The Black Cloud

News of Departure

Paradoxically, although the episode of the hydrogen rockets had created a host of bitter and implacable enemies, in the short term the position of Kingsley and his friends was greatly strengthened thereby. The reversing of the rockets had given terrible proof of the power of the Cloud. No one outside Nortonstowe now doubted that the Cloud would wreak terrible destruction if called upon to do so by the group at Nortonstowe. It was pointed out in Washington that even if there had been some doubt originally about the Cloud’s willingness to take Kingsley’s part, there could surely be none now, not if the Cloud had any conception of a quid pro quo. The possibility of wiping out Nortonstowe by the use of an intercontinental rocket was considered. Although the likelihood of strong objection by the British Government was discounted, largely because the British Government’s own position in the whole business was thought highly suspect, the scheme was soon abandoned. It was considered that the accuracy of delivery of such a rocket was inadequate for the purpose; an abortive bombardment would, it was thought, lead to swift and dreadful retaliation.

Perhaps equally paradoxically, the undoubted strengthening of their bluff did not improve the spirits of the people at Nortonstowe or at least of those who were aware of the facts of the matter. Among these Weichart was now included. He had recovered from a severe attack of influenza that had prostrated him during the critical days. Soon his inquiring mind unearthed the main facts of the case, however. One day he got into an argument with Alexandrov that the others found amusing. This was a rare occurrence. The early comparatively carefree days had gone now. They were never to return.

“It looks to me as if those perturbations of the rockets must have been deliberately engineered,” began Weichart.

“Why do you say that, Dave?’ asked Marlowe.

“Well, the probability of three cities being hit by a hundred odd rockets moving at random is obviously very small. Therefore I conclude that the rockets were not perturbed at random. I think they must have been deliberately guided to give direct hits.”

“There’s something of an objection to that,” argued McNeil. “If the rockets were deliberately guided, how is it that only three of ’em found their targets?”

“Maybe only three were guided, or maybe the guiding wasn’t all that good. I wouldn’t know.”

There was a derisive laugh from Alexandrov.

“Bloody argument,” he asserted.

“What d’you mean “bloody argument”?”

“Invent bloody argument, like this. Golfer hits ball. Ball lands on tuft of grass — so. Probability ball landed on tuft very small, very very small. Million others tufts for ball to land on. Probability very small, very very very small. So golfer did not hit ball, ball deliberately guided on tuft. Is bloody argument. Yes? Like Weichart’s argument.”

This was the longest speech that any of them had heard from Alexandrov.

Weichart was not to be budged. When the laugh had subsided he returned to his point.

“It seems clear enough to me. If the things were guided they’d be far more likely to hit their targets than if they moved at random. And since they did hit their targets it seems equally clear that they were more probably guided than that they were not.”

Alexandrov waved in a rhetorical gesture.

“Is bloody, yes?”

“What Alexis means I think,” explained Kingsley, “is that we are not justified in supposing that there were any particular targets. The fallacy in the argument about the golfer lies in choosing a particular tuft of grass as a target, when obviously the golfer didn’t think of it in those terms before he made his shot.”

The Russian nodded.

“Must say what dam’ target is before shoot, not after shoot. Put shirt on before, not after event.”

“Because only prediction is important in science?”

“Dam’ right. Weichart predict rockets guided. All right, ask Cloud. Only way decide. Cannot be decided by argument.”

This brought their attention to a depressing circumstance. Since the affair of the rockets, all communications from the Cloud had ceased. And nobody had felt sufficiently self-confident to attempt to call it.

“It doesn’t look to me as if the Cloud would welcome such a question. It looks as if it’s withdrawn in a huff,” remarked Marlowe.

But Marlowe was wrong, as they learned two or three days later. A surprising message was received saying that the Cloud would start moving away from the Sun in about ten days’ time.

“It’s incredible,” said Leicester to Parkinson and Kingsley. “Previously the Cloud seems to have been quite certain that it was staying for at least fifty years and perhaps for more than a hundred.” Parkinson was worried.

“I must say it’s a grim prospect for us now. Once the Cloud has quit we’re finished. There isn’t a court of law in the world that would support us. How long can we expect to maintain communication with the Cloud?”

“Oh, so far as the strengths of transmitters are concerned, we could keep in touch for twenty years or more, even if the Cloud accelerates to a pretty high speed. But according to the Cloud’s last message we shan’t be able to maintain contact at all while it’s accelerating. It seems as if electrical conditions will be pretty chaotic in its outer parts. There’ll be far too much electrical “noise” for communication to be possible. So we can’t expect to get any messages across until the accelerating process stops, and that may take several years.”

“Heavens, Leicester, you mean that we’ve got ten days more, and then we can do nothing for a number of years?”

“That’s right.”

Parkinson groaned.

“Then we’re finished. What can we do?”

Kingsley spoke for the first time.

“Nothing much probably. But at least we can find out why the Cloud has decided to push off. It seems to have changed its mind pretty drastically and there must be some strong reason for that. It ought to be worth trying to find out what it is. Let’s see what it’s got to say.”

“Maybe we won’t get any reply at all,” said Leicester gloomily.

But they did get a reply:

“The answer to your question is difficult for me to explain since it seems to involve a realm of experience about which neither I nor you know anything. On previous occasions we have not discussed the nature of human religious beliefs. I found these highly illogical, and as I gathered that you did too, there seemed no point in raising the subject. By and large, conventional religion, as many humans accept it, is illogical in its attempt to conceive of entities lying outside the Universe. Since the Universe comprises everything, it is evident that nothing can lie outside it. The idea of a “god” creating the Universe is a mechanistic absurdity clearly derived from the making of machines by men. I take it that we are in agreement about all this.

“Yet many mysterious questions remain. Probably you have wondered whether a larger-scale intelligence than your own exists. Now you know that it does. In a like fashion I ponder on the existence of a larger-scale intelligence than myself. There is none within the Galaxy, and none within other galaxies so far as I am yet aware. Yet there is strong evidence, I feel, that such an intelligence does play an overwhelming part in our existence. Otherwise how is it decided how matter shall behave? How are your laws of physics determined? Why those laws and no others?

“These problems are of outstanding difficulty, so difficult that I have not been able to solve them. What is clear however is that such an intelligence, if it exists, cannot be spatially or temporally limited in any way.

“Although I say these problems are of extreme difficulty there is evidence that they can be solved. Some two thousand million years ago one of us claimed to have reached a solution.

“A transmission was sent out making this claim, but before the solution itself was broadcast the transmission came to an abrupt end. Attempts were made to re-establish contact with the individual concerned, but the attempts were not successful. Nor could any physical trace of the individual be found.

“The same pattern of events occurred again about four hundred million years ago. I remember it well, for it happened soon after my own birth. I remember receiving a triumphant message to say that a solution to the deep problems had been found. I waited with “bated breath”, as you would say, for the solutions, but once again none came. Nor again was any trace found of the individual concerned.

“This same sequence of events has just been repeated for a third time. It happens that the one who claimed the great discovery was situated only a little more than two light years from here. I am his nearest neighbour and it is therefore necessary for me to proceed to the scene without delay. This is the reason for my departure.”

Kingsley picked up a microphone.

“What can you hope to discover when you reach the scene of whatever it is that has happened? We take it that you are possessed of an ample reserve of food?”

The reply came:

“Thank you for your concern. I do possess a reserve of food chemicals. It is not ample, but it should be sufficient, provided I travel at maximum speed. I have considered the possibility of delaying my departure for a number of years, but I do not think this justified in the circumstances. As regards what I hope to find, I hope to be able to settle an old controversy. It has been argued, not I think very plausibly, that these singular occurrences arise from an abnormal neurological condition followed by suicide. It is not unknown for a suicide to take the form of a vast nuclear explosion causing an entire disintegration of the individual. If this should have happened, then the failures to discover material traces of the individuals in these strange cases could be explained.

“In the present instance it ought to be possible for me to put this theory to a decisive test, for the incident, whatever it may be, has occurred so near by that I can reach the scene in only two or three hundred years. This is so short a time that the debris from the explosion, if there has been an explosion, should not have entirely dispersed by then.”

At the end of this message Kingsley looked round the lab.

“Now, chaps, this is probably one of our last chances to ask questions. Suppose we make a list of them. Any suggestions?”

“Well, what can have happened to these johnnies, if they haven’t committed suicide? Ask it if it’s got any ideas on that,” said Leicester.

“And we’d also like to know whether it’s going to leave the solar system in such a way as not to harm the Earth,” remarked Parkinson.

Marlowe nodded.

“That’s right. There seem to be three possible troubles:

“Right-ho then. Let’s put these questions.”

The Cloud’s reply was more reassuring over Marlowe’s questions than they had expected.

“I have these points actively in mind,” it said. “I am intending to provide a screen to protect the Earth during the early stages of the acceleration, which will be a great deal more violent than the deceleration that occurred when I came in. Without this screen you would be so severely scorched that all life on the Earth would undoubtedly be destroyed. It will, however, be necessary for the screening material to move across the Sun, the light from which will be cut off for perhaps a fortnight; but this, I imagine, will not cause any permanent harm. In the later stages of my retreat there will be a certain amount of reflected sunlight, but this extra heat will not be so great as it must have been at the time of my arrival.

“It is difficult to give an answer to your other question that would be intelligible to you in the present state of your science. Crudely expressed, it seems as if there may be inherent limitations of a physical nature to the type of information that can be exchanged between intelligences. The suspicion is that an absolute bar exists to the communication of information relating to the deep problems. It seems as if any intelligence that attempts to pass on such information gets itself swallowed up in space, that is, space closes about it in such a fashion that no communication of any sort with other individuals of a similar hierarchy is possible.”

“Do you understand that, Chris?’ said Leicester.

“No, I don’t. But there’s another question that I want to ask.”

Kingsley then asked his question:

“You will have noticed that we have made no attempt to ask for information concerning physical theories and facts that are not known to us. This omission was not due to any lack of interest, but because we felt ample opportunities would present themselves at a later stage. Now it appears that the opportunities will not present themselves. Have you any suggestions as to how we may occupy what little time remains to the best advantage?”

The answer came:

“This is a matter to which I have also given some attention. There is a crucial difficulty here. Our discussions have been carried out in your language. We have therefore been limited to ideas that can be understood in terms of your language, which is to say that we have been essentially limited to the things you know already. No rapid communication of radically new knowledge is possible unless you learn something of my language.

“This raises two points, one of practice and the other the vital issue of whether the human brain possesses an adequate neurological capacity. To the latter question I know no certain answer, but there seems to be some evidence that justifies a measure of optimism. The explanations that are usually offered to explain the incidence of men of outstanding genius seem certainly wrong. Genius is not a biological phenomenon. A child does not possess genius at birth: genius is learned. Biologists who maintain otherwise ignore the facts of their own science, namely that the human species has not been selected for genius, nor is there evidence that genius is transmitted between parent and child.

“The infrequency of genius is to be explained in simple probabilities. A child must learn a great deal before it reaches adult life. Processes such as the multiplying of numbers can be learned in a variety of ways. This is to say, the brain can develop in a number of ways, all enabling it to multiply numbers, but not all with by any means the same facility. Those who develop in a favourable way are said to be “good” at arithmetic, while those who develop inefficient ways are said to be “bad” or “slow”. Now what decides how a particular person develops? The answer is — chance. And chance accounts for the difference between the genius and the dullard. The genius is one who has been lucky in all his processes of learning. The dullard is the reverse, and the ordinary person is one who has neither been particularly lucky nor particularly unlucky.”

“I’m afraid I’m far too much of a dullard to understand what it’s talking about. Can anybody explain?’ remarked Parkinson during a pause in the message.

“Well, granted that learning can occur in a number of ways, some better than others, I suppose it does reduce to a matter of chance,” answered Kingsley. “To take an analogy, it’s rather like a football pool. If the brain is to develop in the most efficient manner, not only in one learning process but in a dozen or more, well, it’s like getting every match right in a penny points pool.”

“I see. And that explains why the genius is such a rare bird, I suppose,” exclaimed Parkinson.

“Yes, it’s as rare or rarer than winners of a big pool. It also explains why a genius can’t pass his faculties to his children. Luck isn’t a commodity with a strong inheritance.”

The Cloud resumed its message:

“All this suggests that the human brain is inherently capable of a far improved performance, provided learning is always induced in the best way. And this is what I would propose to do. I propose that one or more of you should attempt to learn my method of thinking and that this be induced as profitably as possible. Quite evidently the learning process must lie outside your language, so that communication will have to proceed in a very different fashion. Of your sense organs, the best suited to the receiving of complex information is your eyes. It is true that you scarcely use the eyes in ordinary language, but it is mainly through the eyes that a child builds up his picture of the intricate world around him. And it is through the eyes that I intend to open up a new world to you.

“My requirements will be comparatively simple. I will now describe them.”

Then followed technical details that were carefully noted by Leicester. When the Cloud had finished Leicester remarked:

“Well, this isn’t going to be too difficult. A number of filter circuits and a whole bank of cathode ray tubes.”

“But how are we to get the information?’ asked Marlowe.

“Well, of course primarily by radio, then through the discriminating circuits which filter different bits of the messages to the various tubes.”

“There are codes for the various filters.”

“That’s right. So some sort of an ordered pattern can be put on the tubes, although it beats me as to what we shall be able to make of it.”

“We’d better get on with it. We’ve got little enough time,” said Kingsley.

During the next twenty-four hours there was a sharp improvement of morale at Nortonstowe. It was a comparatively light-hearted expectant company that assembled before the newly-built equipment on the following evening.

“Beginning to snow,” remarked Barnett.

“It looks to me as if we’re in for a devil of a winter, quite apart from another fortnight of Arctic night,” said Weichart.

“Any idea what this pantomime is about?”

“None at all. I can’t see what we can hope to pick up by staring at these tubes.”

“Nor I.”

The Cloud’s first message caused some confusion:

“It will be convenient if only one person is concerned, at any rate to begin with. Later on it may be possible for me to instruct others.”

“But I thought we were all to get a grandstand seat,” someone remarked.

“No, it’s fair enough,” said Leicester. “If you look carefully you can see that the tubes are specially orientated to suit someone sitting in this particular chair, here. We had special instructions about the seating arrangements. I don’t know what it all means, but I hope we’ve got everything right.”

“Well, it looks as though we’ll have to call for a volunteer,” Marlowe exclaimed. “Who is for the first sitting?”

There was a long pause that almost grew into an embarrassed silence. At length Weichart moved forward.

“If everybody else is too bashful, I guess I’m willing to be first guinea pig.”

McNeil gave him a long look.

“There’s just one point, Weichart. You realize that this business may carry with it an element of danger? You’re quite clear on that, I suppose?”

Weichart laughed.

“Don’t worry about that. This won’t be the first time I’ve spent a few hours watching cathode ray tubes.”

“ Very well, then. If you’re willing to try, by all means take the chair.”

“Be careful about the chair, Dave. Maybe Harry’s wired it up specially for you,” grinned Marlowe.

Shortly after this, lights began to flash on the tubes.

“Joe’s starting up,” said Leicester.

Whether there was any pattern associated with the lights was difficult to tell.

“What’s he saying, Dave? Getting the message?’ asked Barnett.

“Nothing I can understand,” remarked Weichart, throwing a leg over his chair. “Looks a pretty random unintelligible jumble. Still I’ll keep on trying to make some sense out of it.”

Time dragged on in a desultory way. Most of the company lost interest in the flickering lights. Multi-way conversations broke out and Weichart was left to a lonely vigil. At length Marlowe asked him:

“How’s it going, Dave?”

No answer.

“Hey, Dave, what’s going on?”

Still no answer.

“Dave!”

Marlowe and McNeil came one to each side of Weichart’s chair.

“Dave, why don’t you answer?”

McNeil touched him on the shoulder, but there was still no response. They watched his eyes, fixed on first one group of tubes, then flicking quickly to another.

“What is it, John?’ asked Kingsley.

“I think he’s in some hypnotic state. He doesn’t seem to be noticing any sense data except from the eyes, and they seem to be directed only at the tubes.”

“How could it have happened?”

“A hypnotic condition induced by visual means is not by any means unknown.”

“You think it was deliberately induced?”

“It seems more than likely. I can scarcely believe it could have happened by accident. And watch the eyes. See how they move. This is not a chance business. It looks purposive, very purposive.”

“I wouldn’t have said Weichart was a likely subject for a hypnotist.”

“Nor would I. It looks extremely formidable, and very singular.”

“What do you mean?’ asked Marlowe.

“Well, although an ordinary human hypnotist might use some visual method for inducing a hypnotic state, he’d never use a purely visual medium for conveying information. A hypnotist talks to a subject, he conveys meaning with words. But there are no words here. That’s why it is damn strange.”

“It’s funny you should have warned Dave. Had you any idea this would happen, McNeil?”

“No, not in detail, of course. But recent developments in neurophysiology have shown up some extremely queer effects when lights are flashed in the eyes at rates that match closely with scanning speeds in the brain. And then it was obvious that the Cloud couldn’t do what it said it would do unless something pretty remarkable happened.”

Kingsley came up to the chair.

“Do you think we ought to do something? Pull him away, perhaps. We could easily do that.”

“I wouldn’t advise it, Chris. He’d probably struggle violently and it might be dangerous. Best on the whole to leave him. He went into it with his eyes open, literally and figuratively. I’ll stay with him of course. The rest of you ought to clear out, though. Leave somebody who can carry a message — Stoddard will do — and then I can call you if anything crops up.”

“All right. We’ll be ready in case you need us,” agreed Kingsley.

Nobody really wanted to leave the lab, but it was realized that McNeil’s suggestion had much to recommend it.

“Wouldn’t do to have the whole party hypnotized,” remarked Barnett. “I only hope old Dave will be all right,” he added anxiously.

“We could, I suppose, have switched the gear off. But McNeil seemed to think that might cause trouble. Shock, I suppose.” This from Leicester.

“It beats me as to what information Dave can be getting,” said Marlowe.

“Well, we shall know soon enough, I expect. I don’t suppose the Cloud will go on for many hours. It’s never done so in the past,” observed Parkinson.

But the transmission turned out to be a long one. As the hours advanced the members of the company retired severally to bed.

Marlowe expressed the general opinion:

“Well, we’re not doing Dave any good, and we’re missing sleep. I think I shall try to snatch an hour or two.”

Kingsley was woken by Stoddard.

“Doctor wants you, Dr Kingsley.”

Kingsley found that Stoddard and McNeil had managed to move Weichart to one of the bedrooms, so evidently the business was finished, at any rate for the time being.

“What is it, John?’ he asked.

“I don’t like the position, Chris. His temperature is rising rapidly. There isn’t much point in your going in to see him. He’s not in a coherent state, and not like to be with a temperature at 104°.”

“Have you any idea what’s wrong?”

“I obviously can’t be sure, because I’ve never encountered a case like this before. But if I didn’t know what had happened, I’d have said Weichart was suffering from an inflammation of brain tissue.”

“That’s very serious, isn’t it?”

“Extremely so. There’s very little that any of us can do for him, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“Yes, of course. Have you any idea what may have caused it?”

