The Resurrection

: The Blue Germ

For some moments none of us spoke. Alice recovered herself first.



"What is the matter with him?" she gasped.



I was incapable of finding a suitable reply, and stood, tongue-tied,

staring foolishly at the old man. He seemed a little surprised at our

behaviour.



"Dr. Harden," he said, "I am glad to see you. My daughter did not tell

me you were coming."



Hi voice startled me. It was strong and clear. On my previous visit to

him he had spoken in quavering tones.



"Oh, father, how do you feel?" exclaimed Alice, kneeling beside the bed.



"My dear, I feel extremely well. I have not felt so well for many

years." He stretched out his hand and patted his daughter's head. "Yes,

my sleep has done me good. I should like to get up for tea."



"But your eyes----" stammered Alice "Can you see, father?"



"See, my dear? What does she mean, Dr. Harden?"



"There is some discolouration of the conjunctivae," I said hastily. "It

is nothing to worry about."



At that moment Alice caught sight of his finger nails.



"Look!" she cried, "they're blue."



The old man raised his hands and looked at them in astonishment.



"How extraordinary," he murmured. "What do you make of that, doctor?"



"It is nothing," I assured him. "It is only pigmentation

caused--er--caused by some harmless germ."



"I know what it is," cried Alice suddenly. "It's the Blue Disease.

Father, you remember the Perrys were telling us about it yesterday at

lunch. They said it was all over Birmingham, and that they had come

south partly to escape it. They must have brought the infection with

them."



"Yes," I said, "that is certainly the explanation. And now, Mr. Annot,

let me assure you that this disease is harmless. It has no ill effects."



Mr. Annot sat up in bed with an exhibition of vigour that was remarkable

in a man of his age.



"I can certainly witness to the fact that it causes no ill effects, Dr.

Harden," he exclaimed. "This morning I felt extremely weak and was

prepared for the end. But now I seem to have been endowed with a fresh

lease of life. I feel young again. Do you think this Blue Disease is the

cause of it?"



"Possibly. It is difficult to say," I answered in some confusion. "But

you must not think of getting up, Mr. Annot. Rest in bed for the next

week is essential."



"Humbug!" cried the old man, fixing his brilliant eyes upon me. "I am

going to get up this instant."



"Oh, father, please don't be so foolish!"



"Foolish, child? Do you think I'm going to lie here when I feel as if my

body and mind had been completely rejuvenated? I repeat I am going to

get up. Nothing on earth will keep me in bed."



The old man began to remove the bedclothes. I made an attempt to

restrain him, but was met by an outburst of irritation that warned me

not to interfere. I motioned Alice to follow me, and together we left

the room. As we went downstairs I heard a curious sound proceeding from

Mr. Annot's bedroom. We halted on the stairs and listened. The sound

became louder and clearer.



"Father is singing," said Alice in a low voice. Then she took out her

handkerchief and began to sob.



We continued our way downstairs, Alice endeavouring to stifle her sobs,

and I in a dazed condition of mind. I was stunned by the fact that that

mad experiment of ours should have had such a sudden and strange result.

It produced in me a fear that was far worse to bear than the vague

anxiety I had felt ever since those fatal tubes of the Sarakoff-Harden

bacillus had been emptied into the lake. I stumbled into the

drawing-room and threw myself upon a chair. My legs were weak, and my

hands were trembling.



"Alice," I said, "you must not allow this to distress you. The Blue

Disease is not dangerous."



She lifted a tear-stained face and looked at me dully.



"Richard, I can't bear it any longer. I've given half my life to looking

after father. I simply can't bear it."



I sat up and stared at her. What strange intuition had come to her?



"What do you mean?"



She sobbed afresh.



"I can't endure the sight of him with those blue eyes," she went on,

rather wildly. "Richard, I must get away. I've never been from him for

more than a few hours at a time for the last fifteen years. Don't think

I want him to die."



"I don't."



"I'm glad he's better," she remarked irrelevantly.



"So am I."



"The Perrys were saying that the doctors up in Birmingham think that the

Blue Disease cut short other diseases, and made people feel better." She

twisted her handkerchief for some moments. "Does it?" she asked, looking

at me directly.



"I--er--I have heard it does."



An idea had come into my mind, and I could not get rid of it. Why should

I not tell her all that I knew?



"I'm thirty-five," she remarked.



"And I'm forty-two." I tried to smile.



