The Greatest Sci-Fi Books of Erle Cox. Erle Cox
His voice trembled with excitement. "Even to the last I thought you were bringing me to a tomb. Dun, do you understand what it means? She's alive. She's alive!"
"I was sure of it, Dick," said Dundas quietly, looking from his friend's face back to the couch. "I don't understand anything except that. Dick, do you think that we can..." His voice failed from anxiety, but the mute question in his eyes said more than words.
"God only knows what's behind it all, Alan," answered Barry soberly. "If the life has been kept in the body so long by some wonderful means, then perhaps by means as wonderful it may be renewed." He broke off and turned again to the canopy, and studied the figure there with searching eyes. Then he looked up again. "Old man, I can well understand why you are so anxious, but, for God's sake, don't hope for too much. Alan, there are so many things that may have gone wrong since she was laid there. The drugs may have deteriorated. They may have been a time limit. We are working absolutely in the dark."
Dundas shook his head. "Somehow, Dick, I think they have left no chance for an error. The whole thing rests with us, or rather with you."
Barry stood for a while without speaking, then he braced himself together. "Show me that book, Dun. After all it all rests on that." Without a word, Alan led the way to the casket, and, drawing the book from its case, he placed it on the table before Barry. Then he drew up two seats. For half an hour they sat in absorbed silence, Barry intent on the pages before him, and Alan watching without comment as the other turned from the book to the casket. He compared each article in turn with the diagrams, and handled them deftly and precisely. Dick was first to break the silence. "Did you time that glass?" He jerked out the words without looking up.
"Yes. One hour and fifteen minutes exactly." Barry nodded and picked up a syringe that lay on the table before him, and examined it intently. Presently he put it down, and looked up suddenly. "Anything wrong?" asked Alan anxiously.
"No, nothing wrong, but that syringe is something new of its kind. I couldn't get the hang of it at first. It looks simple enough, but did you notice those valves?"
"I can't say that I did particularly," answered Dundas, glancing at the instrument.
"Well," went on Barry, "the trouble in an injection of this kind is the risk of injecting air as well as fluid, and it plays the very devil if it does happen. Now, that syringe is so made that the fluid can pass and the air cannot. It simplifies matters for me. No, Dun, old man They were not taking any risks. Now look what do you make of that?" He turned to a page in the book and passed it across to Alan, who shook his head when he saw it.
"I couldn't make head or tail of it when I saw it before. It's heathen to me."
Barry took a flask of colourless fluid from the casket, and compared it with the diagram on the page. "Notice how they have made the flasks all different shapes, so that there can be no mistakes apart from the colour. Follow carefully. See, both the spot where the incision is to be made and the knife itself are to be rubbed with this fluid. It's an antiseptic solution, I imagine. You see, too, that the bandages themselves are hermetically sealed. I've got the hang of everything now. Everything is perfectly simple and straight sailing, though I wonder why the injection is to be made in the artery and not the vein. Still, it's a case of obey orders if you break owners. I think we had better start at once. The only thing is, how are we to open these flasks?" He took up one containing the green liquid. It was not closed by a stopper of any kind. The wide neck had been drawn out to a point, and fused, so that evaporation was impossible, and the only method of gaining access to its contents would be by breaking the neck. Dick rose and went to his bag and returned with a pair of pliers. Holding the flask firmly in his hand, he tapped lightly on the neck with the pliers. At the third stroke the glass snapped in a clean-cut line, about half an inch from the body of the flask, evidently as it had been intended to. Alan watched the proceedings with anxious eyes. An accident to the precious vessels meant irreparable disaster. When he saw the success of the experiment, he heaved a sigh of relief. "Risky business, Dick," he said. "You had me on pins and needles then." Barry was too absorbed in sniffing at the contents of the flask to notice the comment. "What's it smell like?" Dundas queried, watching Barry's face as he alternately inhaled with closed eyes, and then stared fixedly at the ceiling, groping for mental inspiration.
"Hanged if I know;" was the brief reply. Then, after a moment: "Doesn't smell like any smell I've ever smelt before. I think that I had better put a stopper in until we are ready to use it. I should say it's pretty volatile." He plugged the mouth of the flask with a tightly-rolled wad of cotton-wool, and returned it to the casket. "Now, Dun, we'll get that glass-case thing away. I suppose that lever merely locks it on."
The two advanced to the crystal dome. "There would be no sense in locking it, Dick, if they left the key in the lock. I think the lever has some other purpose. Anyhow, here goes." He knelt down, and taking a firm hold of the handle, drew it towards him. The action was followed instantly by a loud hissing, like the escape of steam, that died down in a few seconds. The two men looked at one another in silence a moment. "What was that, Dun?" asked Barry perplexed. Alan stood up and looked into the dome.
"Only could be one thing, Dick. There was a vacuum under the cover, and the lever let in the air."
"Vacuum be hanged," said Barry scornfully. "Why, man, the outside pressure would have shattered that glass to dust, it's as thin as paper."
Dundas shook his head. "You are wrong, Dick. It's not glass–at least of the kind we know anything about. I've tested some of it before, and it's tougher than steel. The pressure must have been tremendous, but it helped to keep the cover fixed on the rim. I expect we will be able to move it now easily. Go to the other two handles." Barry obeyed, and at a word from Alan they lifted together. The great dome came away with an ease that surprised them. Had it been really made of paper it could not have been lighter. Where they had expected to find only the glass dome removable, and that the foot-deep metal ring would be set in the pavement, it came as an extra surprise that the cover was all in one piece, and was merely let into a circular groove surrounding the couch. They lifted it with infinite care in order not to injure the still figure beneath it, and carried it well out of the way and placed it on the floor. Then, moved by one impulse, they hurried back to the couch. Standing on either side the two bent over. Guided by professional instinct, Barry's hand sought the wrist that lay beside her. For a little while he held it, then broke the strained silence. "Not a trace of pulse, Alan. Not that I expected it." He said in a low voice: "Look." He lifted the open hand slightly. "The joints are as flexible as if she were sleeping. Give me my bag, will you, old man?" When Dundas turned to the couch again Barry had just re-closed an eyelid which he had raised. "Dick, you won't do anything outside the fixed routine, will you?" said Alan seriously, as he passed over the bag.
"Honour bright, Dun, I wouldn't take a shadow of risk. I only wanted this." He snapped open the bag as he spoke, and drew out a stethoscope, and fixed the tubes to his ears. Kneeling down, he adjusted the instrument over the heart, and remained motionless. He stood up at length and shook his head thoughtfully. "It's no use professing to account for anything in her condition, for I'm absolutely at sea. The only thing to do is to go on as directed."
Dundas, who was standing by, a prey to acute anxiety, nodded his head without speaking. He obeyed Barry's directions mechanically, and assisted in moving a table close to the couch. Then he arranged the contents of the casket on it in the order in which they would be required. Dick looked at Alan's shaking hand grimly, as he proceeded to open the flask containing the antiseptic. "Better let me do that, Dun, if you can't pull yourself together. Great Scott, man! I must have help. Are you going to fail me?" was a carefully regulated ring in his voice that stung Alan into steadiness.
"Dick, I'll do what I can, but I'm not built of steel. Must I stand by? It seems sacrilege to me."
The professional interest in Barry had overridden all other sentiment now the moment of action had arrived. The grand training of his order asserted itself. Brain and nerve had brought hand and eye to disciplined subjection, He proceeded with the work of sterilising both instruments, and the spot on the arm where he would have to operate, with perfect coolness. There was nothing in his demeanour as he answered to show the intense excitement he felt. "Listen, Alan. I can do without your help, but it would be taking unnecessary