Sammy's responses. He was battling down the gorge that rose in his throat, yet this should have been expected. Sammy was absorbing life-energy from living beings, and the human brain contained the highest form of such energy. But what would be the result?
Sammy's replies lagged as he seemed to grow weaker. Court left him at last, with a few encouraging words. But when he hurried out, he was feeling worried and depressed.
It was past sunset, and he switched on the light in his lab. Removing the lead-armor, he sat down to think matters over. Sammy was no longer entirely human, for the change was progressing rapidly. His basal metabolism was tremendously increased. As Court had discovered, the very matter of his body was changed.
'Entropy,' he whispered, nervously folding and unfolding his hands. 'That's the answer, of course. But what it means—'
Entropy, the rate of the Universe's running down. A human body is composed of atoms and electrons, like a universe. If the entropic value of a life-organism is increased, what is the result?
Court was angry with himself because he did not know. He should have been grateful for not being able to see the future…
'Sammy's changing into another form of life, that's certain. And he absorbs energy directly through contact. I must take more precautions. He may be dangerous later.'
Abruptly there was an interruption. The door flew open, and Marion burst in. Her brown hair was in disorder under her white cap.
'Stephen!' she cried through pallid lips. 'There are men coming up the road!'
'What about it?' he asked, without interest.
'From the village. With torches. I'm afraid—'
'Those damned fools!' he snapped angrily. 'Rouse out the men. Give them rifles. Tell them to spread through the house and keep its front covered from inside. When I give the word, they can fire.'
Marion stared at him in horror.
'You'd—murder those men?'
Court's eyes were icy as he returned her stricken gaze.
'Why not? They're afraid I have a contagious case here.
But they're afraid for their own precious skins. They'd be willing to burn down the house and kill Sammy. Well, it's lucky I've taken precautions. Do what I say!'
His tone sent Marion racing out.
Growling an oath, Court went to the front door. He opened it and stepped out on the front porch. A bright moon revealed the scene. Before him the road sloped steeply down to the village, with a few trees that were blots of shadow on either side.
Torches flamed along the road. Twenty-five or thirty men —possibly more—were advancing in ominous silence.
Court put his back against the door and waited. The ignorant fools! He was trying to save their lives.
Quickly the mob formed a crescent about the porch. They were mostly villagers and farmers. Under other circumstances, they-would have dreamed and worked away their lives without ever embarking on such a hazardous venture as this. But now their work-worn faces were grim, and their sharp eyes narrowed with deadly purpose.
Court unfolded his arms. Though he held no weapon, the mob drew back slightly. Then one man, a lean, grizzle-haired oldster in overalls, stepped forward.
'What do you want?' Court asked quietly.
The old man scowled.
'We want some questions answered, Mr. Court. Are you harborin' a case of the Plague?'
'Yes.'
The word was flatly emotionless, yet a mutter went up from the crowd.
'I s'pose you know that's contagious. There can't nothin' stop it.'
There is no danger of contagion,' Court replied. 'I have taken care of that.' He gestured at the flickering flames of the torches. 'What do you wish to do—kill my patient?'
'Nope,' the spokesman stated. 'We want you to send him away from here, to a hospital. The papers say there ain't no way of stopping the Plague. I got two kids myself, Mr. Court. The rest of us, we're family men. How'd you like it if—'
'I tell you, there's no danger,' Court snapped. His nerves, already tense with overwork and sleeplessness, were frayed beyond endurance. 'Get outе' all of you, or you'll regret it!'
An ominous low roar went up from the mob. They surged forward, paused only when Court lifted his hand.
'Wait! I have a dozen men in the house, stationed at the windows, with guns aimed at you right now. Submachine-guns, some of them, and rifles. We can protect ourselves from lynch law.'
The crowd wavered uncertainly. The oldster yelled a shrill protest. 'We ain't lynchers, Mr. Court We're just aimin' to protect our folks. We got a car down the road a bit, and we aim to take your Plague victim to a hospital.' Court laughed ironically.
'You poor idiot! You just said the Plague is contagious.'
'Sure it is. But we got rubber gloves, and cotton pads soaked in antiseptic to tie over our mouths, and we'll wash in carbolic afterward. We just don't want our folks to run any risks.'
'Rubber gloves!' Court snorted. 'Only thick lead can protect you from the Plague. If you won't leave instantly, we'll use guns to convince you. And I warn you, I won't hesitate to do that if it's necessary.'
'He ain't bluffing,' one of the mob said nervously. 'I saw a muzzle up there in that winder.'
'Don't worry about it,' the spokesman said. 'We're comin' in, Mr. Court, unless you bring the man out to us.'
As the crowd surged forward, Court raised his pistol and took steady aim at the leader.
'You set foot on the first step,' he gritted, 'and I'll put a bullet through your head.'
The old man walked slowly, quietly, up the steps. Behind him came the others. Court's finger tightened on the trigger, yet he did not fire.
His face grew terrible at the conflict that raged within him. Stephen Court—man of ice and iron—torn by puerile emotion? Shoot! That was the logical thing to do. Shoot, to save Sammy, to save the experiment from these ignorant fools.
But the mob did not want to kill. Court knew that they were honest, hard-working men, who loved their families and wanted to protect them from danger.
The nearest was only a few steps from him. But Court did not fire, nor give the word that would have brought a searing blast from the upper windows. His lips twisted in agonized indecision.
From within the house came a scream. The door flung open and Marion Barton fled out, her face chalk-white. 'Stephen! Quick!'
Court whirled, ignoring the besiegers. 'What is it?'
'Sammy came into the lab! He was—'
A startled gasp came from the old man. He drew back, staring. A rippling wave of fear shook the crowd that had shuffled to the porch. With one arm around Marion, Court dragged her back. Just then, something came out of the door.
He knew it was Sammy. But the metamorphosis had been incredibly accelerated. Sammy was not even as human as he had been half an hour before.
His body could not be seen. A white shadow, with flickering nimbus edges, paused on the threshold. The pallid glow emanating from Sammy's flesh had become so brilliant that its lambent light entirely hid the frightful body.
Staring at him was like looking into the heart of an electric-light bulb, though the illumination was not strong enough to be blinding.
A shining, roughly man-shaped shadow, it stood on the threshold. And it whispered! A vague, wordless susurrus murmured out. Like the hum emitted by some electric contrivance, it was enigmatic and unhuman.
The shadow lurched forward. Its shimmering arms went around the old man in overalls. The spokesman shrieked as though the soul had been wrenched from his body. Then he fell, his body oddly shrunken, pale and
