‘The most humane people in the world,’ said he, ‘refuse help to the man who has devoted twenty years of his life to the cause of humanity. Such an anæsthetic as mine would work a revolution in the world of medicine. As I have told you, a man might not only be unconscious whilst a limb was being lopped off, but might remain so until the wound was healed, and then, made free of pain and perfectly well, be able to take his part in the world again.’ ‘It sounds like a fairy-tale,’ said Wyndham, smiling. ‘You have, I suppose, made many experiments?’ ‘On animals, yes—and of late without a single failure; but on a human body, no. As yet no opportunity has been afforded me. Either jealousy or fear has stopped my march, which I feel would be a triumphal one were the road made clear. I tell you I have addressed many leading men of science on the subject. I have asked them to be present. I would have everything above board, as you who know me can testify. I would have all men look on and bear witness to the splendour of my discovery.’ Here again the Professor’s strange deep eyes grew brilliant, once again that queer flash of a youth long ago departed was his. ‘I would have it shown to all the world in a blaze of light. But no man will take heed or listen. They laugh. They scoff. They will not countenance the chance of my killing someone; as if’—violently—‘the loss of one poor human life was to be counted, when the relief of millions is in the balance.’ He sank back as if exhausted, and then went on, his tone hard, yet excited: ‘Now it has come to this. If the chance were given me of trying my discovery on man, woman, or child, I should take it, without the sanction of the authorities, and with it that other chance of being hanged afterwards if the experiment failed.’ ‘You feel so sure as that?’ questioned Wyndham. The old man’s enthusiasm had caught him. He too was looking eager and excited. ‘Sure!’ The Professor rose, gaunt, haggard, and with eyes that flashed fire beneath the pent brows that overhung them. ‘I would stake my soul—nay, more, my reputation—on the success of my discovery. Oh for a chance to prove it!’ At this moment there was a low knock at the door. CHAPTER II. ‘Of all things tired thy lips look weariest.’ * * * * * ‘What shall I do to be for ever known?’