Success
have to; it did not seem quite decent.
“This business will kill Sir Joseph,” Lee-Brendon observed—Sir Joseph’s
part had been made plain—“he is an old man for such a thing; I doubt if
he will get over it.”
“That’ll be satisfaction for Annarly, anyway,” Carson said.
“What will?” Casterman asked. “That Sir Joseph won’t get over this
affair? He won’t, that’s true. I saw his face after the judgment
yesterday; I don’t give him a month. But that won’t be any satisfaction
to Annarly—or any dissatisfaction either, it’s”—he laughed rather
grimly—“a by-product.”
“A by-product?”
He nodded. “Do you think it was any satisfaction to Darwin that
the Mosaic Cosmography fell to pieces when he proved the theory of
evolution? I don’t think it was, nor yet any dissatisfaction either; he
was possibly sorry to flutter the theological dove-cotes, but it didn’t
concern him, it was a by-result, an accident which might happen to
anyone out looking for truth in a world where things aren’t all based
on truth. Annarly was out for truth, or, rather, out to establish a few
things; certainly not for vengeance or to get Sir Joseph. Good Lord!
he was probably the man in court with the highest opinion of the old
gentleman when he started! It’s no satisfaction to him that Sir Joseph
came down, possibly he’s a little sorry, but it’s no concern of his—a
by-product of the proving business, that’s all.”
Dawling looked sceptical. “He must be a good deal more indifferent than
most of us, that’s all I can say.”
“He has a different standard of what’s important,” Casterman said.
“Also, he remembers different things and forgets different. Reece
spoke to him in court yesterday—you know Reece, one of the steamship
Reeces, Annarly was with them on the Clyde for a short time after
he left Galhardy’s. I don’t know what Reece said to him, something
congratulatory about winning the case and clearing himself, possibly
something graceful about their own treatment of him—it wasn’t
first-class, I believe. Annarly looked at him as if he had never seen
him before, and had no idea what he was talking about. Then suddenly
something must have tied the man up with steamships in his mind. ‘Oh,
yes,’ he said, ‘I remember, you were interested in internal combustion
engines for big liners. I have done a certain amount of work on that
problem during the last two years; I think I have solved it.’ He spoke
much as if he were saying he had tried a certain brand of cigarettes.
Reece simply collapsed; I nearly laughed outright.”
Dawling looked puzzled. “Brag or bravado?” he asked.
“Neither,” Casterman answered, “simply the one fact that occurred to
him in connection with the man. I have very little doubt but what it is
a fact too; in all probability he has worked out that gigantic problem,
if he says he has; though whether or not he’ll do anything with it is
another matter.”
“Of course he will,” Dawling said. “Why not? He can’t muck things now,
if he tried. I wish I’d half his chance! He’ll fairly race ahead, he
can’t help it, with the start he’s got.”
“He may,” Casterman said, “but I’m not sure. You don’t understand—we
none of us understood when he was here, that that’s not what he really
cares for; it’s doing the thing he cares about, not what comes next;
the importance of a thing should be stated for him in terms of interest
and difficulty, not money value and what we call success. Oh, yes, I
know he made a fight for reward and recognition those years ago when he
was here; but I believe it was more from some queer sense of justice
than ordinary ambition, a youthful exuberance long gone. Even then, had
we understood, I believe we could have dealt with it; we both overrated
and underrated him in those days.”
Carson nodded. “I believe you are right,” he said. “I believe you are.
Where is he now?”
Casterman did not know. “I never got to speak to him while the case
was on,” he said, “though I tried several times; he always disappeared
at lunchtime. Somebody told me he was seen once or twice with an
insignificant-looking woman. There’s a story that he and she used to
get food somewhere and then wander away to one or other of the City
churches. I don’t know if it’s true, but when the court rose yesterday
and he had got through with congratulations and all that, I did see
some such person with him. They passed close to me, and I heard her
say, ‘Are you satisfied with the judgment?’ And he answered, ‘Yes,’ and
then, ‘It, the whole business, rather makes one think of that fellow
Nebuchadnezzar and his finding out that all the inhabitants of the
earth are as nothing; things are a bit small, aren’t they?—including
oneself.’ Next minute he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘I
believe it should be possible to make a reversible turbine,’ he said.
‘It’s always bothered me, but I believe I saw a way to do it in court
to-day. To think I was ever such an ass as to say it couldn’t be done!’”
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH