protested. “The marking looks
different.”
“O the marking, the marking,” said Mr. Garterr Browne impatiently.
“God’s truth, man, what does the marking matter? Here am I faced with a
riot or a strike and you with a war, and there you sit bleating about
the marking. If you get to rock-bottom, if you come down to actual
facts, it is that or this. Which will you have?”
“O this of course,” Lord Birlesmere said.
“Do you agree to my telling this Mayor, when he comes in a few minutes,
that this is it?” the other pressed again.
“Yes, O yes,” Birlesmere assented. “Only you must back me up too with
the Persian.”
“United we stand, divided we fall,” Mr. Garterr Browne
almost sang. “It’s quite simple, Birlesmere, so long as you keep firmly
in mind that people must not be allowed to believe in it. in fact, of
course, they don’t believe in it; nobody could. So we’re only making
their real minds clear to them.”
“But-” the Foreign Secretary began.
“I know, I know,” the other interrupted. “You used it, didn’t you? You
and Tumulty. Yes, but, my dear fellow, are you sure you did? Looking
back now, are you sure it wasn’t a kind of illusion? You may know it
wasn’t because you have the Stone, but will those who haven’t it know?”
The telephone rang and he bent to it. “O bring him in,” he said. “Now
here is the Mayor; now you see.”
The Mayor came in heavily. His meeting with Merridew had shaken his
determination far more than he had known at
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