“Yet, assuming, Mr. Murdwell,” said the vicar solemnly, “that your theory is correct and that you are able to do all this, what do you suppose will be the future of the human race?” Mr. Murdwell did not answer the question at once. When answer he did, it was in a voice of much gravity. “There we come up against something that won’t bear looking at. Strictly speaking, the human race has no future. Unless another spirit comes into the world the human race is doomed.” “Undoubtedly,” said the vicar. “Science can destroy organic life quicker than nature can replace it. And what it does now is very little compared to what it may do a few years hence.” “Quite so,” said the vicar. “The vistas opened up by Murdwell’s Law in the way of self-immolation don’t bear thinking about. A time is coming when it may be possible to sweep a whole continent bare of life from end to end.” “And that, my friend, is a logical outcome of materialism, the negation of God.” “Not a doubt of it,” said Mr. Murdwell, in his dry way. “It seems to me that some of you gentlemen in broadcloth will soon have to think about putting in a bit of overtime.” XXVI GOING home with Edith in his host’s car, the vicar was thoughtful and depressed. He had enjoyed his evening, he had been entertained, even exhilarated by it, yet in a curious, subtle way it had shown him the writing on the wall. His host was a portent. Regard as one would this lean-faced, church-going American, he was a very sinister phenomenon. The vicar had little or no imagination, but he saw that Mr. Murdwell’s conclusions were inescapable. For the next few days, however, Mr. Perry-Hennington was not able to give much attention to the doom of mankind. There were matters nearer at hand. He led a busy life in his parish, and in the larger parish of his local world. A mighty sitter on committees, a born bureaucrat, it was hardly his fault that he was less a spiritual force than a man of business. He was an extremely conscientious worker, never sparing himself in the service of others, yet that service connoted the common weal rather than the personal life.