Wanderers of Time

'We're too late,' he said. 'It's begun.'

Chapter Three THE DANGER INCREASES

'Stuff! ' said Major Forbes, with some violence. 'Stuff and nonsense! You ought to have known better, young man, than to come to me with an old wive's tale like that.'

Ralph gave up his attempt to convince the old man. After Arnold's warning of the previous evening, he had caught the earliest possible train for the West Country and travelled all night. There had not been any time to lose. So far as he knew, the enormous puffballs might burst of their own accord at any hour, quite apart from the danger of one of them receiving an accidental puncture and spreading its spores about the neighbourhood.

He had arrived, tired and anxious, to be greeted by both his own and Dorothy's father with complete disbelief. In vain he put the cases of rash forward as evidence and quoted Arnold's warning. It was useless. Each, at the back of his mind, seemed determined that this was some deep ruse by rival growers to get him out of the way; and, even if the thing was a fungus, what man worth his salt was going to be scared by a mere puff-ball, however big?

'No,' Major Forbes repeated firmly. 'You say that your mother and my daughter are willing to leave—of course they are. Women are always wanting to run up to London for some fal-lal or other. Take 'em along with you; the change'll do 'em good. But don't come bothering me!'

And there was a similar interview with his own father. Mrs. Waite attempted to smooth over her husband's irritation.

'Now, don't worry your father any more, dear. You must see that he doesn't want to come. I should like to go to London for a week or so, but don't bother him. I should have to go soon, in any case, to do a little shopping.'

'But you don't understand, Mother. This is really serious— it's dangerous. These things he is growing are rank poison!'

Mrs. Waite looked a little distressed.

'Do you really think so, dear? I mean, it seems so unlikely— and the people who sent them don't seem to think so. They definitely said they were vegetables.'

'Never mind what they said. Take it from me—or, rather, from Arnold, who is an expert—that these things are deadly and must be destroyed.'

'Eh? What's that?' Mr. Waite chimed in. 'Destroyed? I'd like to see anyone attempt to destroy my specimen. I'd show him what's what! There's still a law in the land.'

'You'll promise me, won't you, John, not to eat any of it while I am away?' Mrs. Waite spoke as though her presence should nullify the plant's poisonous quality. Her husband ungraciously conceded the point.

'All right,' he said gruffly. 'I'll promise you that much— though I repeat that I think the whole thing is a scare.'

'Well, if you won't come, I can't make you,' said Ralph, 'but I do beg of you―'

Again he went over the details of Arnold's warning, only to succeed in thinning his father's temper and his own. At last he turned back to Mrs. Waite.

'This is a waste of time. You'd better pack your things and get ready, Mother.'

'You mean now, dear?'

'Yes. At once.'

'Oh, but I couldn't possibly be ready before tomorrow. There are such a lot of things which just have to be finished off.'

Ralph went around again to see Dorothy.

'We'll have to wait until tomorrow,' he told her. 'I can't make them believe there's any danger in delay.'

'Well, one day won't make much difference,' she suggested.

'It might. I want to get you both out of here as soon as possible. Any moment it may be too late.'

'We'll be right away this time tomorrow. Now let's talk about something else.'

'I can't think of anything else. I've heard Arnold on the subject, and you haven't. Let's go out and have a look at the brutes.'

'Hullo,' said Arnold, entering Ralph's office. 'Where the devil have you been for the last two days?'

'Down in Cornwall; trying to make my people clear out.'

'Did you?'

'Got Dorothy and my mother up here. Neither of the fathers would shift—stubborn old fools! What have you been up to?'

Arnold disregarded the question. 'You've done all you could?'

'Of course I have—short of kidnapping the old blighters.'

Arnold looked grave.

'I'm afraid the news is rather serious,' he began. 'The morning after our chat I went round to see a fellow I know at the Ministry of Health, and they welcomed me there with open arms. This thing is a good many times bigger than we thought it was. The authorities have been minimising—didn't want to ruin the holiday traffic, or some rot like that. They told me that there have been hundreds of cases of the rash and several dozen deaths. Not only that, but soon after the dead have been buried those yellow puff-balls start growing from the graves.

'Their experts were as sure as I was that this form of fungus has never been heard of before, and most of us are pretty certain that somebody has been up to some rather ugly crossbreeding, with malice aforethought. They issued orders yesterday that no more of the things were to be planted, but that was useless; already round the centres where the things have burst, the place is littered with the balls.'

'Growing already?'

'Thousands of them, around Newquay and Bodmin and several other places. And nobody dare touch them.'

'But aren't they doing anything—destroying them?'

'How?'

'Can't they—can't they spray them with acids, or something? Do you realise that the first lot hasn't reached its natural bursting point yet? All this second crop is the result of accidental breakage. God knows what will happen if they are allowed to burst.'

'Nobody seems to know how to tackle the situation. But they're not lying down; they see the danger all right, and they're going after it day and night. You can see yourself that the problem is how to destroy the balls without liberating the spores.'

'There must be some way...'

'Oh, they'll find a way, but it's got to be drastic and well organised. The thing they're most anxious about at present is that there shall be no panic. You know what people are like when they lose their heads. If they go wild and start smashing the things wholesale, there'll be hell to pay. You can take it from me that the departments concerned are already making things hum behind the scenes.'

'Meanwhile, the first crop of balls must be pretty nearly ripe...'

Ralph searched the lounge of the hotel where his mother and Dorothy were staying. He eventually found Mrs. Waite occupying a comfortable arm-chair in a secluded corner. He greeted her, and seated himself beside her.

'Where's Dorothy?' he asked a few minutes later. 'Getting ready?'

'Ready?' repeated Mrs. Waite inquiringly.

'We arranged to go out and dance this evening.'

'Oh, dear me, of course. Then you didn't hear from her— she said she would telephone.'

'She didn't. What was it about?'

'Well, she won't be able to go out tonight. You see, she's gone down to Cornwall.'

'She's what?' shouted Ralph, in a voice which echoed across the lounge.

'Yes, dear, she said she felt she must go to Cornwall,' Mrs. Waite repeated placidly.

'But why didn't you stop her? Surely you realise the danger? Good God, she may have caught the rash—she may die of it!'

Mrs. Waite looked a little shocked.

'Well, dear, I did tell her that I didn't think you would like it. But she seemed so anxious about her father—such a nice trait in a young girl, I always think—that I didn't feel it was right to interfere.'