I moved farther forward, resting upon one knee, and raised my hands.
As I did so, a ghastly thing happened—a thing unforeseen. I was faced by a weapon against which I had no defence.
Pouring down through the slats of the shutters came a cloud of vapour. I was drenched, saturated, blinded by mimosa! A faint hissing sound accompanied the discharge;
and as I threw one arm across my face in a vain attempt to shield myself from the deadly vapour, this hissing sound was repeated.
I fell onto both knees, rolled sideways, and tried to throw myself back.
But the impalpable abomination seemed to follow me. I was enveloped in a cloud of it. I tried to cry out—I couldn’t breathe—I was choking.
A third time I heard the hissing sound, and then I think I must have rolled from the table onto the floor. My impression at the time was of falling—falling into dense yellow banks of idoud, reeking of mimosa....
chapter thirteenth
THE FORMULA
“sterling, Sterling! wake up, man! You’re all right now.”
I opened my eyes as directed, and apart from a feeling of pressure on the temples, I experienced no discomfort.
I was in my own bed at the Villa Jasmin!
Nayland Smith was standing beside me, and a bespectacled, bearded young man whom I recognized as one of Dr. Carrier’s juniors was bending down and watching me anxiously.
Without any of that mental chaos which usually follows unconsciousness, I remembered instantly all that had happened, up to the moment that I had rolled from the table.
“They drugged me. Sir Denis,” I said, “but I can tell you all that happened.”
“The details. Sterling. I have already reconstructed the outline.” He turned to the doctor. “You see, this drug apparently has no after effects.”
The medical man felt my pulse, then turned in amazement to Sir Denis.
“It is truly astounding,” he admitted. “I know of no property in any species of mimosa which could explain this.”
“Nevertheless,” rapped Sir Denis, “the smell of mimosa is still perceptible in the sitting room.”
The French doctor nodded in grave agreement. Then as I sat up—for I felt as well as I had ever felt in my life——
“No, please,” he insisted, and laid his hand upon my shoulder: “I should prefer that you lie quiet for the present.”
“Yes, take it easy. Sterling,” said Nayland Smith. There was another victim here last night.”
“The man in the laboratory?”
“Yes; but he’s none the worse for it. He dozed off on the couch, he tells me, and they operated in his case, I have discovered, by inserting a tube through the ventilator in the wall above. He sprang up at the first whiff, but never succeeded in getting to his feet.”
“Please tell me,” I interrupted excitedly, “is there any blood in the lobby?”
Sir Denis shook his head grimly.
“I take it that you are responsible for the shot-hole through the door?”
“Yes, and I scored a bull!”
“The lobby is tiled. They probably took the trouble to remove any stains. Apart from several objects and documents which they have taken away, they have left everything in perfect order. And now, Sterling—the details.”
Sir Denis looked very tired; his manner was unusually grave; and:
“Before I begin,” he said rapidly—”Petrie? Is there any change?”
The Frenchman shook his head.
“I am very sorry to have to tell you, Mr. Sterling,” he replied, “that Dr. Petrie is sinking rapidly.”
“No? Good God! Don’t say so!”
“It’s true!” snapped Nayland Smith. “But tell me what I want to know—I haven’t a minute to waste.”
Filled with a helpless anger, and with such a venomous hatred growing in my heart for the cruel, cunning devil directing these horrors, I outlined very rapidly the events of the night.
“Even now,” said Nayland Smith savagely, “we don’t know if they have it.”
“The formula for ‘654’?”
He nodded.
“It may have been in Rorke’s study in Wimpole Street, or it may not; and it may have been here. In the meantime, Petrie’s case is getting desperate, and no one knows what treatment to pursue. Fah Lo Suee’s kindness towards yourself, following a murderous assault upon one of her servants, suggests success. But it’s merely a surmise. I must be off!”
“But where are you going. Sir Denis?” I asked, for he had already started towards the door. “What are my orders?”
He turned.
“Your orders,” he replied, “are to stay in bed until Dr. Bnsson gives you permission to get up. I am going to Berlin “ “To Berlin?” He nodded impatiently.
“I spent some time with the late Sir Manston Rorke,” he went on rapidly, “at the School of Tropical Medicine, as I have already told you. And I formed the impression that Rorke’s big reputation was largely based upon his friendship with Professor Emil Krus, of Berlin, the greatest living authority upon Tropical Medicine.
“I suspected that Rorke almost invariably submitted proposed treatments to the celebrated German, and I hope—I only hope—that Petrie’s formula ‘654’ may have been sent on to the Professor for his comments. I have already been in touch by telephone with Berlin, but Dr. Emil Krus proved to be inaccessible.
“The French authorities have placed a fast plane and an experienced pilot at my service, and I leave in twenty minutes for the Templehof aerodrome.”
I was astounded—I could think of no words; but:
“It is Dr. Petrie’s only chance,” the Frenchman interrupted. “His condition is growing hourly worse, and we have no idea what to do. It is possible that the great Krus”—there was professional as well as national jealousy in his pronunciation of the name—”may be able to help us. Otherwise——”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You see. Sterling?” said Nayland Smith. “Take care of yourself.”
He ran out.
I looked up helplessly into the bespectacled face of Dr. Brisson. Dawn was breaking, and I realized that I must have been insensible for many hours.
“Such friendship is a wonderful thing, doctor,” I said.
“Yes. Sir Denis Nayland Smith is a staunch friend.” Brisson replied; “but in this—there is more than friendship. The south of France, the whole of France, Europe, perhaps the world, is threatened by a plague for which we know of no remedy. The English doctor Petrie has found means to check it. If we knew what treatment should follow the injection of his preparation ‘654’ we could save his life yet.”
“Is it, then, desperate?”
“It is desperate. But as surely you can appreciate, we could also save other lives. If a widespread epidemic should threaten to develop, we could inoculate. I do not understand, but it seems that there is someone who opposes science and favours the plague. This is beyond my comprehension, but one thing is clear to me: only Dr. Petrie, who is dying, and Professor Krus—perhaps—know how to fight this thing. You see? It may be that the fate of the world is at stake.”
Indeed I saw, and all too plainly.
“Have the police been informed of the outrages here last night?” I asked.
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and his bearded face registered despair.
“In this matter I am distracted,” he declared, “and I have ceased even to think about it. Sir Denis Nayland Smith, it seems, has powers from Paris which override the authorities of Nice. The Department is in his hands.”
“You mean that no inquiry will be made?”
“Nothing—as I understand. But as I confessed to you, I do not understand—at all.”