The butler did not answer the summons. Sir William realized that the man must be out; Wilson Guest had probably given the servants an evening's holiday for some purpose of his own.
He crossed the dimly-lit hall, pushed open the baize door which led to the study, and entered his own room.
The fire was burning brightly, the electric lights glowed, but the place was quite empty. On his writing-table were a pile of letters, on a round table set beside the fire was a cold chicken and a bottle of claret.
Obviously his first surmise had been right, and the servants were out.
He left the study, proceeded onwards down the passage and unlocked another door, a door through which no one but himself and Guest were allowed to penetrate, a door that was always kept locked, and which led to the laboratories, mechanical rooms, and invention studios, which had been built out at the back of the house over what were once the tennis lawns, and occupied a considerable area.
Locking the door behind him, Sir William went on down a short passage.
The first door on the right had the letter "A" painted on it in white.
He opened this door and looked in.
The room was empty, though it was brilliantly lit. It was a place filled with large tables, on which there were drawing instruments, sheets of figures and tracings.
Guest was not there.
Closing the door again and passing onward, Sir William entered the chemical laboratory, a long, low place, lit by a sky-light in day, and by electricity at night. As he opened the door quietly, he heard sounds of movement. And then immediately, at the far end of the laboratory, he saw the man he was looking for.
The place was in entire darkness save at one end, where two incandescent bulbs glowed above an experiment table.
The assistant was bending over a Bunsen burner above which a large glass tube was clamped, in which some liquid was boiling.
Suddenly he heard Sir William's advancing footsteps, and leapt up. For a single moment the grey-pink hairless face was suffused with furtive terror at the sound. It shone out in the light of the lamps clear and distinct, though the lower part of the body was hidden by the darkness.
"Here you are then," Gouldesbrough said. "The whole house seems deserted."
Guest sighed with relief, and then began to titter in his curious, almost feminine, way--
"By Jove!" he said, "you startled me, William. I had no idea when you'd be back. My nerves are like lumps of wet velvet. He! he!"
His hand shook as he came forward to greet his chief. Sir William knew well that this man was a consistent and secret drunkard, and he never made any comment on the fact. Guest was at liberty to do exactly as he pleased, to gratify his vices to the full--because Guest, drunk or sober, was a complete and brilliant helper, and because Sir William not only could not do without him, but knew that the man was his, body and mind, so long as he was allowed to indulge himself as he would. Yet, as the greater man shook hands with the lesser, he was conscious of a sudden thrill of repulsion at the filthy fears of the sensualist.
"Yes, I'm back," Gouldesbrough answered, "and everything has gone very well. I suppose you have seen that Eustace Charliewood killed himself?"
"Yes, I did," Guest answered, "and for a few hours I was considerably troubled about it. Then I saw by the paper that you were down there, so I knew it would be all right. He never said anything, of course, or left anything behind him?"
"Only a letter to me, which I destroyed."
"Good," Guest answered, and his interest in Eustace Charliewood and his end ceased immediately. "Well, I've lots to tell you. I've gone as far as I could on my own lines, but I've been longing for you to come back.
My dear William, it's simply splendid! How right you have been always!
How absolutely necessary it was to have a living brain to experiment on!"
"How is the man, in good health?"
"Well, of course there's been a considerable waste of tissue, and the absolute lack of exercise has had its effect. But the cell is well ventilated with an electric fan which I keep constantly going, and I allow the subject to read two or three hours every day--such books as he may ask for. The rest of the time I turn out the light, after I have fixed on the cap. I find that the thought images thrown upon the screen in room "D" are more vivid when the subject is kept in darkness. Still, speaking as a whole, the physical health is good, and it's singular how vivid the thought pictures are, which shows that the cerebrum is in a perfectly strong and healthy condition. As you know, it is from that part of the brain we get all our voluntary and actual pictures; therefore, we are to be congratulated that there is no weakness in that regard so far. Still, when you came in, I was just preparing a phosphate solution which I'm going to mix with the subject's soup, which he will take in an hour or so. Three or four days' phosphate treatment will intensify the vibrations within the magnetic field of the cap. I was doing this in view of your return, when we shall really begin to experiment seriously."