"Life's getting on for us both," she added.



"I know, Alice. I suggested that we should get engaged a short while

ago. Now I suggest that we get married--as soon as possible." I got up

and paced the room. "Why not?" I demanded passionately.



She shook her head, and appeared confused.



"It's impossible. Who could look after him? I should never be happy,

Richard, as long as he was living."



I stopped before her.



"Not with me?"



"No, Richard. I should be left a great deal to myself. A doctor's wife

always is. I've thought it out carefully. I would think of him."



After a long silence, I made a proposal that I had refused to entertain

before.



"Well, there's no reason why he should not come and live with us. There

is plenty of room in my house at Harley Street. Would that do?"



It was a relief to me when she said that she would not consent to an

arrangement of that kind. I sat down again.



"Alice," I said quietly, "it is necessary that we should decide our

future. There are special reasons."



She glanced at me enquiringly. There was a pause in which I tried to

collect my thoughts.



"Your father," I continued, "is suffering from a very peculiar disease.

It is wrong, perhaps, to call it a disease. You wouldn't call life a

disease, would you?"



"I don't understand."



"No, of course not. Well, to put it as simply as possible, it is likely

that your father will live a long time now. When he said he felt as if

his mind and body had been rejuvenated he was speaking the truth."



"But he will be ninety next year," she said bluntly.



"I know. But that will make no difference. This germ, that is now in his

body, has the power of arresting all further decay. Your father will

remain as he is now for an indefinite period."



I met her eyes as steadily as I could, but there was a quality in her

gaze that caused me to look elsewhere.



"How do you know this?" she asked after a painful silence.



"I--er--I can't tell you." The colour mounted to my cheeks, and I began

to tap the carpet impatiently with the toe of my boot. "You wouldn't

understand," I continued in as professional a manner as I could muster.

"You would need first to study the factors that bring about old age."



"Where did the Blue Disease come from? Tell me. I can surely understand

that!"



"You have read the paper, haven't you?"



"I've read that no one understands what it is, and that the doctors are

puzzled."



"How should I know where it comes from?"



She regarded me searchingly.



"You know something about it," she said positively. "Richard, you are

keeping it back from me. I have a right to know what it is."



I was silent.



"If you don't tell me, how can I trust you again?" she asked. "Don't you

see that there will always be a shadow between us?"



It was not difficult for me to guess that my guilty manner had roused

her suspicions. She had seen my agitation, and had found it

unaccountable. I resolved to entrust her with the secret of the germ.



"Do you remember that I once told you my friend, Professor Sarakoff, had

succeeded in keeping butterflies alive for over a year?"



She nodded.



"He and I have been experimenting on those lines and he has found a germ

that has the property of keeping human beings alive in the same way. The

germ has escaped ... into the world ... and it is the cause of the Blue

Disease."



"How did it escape?"



I winced. In her voice I was conscious of a terrible accusation.



"By accident," I stammered.



She jumped to her feet.



"I don't believe it! That is a lie!"



"Alice, you must calm yourself! I am trying to tell you exactly what

happened."



"Was it by accident?"



The vision of that secret expedition to the water supply of Birmingham

passed before me. I felt like a criminal. I could not raise my eyes; my

cheeks were burning. In the silence that followed, the sound of Mr.

Annot's voice became audible. Alice stood before me, rigid and

implacable.



"It was--by accident," I said. I tried to look at her, and failed. She

remained motionless for about a minute. Then she turned and left the

room. I heard her go slowly upstairs. A door banged. Actuated by a

sudden desire, I stepped into the hall, seized my coat and hat and

opened the front door. I was just in time. As I gently closed the door I

heard Mr. Annot on the landing above. He was singing some long-forgotten

tune in a strange cracked voice.



I stood outside on the doorstep, listening, until, overcome by

curiosity, I bent down and lifted the flap of the letter-box. The

interior of the hall was plainly visible. Mr. Annot had ceased singing

and was now standing before the mirror which hung beside the hatstand.

He was a trifle unsteady, and swayed on his frail legs, but he was

staring at himself with a kind of savage intensity. At last he turned

away and I caught the expression on his face.... With a slight shiver, I

let down the flap noiselessly. There was something in that expression

that for me remains unnamable; and I think now, as I look back into

those past times, that of all the signs which showed me that the

Sarakoff-Harden bacillus was an offence against humanity, that strange

look on the nonagenarian's face was the most terrible and obvious.