"And what disease would that be, Doctor?"
"Lycanthropy. Inspector Grayson. The belief that one is capable of becoming a wolf or, more specifically. a legendary creature known in folklore as a werewolf.”
1
The man who came to the door of 7 Mornington Place in northwest London was of medium build, with blue eyes, light brown hair parted neatly on the side and a large, full and slightly drooping moustache that somehow did not quite seem to fit his boyish face. His eyes were expressive and alert as he gazed past Amy Robbins at the three strangers on his doorstep. They were well dressed. two men and a young woman. One man was clean-shaven, with angular features, blond hair and a hooked nose. The other was heavyset, muscular. with dark red hair and a full beard. The woman was very blond, statuesque, with an erect carriage and a very striking face.
"These people insist on speaking with you," Amy Robbins said. "I have told them you were very busy-"
"That's all right, Jane." he said, using her pet name. "How may I help you?"
"Mr. Wells?" said Finn Delaney.
"I am H. G. Wells. We have not met before?"
"No, sir. we haven't. My name is Finn Delaney. This is Mr. Creed Steiger and this is Miss Andre Cross. We have come a long way to speak with you on a matter of some importance. It concerns your writing. We understand that you are a busy man and we are quite prepared to compensate you for your time."
"Well, I must say, your offer is appreciated. but quite unnecessary. Do come in."
They entered the modest, but comfortable rooms. "May I offer you some tea?" said Wells.
"Please don't trouble yourself, Mr. Wells,• said Steiger. "We won't take up much of your time.•"
"No trouble at all. Please, come this way."
He led them to a small and tidy study, filled with bookshelves and a writing desk. The desk had some papers spread out on it and a wastebasket beside the desk was filled with crumpled paper. Several of the crumpled sheets had missed the wastebasket.
"I have been busy writing articles for the Pall Mall Gazette," said Wells, picking up the errant litter. "Merely some light sketches, dialogues and essays, an occasional book review… excuse me, you are American, are you not?"
"Yes, Mr. Delaney and 1 are from the States." said Steiger. "Miss Cross is originally from southwest France."
"I see. Again, how may I help you? You mentioned something about my writing. I am astonished that anyone in America c
ould be familiar with it. I have only recently begun my journalistic career."
"We were not quite so much interested in your articles for the Gazette." said Andre, "as in a story you once wrote called 'The Chronic Argonauts.' "
"Good God!" said Wells, sitting back with surprise. "That was some seven years ago! It was printed in the Science Schools Journal. I was only twenty-one at the time and woefully incompetent at writing fiction. I abandoned it after only three installments because I realized that it was hopeless and that I could not go on with it." He shook his head. "The story was clumsily invented and loaded with irrelevant sham significance, an entirely inept romance with the most absurd, rococo title. What possible interest could you have in it?"
Steiger spoke carefully. "Well, actually, Mr. Wells, it was not the story itself so much as the idea that intrigued us. The idea of traveling through time, that is. We are academicians of a sort, specializing in the sciences, and as such, our reading tends to be quite diversified. We were struck by the fascinating combination of ingredients in your story, philosophy, science, fiction…"
"Science fiction," said Wells, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He smiled. "Something of a contradiction in terms, is it not?
You know, it's interesting that you should say that, because lately I have been giving a good deal of thought to writing some short fictional pieces with a sort of scientific slant. My editor, Harry Cush mentioned that Lewis Hind, the literary editor of the Gazette's supplement, the Budget. might be interested in just that sort of thing. Short pieces that can be read in one sitting, you know. I had even given some thought to resurrecting that old story you just mentioned. rewriting it perhaps, with an entirely different slant."
"How did you happen to come by it?" said Andre. "I mean, what suggested it to you?"
Wells frowned. “I honestly don't recall. Miss Cross. You see, for years, I had been seeking rare and precious topics, 'Rediscovery of the Unique!' 'The Universe Rigid!' The more I was rejected, the higher my shots had flown. All the time. as it turned out. I had been shooting over the target. All I had to do was lower my aim-and hit. To be quite honest. I found the secret only recently in a hook by J. M. Bathe, called When a Man's Single. One of the characters in Barrie's book spoke of a friend of his who managed to sell articles based upon the most insignificant and everyday occurrences-the repairing of a pipe, the selling of a pair of old flower pots to a hawker, that sort of thing-and I realized that here was the formula for my salvation. I had been quite ill, you see, and my incapacity forced me into giving up my teaching and looking elsewhere for my livelihood. Writing seemed to be the only recourse for a man in my condition. Thankfully, I am much improved now, but things have come to such a pass that I am presently earning more money with my articles than I ever did in my class teaching days. It all started with a simple little piece on staying at the seaside and I've been dashing them off ever since. Apparently, people like to read that sort of nonsense. Frankly, I am both amused and astonished that my work should have attracted sonic scholarly interest… but 'The Chronic Argonauts,' of all things! How on earth did you manage to stumble upon it?"
"Our library collects a wide variety of periodicals. Mr. Wells," Delaney said. "We were quite intrigued by what you might call some of the metaphysical implications in your story, unfinished though it was. We were anxious to discuss some of your ideas with you and. when circumstances brought us to England, we thought we would try to look you up."
Wells shook his head and chuckled. "Metaphysics? I am afraid that 1 cannot be of much help to you people in your… uh. researches. I have sonic slight scientific training. true, but the idea of traveling through time is ludicrous, of course. Only a crank would take such a thing seriously."
He paused for a moment and cleared his throat uneasily. "Of course, I am not suggesting for a moment that you are cranks, you understand. Who is to say what strange courses will not lead to scientific knowledge? Science is a match that man has just got alight. And it is a curious sensation, now that the preliminary sputter is over and the flame burns up clear, for us to see only our hands illuminated and just a glimpse of ourselves and the patch we stand on visible, and all around us… darkness still." Wells smiled. "A slight paraphrase from my own 'Rediscovery of the Unique.' "
Has anyone else, that is, besides Mr. Cast at the Gazette, spoken to you of such matters?" said Andre. "Glimpses into the future of scientific endeavor such as traveling through time or biological experimentation?"
"What manner of biological experimentation?" Wells said, frowning faintly.