"Have you had any trouble, physical trouble I mean, with the subject?"
Gouldesbrough asked.
"Oh, no," Guest replied indifferently. "Of course he's as strong as a horse, but the aluminium fetters and the system of india-rubber cord that you suggested, have proved all that was necessary. I can render him quite helpless directly I get inside the cell and before he could possibly reach me. Then fitting the cap is a simple matter. The head is rigid in the vulcanite depression which encloses the neck, and there is no resistance at all."
"Good," Gouldesbrough answered. "Curiously enough, I found that design in a strange old book published at the time of the Reformation, detailing some of the methods of the Holy Office in Spain, with appropriate wood cuts."
Guest chuckled horribly.
"Of course as yet," Gouldesbrough went on in calm, even tones, "the subject has not the slightest idea what the experiments mean? He doesn't know why you fit on the receiver? He is quite in the dark?"
"Entirely," Guest answered, "and he is at a loss to imagine what we are doing to him."
"Ah, well," Gouldesbrough replied, "when we do tell him----"
"It will be lovely," the assistant replied, tittering once more, "to watch the pictures that come on the screen when he knows that we are reading his inmost thoughts when he tries to control them, to alter them, and fails in his agony! When he realizes that he doesn't belong to himself any more!"
The creature rubbed its plump and delicate hands together in an ecstasy of evil enjoyment.
"I suppose," Gouldesbrough said with some slight hesitation, "you've gathered a good deal of the fellow's opinions, memories, etc., lately?"
"Never had such an amusing time in all my life," Guest answered. "I've gone down and put on the cap and tied him up, and I've come up and sat alone in front of the screen in Room "D," turned on the generating current and sat in an arm-chair with a bottle of whisky at my side, and laughed till I cried! You'll learn a few home truths about yourself, William, before very long. The curious thing is, that whenever your picture comes upon the screen, it's all distorted. You are a fairly passable-looking man, as men go, William, but you should see yourself as this man sees you in his brain."
He laughed once more, malicious and horrible laughter which echoed high up in the sky-light of this weird and empty place.
Gouldesbrough made an impatient movement.
"How do you mean?" he said.
"Well," Guest answered, intensely enjoying the situation, "I've seen a good many pictures of nasty ugly looking devils and monsters, and I've been in the Weirtz Museum at Brussels, but no artist who ever painted or drew, and no man who ever modelled in wax, ever made such a face as this man's brain makes of you, when he thinks of you!"
Gouldesbrough laughed grimly.
"Poor devil," he said indifferently, "he naturally would. But I'm glad we have got such an excellent brain for experiment. The Pons Varolii must be exceptionally active."
"I should think it was," Guest answered. "You should see the pictures that come on the screen when he is thinking of Marjorie Poole!"
Gouldesbrough started.
"How do you mean?" he said.
"Well," Guest replied, turning off the blue flame of the Bunsen burner, and stirring the mixture in the test-tube with a glass rod--"well, Marjorie Poole's a pretty girl, but when this man calls her up in his memory, she's a sort of angel. You know what a difficulty we had when we got over the Lithium lines in the ash of the muscular tissue of the blood, which had to be translated through the new spectroscope into actual colour upon the screen? Well, we did get over it, but when the subject thinks of Marjorie Poole, the colour all fades out of the picture, the actual primary colours, I mean. The girl flashes out into the dark in white light, like a sort of angel! and the first time I saw it I jumped up from my chair, shut off the connecting switch and turned up the lamps. It was so unlike any of the other pictures we have ever got, and for a moment I thought I had been over-doing it a little in the whisky line."
Gouldesbrough stopped the strange inhuman creature in his unholy amusement.
"Well, I'm going to bed now," he said. "We'll begin work to-morrow. I saw some supper put out for me in the study."
"Right oh," Guest answered. "Good-night then, William. I'm going to take the beef broth and phosphates to our Brain down below in the cell."