The Lost World (25 page)
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Gladys!” I cried. “What is the matter? You are my Gladys, are you not—little Gladys Hungerton?”
“No,” said she, “I am Gladys Potts. Let me introduce you to my husband.”
How absurd life is! I found myself mechanically bowing and shaking hands with a little ginger-haired man who was coiled up in the deep armchair which had once been sacred to my own use. We bobbed and grinned in front of each other.
“Father lets us stay here. We are getting our house ready,” said Gladys.
“Oh, yes,” said I.
“You didn’t get my letter at Para, then?”
“No; I got no letter.”
“Oh, what a pity! It would have made all clear.”
“It is quite clear,” said I.
“I’ve told William all about you,” said she. “We have no secrets. I am so sorry about it. But it couldn’t have been so very deep, could it, if you could go off to the other end of the world and leave me here alone. You’re not crabby, are you?”
“No, no, not at all. I think I’ll go.”
“Have some refreshment,” said the little man, and he added, in a confidential way, “It’s always like this ain’t it? And must be unless you had polygamy, only the other way round; you understand.” He laughed like an idiot, while I made for the door.
I was through it, when a sudden fantastic impulse came
upon me, and I went back to my successful rival, who looked nervously at the electric push.
upon me, and I went back to my successful rival, who looked nervously at the electric push.
“Will you answer a question?” I asked.
“Well, within reason,” said he.
“How did you do it? Have you searched for hidden treasure, or discovered a pole, or done time on a pirate, or flown the channel, or what? Where is the glamor of romance? How did you get it?”
He stared at me with a hopeless expression upon his vacuous, good-natured, scrubby little face.
“Don’t you think all this is a little too personal?” he said.
“Well, just one question,” I cried. “What are you? What is your profession?”
“I am a solicitor’s clerk,” said he. “Second man at Johnson and Merivale’s, 41, Chancery Lane.”
“Good-night!” said I, and vanished, like all disconsolate and broken-hearted heroes, into the darkness, with grief and rage and laughter all simmering within me like a boiling pot.
One more little scene, and I have done. Last night we all supped at Lord John Roxton’s rooms, and sitting together afterwards we smoked in good comradeship and talked our adventures over. It was strange under these altered surroundings to see the old, well-known faces and figures. There was Challenger, with his smile of condescension, his drooping eyelids, his intolerant eyes, his aggressive beard, his huge chest, swelling and puffing as he laid down the law to Summerlee. And Summerlee, too, there he was with his short briar between his thin moustache and his grey goat’s-beard, his worn face protruded in eager debate as he queried all Challenger’s propositions. Finally, there was our host with his rugged, eagle face, and his cold, blue, glacier eyes with always a shimmer of devilment
and of humor down in the depths of them. Such is the last picture of them that I have carried away. It was after supper, in his own sanctum—the room of the pink radiance and the innumerable trophies—that Lord John Roxton had something to say to us. From a cupboard he had brought an old cigar box, and this he laid before him on the table.
and of humor down in the depths of them. Such is the last picture of them that I have carried away. It was after supper, in his own sanctum—the room of the pink radiance and the innumerable trophies—that Lord John Roxton had something to say to us. From a cupboard he had brought an old cigar box, and this he laid before him on the table.
“There’s one thing,” said he, “that maybe I should have spoken about before this, but I wanted to know a little more clearly where I was. No use to raise hopes and let them down again. But it’s facts, not hopes, with us now. You may remember that day we found the pterodactyl rookery in the swamp—what? Well, somethin’ in the lie of the land took my notice. Perhaps it has escaped you, so I will tell you. It was a volcanic vent full of blue clay.”
The Professors nodded.
“Well, now, in the whole world I’ve only had to do with one place that was a volcanic vent of blue clay. That was the great De Beers Diamond Mine of Kimberley—what? So you see I got diamonds into my head. I rigged up a contraption to hold off those stinking beasts, and I spent a happy day there with a spud. This is what I got.”
He opened his cigar-box, and tilting it over he poured about twenty or thirty rough stones, varying from the size of beans to that of chestnuts, on the table.
“Perhaps you think I should have told you then. Well, so I should, only I know there are a lot of traps for the unwary, and that stones may be of any size and yet of little value where color and consistency are clean off. Therefore, I brought them back, and on the first day at home I took one round to Spink’s and asked him to have it roughly cut and valued.”
He took a pill-box from his pocket, and spilled out of it
a beautiful glittering diamond, one of the finest stones that I have ever seen.
a beautiful glittering diamond, one of the finest stones that I have ever seen.
“There’s the result,” said he. “He prices the lot at a minimum of two hundred thousand pounds. Of course it is fair shares between us. I won’t hear of anythin’ else. Well, Challenger, what will you do with your fifty thousand?”
“If you really persist in your generous view,” said the Professor, “I should found a private museum, which has long been one of my dreams.”
“And you, Summerlee?”
“I would retire from teaching, and so find time for my final classification of the chalk fossils.”
“I’ll use my own,” said Lord John Roxton, “in fitting a well-formed expedition and having another look at the dear old plateau. As to you, young fellah, you, of course, will spend yours in gettin’ married.”
“Not just yet,” said I, with a rueful smile. “I think, if you will have me, that I would rather go with you.”
Lord Roxton said nothing, but a brown hand was stretched out to me across the table.
THE END
IT WAS OF ENORMOUS SIZE AND POWER, LIKE AN ERECT elephant, but its movements, in spite of its bulk, were exceedingly alert. For a moment, as I saw its shape, I hoped that it was an iguanodon, which I knew to be harmless, but, ignorant as I was, I soon saw that this was a very different creature. This beast had a broad, squat, toad-like face like that which had alarmed us in our camp. His ferocious cry and the horrible energy of his pursuit both assured me that this was surely one of the great flesh-eating dinosaurs, the most terrible beasts which have ever walked this earth. As the huge brute loped along it dropped forward upon its fore-paws and brought its nose to the ground every twenty yards or so.
It was smelling out my trail.
It was smelling out my trail.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE LOST WORLD
All new material in this book copyright © 1993 by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
eISBN 9781466804647
First eBook Edition : November 2011
First Tor edition: November 1993
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