“Well, I’d say too high a rate of working, too great a demand of the neurological system on all the supporting tissues. But again it’s only an opinion.”

Weichart’s temperature continued to rise during the day, and in the late afternoon he died.

For professional reasons McNeil would have liked to perform an autopsy, but out of consideration for the feelings of the others he decided against it. He kept his own company, thinking gloomily that somehow he ought to have foreseen the tragedy and taken steps to prevent it. But he had not foreseen it, nor did he foresee the events that were to follow. The first warning came from Ann Halsey. She was in a hysterical condition when she accosted McNeil.

“John, you must do something. It’s Chris. He’s going to kill himself.”

“What!”

“He’s going to do the same as Dave Weichart. I’ve been trying for hours to persuade him not to, but he won’t take any notice of me. He says he’s going to tell the Thing to go slower, that it was the speed that killed Dave. Is that true?”

“It might be. I don’t know for sure, but it’s quite possible.”

“Tell me frankly, John, is there any chance?”

“There might be. I just don’t know enough to offer any definite opinion.”

“Then you must stop him!”

“I’ll try. I’ll go along and talk to him straight away. Where is he?”

“In the labs. Talking’s no use. He’ll have to be stopped by force. It’s the only way.”

McNeil made straight for the transmitting lab. The door was locked, so he hammered hard on it. Kingsley’s voice came faintly.

“Who is it?”

“It’s McNeil. Let me in, will you?”

The door opened and McNeil saw as he stepped inside the room that the equipment was switched on.

“Ann has just been and told me, Chris. Don’t you think it’s just a little crazy, especially within a few hours of Weichart’s death?”

“You don’t suppose I like this idea, do you, John? I can assure you that I find life just as pleasant as anyone else. But it’s got to be done and it’s got to be done now. The chance will have gone in not much more than a week, and it’s a chance that we humans simply can’t afford to miss. After poor Weichart’s experience it wasn’t likely that anyone else would come forward, so I’ve got to do it myself. I’m not one of those courageous fellows who can contemplate danger placidly. If I’ve got a sticky job to do I prefer to get on with it straight away — saves thinking about it.”

“This is all very well, Chris, but you’re not going to do anybody any good by killing yourself.”

“That’s absurd, and you know it. The stakes in this business are very high, they’re so high as to be worth playing for, even if the chance of winning isn’t very great. That’s point number one. Point number two is that maybe I stand a pretty fair chance. I’ve already been on to the Cloud, telling it to go much slower. It has agreed to do so. You yourself said that might avoid the worst of the trouble.”

“It might. Then again it might not. Also, if you avoid Weichart’s trouble, there may be other dangers that we know nothing about.”

“Then you’ll know about them from my case, which will make it easier for someone else, just as it is a little easier for me than it was for Weichart. It’s no good, John. I’m quite resolved, and I’m going to start in a few more minutes.”

McNeil saw that Kingsley was beyond persuasion.

“Well, anyway,” he said, “I take it you’ll have no objection to my staying here. It took about ten hours with Weichart. With you it’s going to take longer. You’ll need food in order to keep a proper blood supply to your brain.”

“But I can’t stop off to eat, man! Do you realize what this means? It means learning a whole new field of knowledge, learning in just one lesson!”

“I’m not suggesting that you stop off for a meal. I’m suggesting that I give you injections from time to time. Judging by Weichart’s condition, you won’t feel it.”

“Oh, I am not worried about that. Inject away if it makes you happy. But sorry, John, I must get down to this business.”

It is unnecessary to repeat the following events in detail, since they followed much the same pattern in Kingsley’s case as they had with Weichart. The hypnotic condition lasted longer however, nearly two days. At the end he was carried to bed under McNeil’s direction. During the next few hours symptoms developed that were alarmingly similar to those of Weichart. Kingsley’s temperature rose to 102°… 103°… 104°. But then it steadied, stopped, and, as hour followed hour, fell slowly. And as it fell, the hopes rose of those round his bed, notably McNeil and Ann Halsey who never left him, and Marlowe, Parkinson, and Alexandrov.

