"Let's hope he's an angel," said the other. "But, by his face, he looks more like the other thing. Bill, you go round for the ambulance. I'll stay with the gentleman." The policeman moved away ponderously and vanished in the darkness. "What was that you were saying, sir?" asked the policeman who remained with me. "Never mind," I muttered, "you wouldn't understand." "I'm interested in religious matters," continued the policeman in a soft voice. "You think that the Blue Disease is something out of the common?" I am never surprised at London policemen, but I looked at this one closely before I replied. "You seem a reasonable man," I said. "Let me tell you that what I have told you about the germ--that it confers immortality--is correct. In a day or two you will be immortal." He seemed to reflect in a calm massive way on the news. His eyes were fixed on the dead man's face. "An Immortal Policeman?" "Yes." "You're asking me to believe a lot, sir." "I know that. But still, there it is. It's the truth." "And what about crime?" he continued. "If we were all Immortals, what about crime?" "Crime will become so horrible in its meaning that it will stop." "It hasn't stopped yet...." "Of course not. It won't, till people realize they are immortal." He shifted his lantern and shone it down the road. "Well, sir, it seems to me it will be a long time before people realize _that_. In fact, I don't see how anyone could ever realize it." "Why not?" "Just think," he said, with a large air. "Supposing crime died out, what would happen to the Sunday papers? Where would those lawyers be? What would we do with policemen? No, you can't realize it. You can't realize the things you exist for all vanishing. It's not human nature." He brooded for a time. "You can't do away with crime," he continued. "What's behind crime? Woman and gold--one or the other, or both. Now you don't mean to tell me, sir, that the Blue Disease is doing away with women and gold in a place like Birmingham? Why, sir, what made Birmingham? What do you suppose life is?" "I have never been asked the question before by a policeman," I said. "I do not know what made Birmingham, but I will tell you what life is. It is ultimately a cell, containing protoplasm and a nucleus." A low rumbling noise began somewhere in his vast bulk. It gradually increased to a roar. I became aware that he was laughing. He held his sides. I thought his shining belt would burst. At length his hilarity slowly subsided, and he became sober. He surveyed the dead body at his feet. "No, sir," he said, "don't you believe it. Life is women and gold. It always was that, and it always will be." He shone his lamp downwards so that the light fell on the terrible features of the dead sailor. "Now this man, sir, was killed because of money, I'll wager. And behind the money I reckon you'll find a woman." He mused for a time. "Not necessarily a pretty woman, but a woman of some sort."