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The Stolen Bacillus and Other Incidents

H. G. Wells

Presently they saw, far ahead, a gap in the sombre darkness where white shafts of hot sunlight smote into the forest. There also was brilliant green undergrowth, and coloured flowers. Then they heard the rush of water. "Here is the river. We should be close to it now," said Hooker. The vegetation was thick by the river bank. Great plants, as yet unnamed, grew among the roots of the big trees, and spread rosettes of huge green fans towards the strip of sky. Many flowers and a creeper with shiny foliage clung to the exposed stems. On the water of the broad, quiet pool which the treasure seekers now overlooked there floated big oval leaves and a waxen, pinkish-white flower not unlike a water-lily. Further, as the river bent away from them, the water suddenly frothed and became noisy in a rapid. "Well?" said Evans. "We have swerved a little from the straight," said Hooker. "That was to be expected." He turned and looked into the dim cool shadows of the silent forest behind them. "If we beat a little way up and down the stream we should come to something." "You said--" began Evans. "_He_ said there was a heap of stones," said Hooker. The two men looked at each other for a moment. "Let us try a little down-stream first," said Evans. They advanced slowly, looking curiously about them. Suddenly Evans stopped. "What the devil's that?" he said. Hooker followed his finger. "Something blue," he said. It had come into view as they topped a gentle swell of the ground. Then he began to distinguish what it was. He advanced suddenly with hasty steps, until the body that belonged to the limp hand and arm had become visible. His grip tightened on the implement he carried. The thing was the figure of a Chinaman lying on his face. The _abandon_ of the pose was unmistakable. The two men drew closer together, and stood staring silently at this ominous dead body. It lay in a clear space among the trees. Near by was a spade after the Chinese pattern, and further off lay a scattered heap of stones, close to a freshly dug hole. "Somebody has been here before," said Hooker, clearing his throat. Then suddenly Evans began to swear and rave, and stamp upon the ground. Hooker turned white but said nothing. He advanced towards the prostrate body. He saw the neck was puffed and purple, and the hands and ankles swollen. "Pah!" he said, and suddenly turned away and went towards the excavation. He gave a cry of surprise. He shouted to Evans, who was following him slowly. "You fool! It's all right It's here still." Then he turned again and looked at the dead Chinaman, and then again at the hole. Evans hurried to the hole. Already half exposed by the ill-fated wretch beside them lay a number of dull yellow bars. He bent down in the hole, and, clearing off the soil with his bare hands, hastily pulled one of the heavy masses out. As he did so a little thorn pricked his hand. He pulled the delicate spike out with his fingers and lifted the ingot. "Only gold or lead could weigh like this," he said exultantly. Hooker was still looking at the dead Chinaman. He was puzzled. "He stole a march on his friends," he said at last. "He came here alone, and some poisonous snake has killed him ... I wonder how he found the place." Evans stood with the ingot in his hands. What did a dead Chinaman signify? "We shall have to take this stuff to the mainland piecemeal, and bury it there for a while. How shall we get it to the canoe?" He took his jacket off and spread it on the ground, and flung two or three ingots into it. Presently he found that another little thorn had punctured his skin. "This is as much as we can carry," said he. Then suddenly, with a queer rush of irritation, "What are you staring at?" Hooker turned to him. "I can't stand ... him." He nodded towards the corpse. "It's so like--" "Rubbish!" said Evans. "All Chinamen are alike." Hooker looked into his face. "I'm going to bury _that_, anyhow, before I lend a hand with this stuff." "Don't be a fool, Hooker," said Evans. "Let that mass of corruption bide." Hooker hesitated, and then his eye went carefully over the brown soil about them. "It scares me somehow," he said. "The thing is," said Evans, "what to do with these ingots. Shall we re-bury them over here, or take them across the strait in the canoe?" Hooker thought. His puzzled gaze wandered among the tall tree-trunks, and up into the remote sunlit greenery overhead. He shivered again as his eye rested upon the blue figure of the Chinaman. He stared searchingly among the grey depths between the trees. "What's come to you, Hooker?" said Evans. "Have you lost your wits?" "Let's get the gold out of this place, anyhow," said Hooker. He took the ends of the collar of the coat in his hands, and Evans took the opposite corners, and they lifted the mass. "Which way?" said Evans. "To the canoe?" "It's queer," said Evans, when they had advanced only a few steps, "but my arms ache still with that paddling." "Curse it!" he said. "But they ache! I must rest." They let the coat down. Evans' face was white, and little drops of sweat stood out upon his forehead. "It's stuffy, somehow, in this forest." Then with an abrupt transition to unreasonable anger: "What is the good of waiting here all the day? Lend a hand, I say! You have done nothing but moon since we saw the dead Chinaman." Hooker was looking steadfastly at his companion's face. He helped raise the coat bearing the ingots, and they went forward perhaps a hundred yards in silence. Evans began to breathe heavily. "Can't you speak?" he said. "What's the matter with you?" said Hooker. Evans stumbled, and then with a sudden curse flung the coat from him. He stood for a moment staring at Hooker, and then with a groan clutched at his own throat. "Don't come near me," he said, and went and leant against a tree. Then in a steadier voice, "I'll be better in a minute." Presently his grip upon the trunk loosened, and he slipped slowly down the stem of the tree until he was a crumpled heap at its foot. His hands were clenched convulsively. His face became distorted with pain. Hooker approached him. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" said Evans in a stifled voice. "Put the gold back on the coat." "Can't I do anything for you?" said Hooker. "Put the gold back on the coat." As Hooker handled the ingots he felt a little prick on the ball of his thumb. He looked at his hand and saw a slender thorn, perhaps two inches in length. Evans gave an inarticulate cry and rolled over. Hooker's jaw dropped. He stared at the thorn for a moment with dilated eyes. Then he looked at Evans, who was now crumpled together on the ground, his back bending and straitening spasmodically. Then he looked through the pillars of the trees and net-work of creeper stems, to where in the dim grey shadow the blue-clad body of the Chinaman was still indistinctly visible. He thought of the little dashes in the corner of the plan, and in a moment he understood. "God help me!" he said. For the thorns were similar to those the Dyaks poison and use in their blowing-tubes. He understood now what Chang-hi's assurance of the safety of his treasure meant. He understood that grin now. "Evans!" he cried. But Evans was silent and motionless now, save for a horrible spasmodic twitching of his limbs. A profound silence brooded over the forest. Then Hooker began to suck furiously at the little pink spot on the ball of his thumb--sucking for dear life. Presently he felt a strange aching pain in his arms and shoulders, and his fingers seemed difficult to bend. Then he knew that sucking was no good. Abruptly he stopped, and sitting down by the pile of ingots, and resting his chin upon his hands and his elbows upon his knees, stared at the distorted but still stirring body of his companion. Chang-hi's grin came in his mind again. The dull pain spread towards his throat and grew slowly in intensity. Far above him a faint breeze stirred the greenery, and the white petals of some unknown flower came floating down through the gloom. PRINTED BY TURNBULL AND SPEARS, EDINBURGH A LIST OF NEW BOOKS AND ANNOUNCEMENTS OF METHUEN AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS: LONDON 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. CONTENTS FORTHCOMING BOOKS POETRY ENGLISH CLASSICS HISTORY BIOGRAPHY GENERAL LITERATURE THEOLOGY LEADERS OF RELIGION WORKS BY S. BARING GOULD FICTION BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS THE PEACOCK LIBRARY UNIVERSITY EXTENSION SERIES SOCIAL QUESTIONS OF TO-DAY CLASSICAL TRANSLATIONS SEPTEMBER 1895. MESSRS. METHUEN'S ANNOUNCEMENTS Poetry and Belles Lettres RUDYARD KIPLING BALLADS. By RUDYARD KIPLING. _Crown 8vo. Buckram_. 6_s._ Also 200 copies on hand-made paper. 21s. Also 35 copies on Japanese vellum. 42s. The exceptional success of 'Barrack-Room Ballads,' with which this volume will be uniform, justifies the hope that the new book too will obtain a wide popularity. W.E. HENLEY ENGLISH LYRICS. Selected and Edited by W.E. HENLEY. _Crown 8vo. Buckram_. 6_s_. Also 30 copies on hand-made paper _Demy 8vo_. 21_s._ Few announcements will be more welcome to lovers of English verse than the one that Mr. Henley is bringing together into one book the finest lyrics in our language. The book will be produced with the same care that made 'Lyra Heroica' delightful to the hand and eye. ANDREW LANG THE POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS. Edited, with Introduction, etc., by ANDREW LANG. With Portraits. _Crown 8vo_. 6_s._ Also 75 copies on hand-made paper. _Demy 8vo_. 21s. 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Constable, are issued in two editions--(1) A small edition, on the finest Japanese vellum, limited in most cases to 25 copies, demy 8vo, 21s. a volume nett; (2) The popular edition on laid paper, crown 8vo, buckram, 3s. 6d. a volume. NEW VOLUMES. THE LIVES OF DONNE, WOTTON, HOOKER, HERBERT, AND SANDERSON. By IZAAK WALTON. With an Introduction by VERNON BLACKBURN, and a Portrait. THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. With an Introduction by JOHN HEPBURN MILLAR, and a Portrait. 3 _vols_. W.M. DIXON A PRIMER OF TENNYSON. By W.M. DIXON, M.A., Professor of English Literature at Mason College. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._ This book consists of (1) a succinct but complete biography of Lord Tennyson; (2) an account of the volumes published by him in chronological order, dealing with the more important poems separately; (3) a concise criticism of Tennyson in his various aspects as lyrist, dramatist, and representative poet of his day; (4) a bibliography. Such a complete book on such a subject, and at such a moderate price, should find a host of readers. FICTION MARIE CORELLI THE SORROWS OF SATAN. By MARIE CORELLI, Author of 'Barabbas,' 'A Romance of Two Worlds,' etc. _Crown 8vo. 6s_. ANTHONY HOPE THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. By ANTHONY HOPE, Author of 'The