Consciousness returned about thirty-six hours after the end of the Cloud’s transmission. For some minutes an uncanny series of expressions flitted across Kingsley’s face: some were well known to the watchers, others were wholly alien. The full horror of Kingsley’s condition developed suddenly. It began with an uncontrolled twitching of the face, and with incoherent muttering. This quickly developed into shouting and then into wild screams.

“My God, he’s in some sort of fit,” exclaimed Marlowe.

At length the attack subsided under an injection from McNeil, who thereupon insisted on being left alone with the demented man. Throughout the day the others from time to time heard muffled cries which then died away under repeated injections.

Marlowe managed to persuade Ann Halsey to take a walk with him in the afternoon. It was the most difficult walk in his experience.

In the evening he was sitting in his room gloomily when McNeil walked in, a McNeil gaunt and hollow-eyed.

“He’s gone,” announced the Irishman

“My God, what a dreadful tragedy, an unnecessary tragedy.”

“Aye, man, a bigger tragedy than you realize.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean it was touch and go whether he saved himself. In the afternoon he was sane for nearly an hour. He told me what the trouble was. He fought it down and as the minutes passed I thought he was going to win out. But it wasn’t to be. He got into another attack and it killed him.”

“But what was it?”

“Something obvious, that we ought to have foreseen. What we didn’t allow for was the tremendous quantity of new material which the cloud seems able to impress on the brain. This of course means that there must be widespread changes of the structure of a mass of electrical circuits in the brain, changes of synaptic resistances on a big scale, and so on.”

“You mean it was a sort of gigantic brain-washing?”

“No, it wasn’t. That’s just the point. There was no washing. The old methods of operation of the brain were not washed out. They were left unimpaired. The new was established alongside the old, so that both were capable of working simultaneously.”

“You mean that it was as if my knowledge of science were suddenly added to the brain of an ancient Greek.”

“Yes, but perhaps in a more extreme form. Can you imagine the fierce contradictions that would arise in the brain of your poor Greek, accustomed to such notions as the Earth being the centre of the Universe and a hundred and one other such anachronisms, suddenly becoming exposed to the blast of your superior knowledge?”

“I suppose it would be pretty bad. After all we get quite seriously upset if just one of our cherished scientific ideas turns out wrong.”

“Yes, think of a religious person who suddenly loses faith, which means of course that he becomes aware of a contradiction between his religious and his non-religious beliefs. Such a person often experiences a severe nervous crisis. And Kingsley’s case was a thousand times worse. He was killed by the sheer violence of his nervous activity, in a popular phrase by a series of unimaginably fierce brain-storms.”

“But you said he nearly got over it.”

“That’s right, he did. He realized what the trouble was and evolved some sort of plan for dealing with it. Probably he decided to accept as rule that the new should always supersede the old whenever there was trouble between them. I watched him for a whole hour systematically going through his ideas along some such lines. As the minutes ticked on I thought the battle was won. Then it happened. Perhaps it was some unexpected conjunction of thought patterns that took him unaware. At first the disturbance seemed small, but then it began to grow. He tried desperately to fight it down. But evidently it gained the upper hand — and that was the end. He died under the sedative I was forced to give him. I think it was a kind of chain reaction in his thoughts that got out of control.”

“Will you have a whisky? I ought to have asked before.”

“Aye, I think now I will, thank you.”

As Marlowe handed over a glass, he said:

“Don’t you think Kingsley was a bad choice for this business? Wouldn’t someone of a far slighter intellectual calibre have really been more suitable? If it was contradictions between the old knowledge and the new that destroyed him, then surely someone with very little old knowledge would have done better?”

McNeil looked over his glass.

“It’s funny, it’s funny you should say that. During one of his later sane spells Kingsley remarked — I’ll try to remember his exact words — “The height of irony,” he said, “is that I should experience this singular disaster, while someone like Joe Stoddard would have been quite all right.” ”