“Another message!”
“To whom?”
“To him. The man who wanted to hurt my Medi. He must not hurt my Medi. A man here—two men—wish to give him a message.”
“Yes, Victor, let us have it.”
“First man’s name is…” The girl’s head slanted and her ear was upturned, as if listening. “Yes, yes, I have it! It is Al-Al-Aldridge.”
“Does that mean anything to you?”
Challenger staggered. A look of absolute wonder had come upon his face.
“Who is the second man?” he asked.
“Ware. Yes that is it. Ware.”
Challenger sat down suddenly. He passed his hand over his brow. He was deadly pale. His face was clammy with sweat.
“Do you know them?”
“I knew two men of those names.”
“They have message for you,” said the girl.
Challenger seemed to brace himself for a blow.
“Well, what is it?”
“Too private. Not speak, all these people here.”
“We shall wait outside,” said Mailey. “Come, friends, let the Professor have his message.”
They moved towards the door leaving the man seated in front of his daughter. An unwonted nervousness seemed suddenly to seize him. “Malone, stay with me!”
The door closed and the three were left together.
“What is the message?”
“It is about a powder.”
“Yes, yes.”
“A grey powder?”
“Yes.”
“The message that men want me to say is: ‘You did not kill us.’”
“Ask them then—ask them—how did they die?” His voice was broken and his great frame was quivering with his emotion.
“They die disease.”
“What disease?”
“New—new… What that?… Pneumonia.”
Challenger sank back in his chair with an immense sigh of relief. “My God!” he cried, wiping his brow. Then: