“Who is that?” asked a voice.
“It is I,” said Gonsalez and gave the name by which he was known.
After hesitation the lock turned and the door opened.
“Come in, come in,” said Viglow testily and locked the door behind him. “You have come to congratulate me, I am sure. You must come to my wedding too, my friend. It will be a wonderful wedding, for there I shall make a speech and tell the story of my discovery. Will you have a drink? I have nothing here, but I can get it from the house. I have a telephone in my bedroom.”
Leon shook his head.
“I have been rather puzzling out your plan, Doctor,” he said, accepting the proffered cigarette, “and I have been trying to connect those postal bags which I saw being loaded at the door of your laboratory with the discovery which you revealed this afternoon.”
Dr. Viglow’s narrow eyes were gleaming with merriment and he leant back in his chair and crossed his legs, like one preparing for a pleasant recital.
“I will tell you,” he said. “For months I have been in correspondence with farming associations, both here and on the Continent. I have something of a European reputation,” he said, with that extraordinary immodesty which Leon had noticed before. “In fact, I think that my treatment for phylloxera did more to remove the scourge from the vineyards of Europe than any other preparation.”
Leon nodded. He knew this to be the truth.
“So you see, my word is accepted in matters dealing with agriculture. But I found after one or two talks with our own stupid farmers that there is an unusual prejudice against destroying”—he did not mention the dreaded name but shivered—“and that of course I had to get round. Now that I am satisfied that my preparation is exact, I can release the packets in the post office. In fact, I was just about to telephone to the postmaster telling him that they could go off—they are all stamped and addressed—when you knocked at the door.”
“To whom are they addressed?” asked Leon steadily.
“To various farmers—some fourteen thousand in all in various parts of the country and Europe, and each packet has printed instructions in English, French, German and Spanish. I had to tell them that it was a new kind of fertiliser or they may not have been as enthusiastic in the furtherance of my experiment as I am.”
“And what are they going to do with these packets when they get them?” asked Leon quietly.
“They will dissolve them and spray a certain area of their land—I suggested ploughed land. They need only treat a limited area of earth,” he explained. “I think these wretched beasts will carry infection quickly enough. I believe,” he leant forward and spoke impressively, “that in six months there will not be one living in Europe or Asia.”
“They do not know that the poison is intended to kill—earthworms?” asked Leon.
“No, I’ve told you,” snapped the other. “Wait, I will telephone the postmaster.”
He rose quickly to his feet, but Leon was quicker and gripped him arm.
“My dear friend,” he said, “you must not do this.”
Dr. Viglow tried to withdraw his arm.
“Let me go,” he snarled. “Are you one of those devils who are trying to torment me?”
In ordinary circumstances, Leon would have been strong enough to hold the man, but Viglow’s strength was extraordinary and Gonsalez found himself thrust back into the chair. Before he could spring up, the man had passed through the door and slammed and locked it behind him.
The cottage was on one floor and was divided into two rooms by a wooden partition which Viglow had erected. Over the door was a fanlight, and pulling the table forward Leon sprang on to the top and with his elbow smashed the flimsy frame.
“Don’t touch that telephone,” he said sternly. “Do you hear?”
The doctor looked round with a grin. “You are a friend of those devils!” he said, and his hand was on the receiver when Leon shot him dead.
Manfred came back the next morning from his walk and found Gonsalez pacing the lawn, smoking an extra long cigar.
“My dear Leon,” said Manfred as he slipped his arm in the other’s. “You did not tell me.”
“I thought it best to wait,” said Leon.
“I heard quite by accident,” Manfred went on. “The story is that a burglar broke into the cottage and shot the doctor when he was telephoning for assistance. All the silverware in the outer room has been stolen. The doctor’s watch and pocketbook have disappeared.”
“They are at this moment at the bottom of Babbacombe Bay,” said Leon. “I went fishing very early this morning before you were awake.”
They paced the lawn in silence for a while and then:
“Was it necessary?” asked Manfred.
“Very necessary,” said Leon gravely. “You have to realise first of all that although this man was mad, he had discovered not only a poison but an infection.”
“But, my dear fellow,” smiled Manfred, “was an earthworm worth it?”
“Worth more than his death,” said Leon. “There isn’t a scientist in the world who does not agree that if the earthworm was destroyed the world would become sterile and the people of this world would be starving in seven years.”
Manfred stopped in his walk and stared down at his companion.
“Do you really mean that?”
Leon nodded.
“He is the one necessary creature in God’s world,” he said soberly. “It fertilises the land and covers the bare rocks with earth. It is the surest friend of mankind that we know, and now I am going down to the post office with a story which I think will be sufficiently plausible to recover those worm poisoners.”
Manfred mused a while, then
