dering if----"

There was a silence.

"Yes?"

He started and looked at me.

"Why, you've got it, too!" he exclaimed. "How extraordinary! I hadn't
noticed it." He got to his feet and went to the window. "I suppose I
shall get it next," he muttered.

"Certainly, you'll get it."

He nodded, and continued to stare out of the window. At length he spoke.

"My wife is a woman who has suffered a great deal, Dr. Harden. I have
never had enough money to send her to health resorts, and she has always
refused to avail herself of any institutional help. For the last year
she has been confined to a room on the top floor of our house--a nice,
pleasant room--and it has been an understood thing between Dr. Sykes and
myself that her malady was to be given a convenient name. In fact, we
have called it a weak heart. You understand, of course."

"Perfectly."

"I have always been led to expect that the end was inevitable," he
continued, speaking with sudden rapidity. "Under such circumstances I
made certain plans. I am a careful man, Dr. Harden, and I look ahead and
lay my plans." He stopped abruptly and turned to face me. "Is there any
truth in what you told me the other day?"

I nodded. A curiously haggard expression came over him. He stepped
swiftly towards me and caught my arm.

"Does the germ cure disease?"

"Of course. Your wife is now immortal. You need not be alarmed, Mr.
Clutterbuck. She is immortal. Before her lies a future absolutely free
from suffering. She will rapidly regain her normal health and strength.
Provided she avoids accidents, your wife will live for ever."

"My wife will live forever?" he repeated hoarsely. "Then what will
happen to me?"

"You, too, will live for ever," I said calmly. "Please do not grasp my
arm so violently."

He drew back. He was extremely pale, and there were beads of
perspiration on his brow.

"Are you married?" he asked.

"No."

"Have you any idea what all this means to me if what you say is true?"
he exclaimed. He drew his hand across his eyes. "I am mad to believe you
for an instant. But she is better--there is no denying that. Good God,
if it is true, what a tragedy you have made of human lives!"

He remained standing in the middle of the room, and I, not
comprehending, gazed at him. Then, of a sudden, he picked up his hat,
and muttering something, dashed out and vanished.

I heard the front door bang. Perfectly calm and undisturbed, I rejoined
Sarakoff in the wait