them with safety – those that have transgressed the law.'
'That explains it,' said Hilary. 'Explains, I mean, what puzzled me so on the journey here.'
'Ah! It puzzled you on the journey, did it?'
'Yes. The difference in aims. Andy Peters, the American, seemed completely Left Wing. But Ericsson was a fanatical believer in the Superman. And Helga Needheim was a Fascist of the most arrogant and Pagan kind. Dr. Barron -' she hesitated.
'Yes, he came for money,' said Aristides. 'Dr. Barron is civilised and cynical. He has no illusions, but he has a genuine love of his work. He wanted unlimited money, so as to pursue his researches further.' He added: 'You are intelligent, Madame. I saw that at once in Fez.'
He gave a gentle little cackle of laughter.
'You did not know it, Madame, but I went to Fez simply to observe you – or rather I had you brought to Fez in order that I might observe you.'
'I see,' said Hilary.
She noted the oriental rephrasing of the sentence.
'I was pleased to think that you would be coming here. For, if you understand me, I do not find many intelligent people in this place to talk to.' He made a gesture. 'These scientists, these biologists, these research chemists, they are not interesting. They are geniuses perhaps at what they do, but they are uninteresting people with whom to converse.'
'Their wives,' he added thoughtfully, 'are usually very dull, too. We do not encourage wives here. I permit wives to come for only one reason.'
'What reason?'
Mr. Aristides said drily,
'In the rare cases where a husband is unable to do his work properly because he is thinking too much of his wife. That seemed to be the case with your husband, Thomas Betterton. Thomas Betterton is known to the world as a young man of genius, but since he has been here he has done only mediocre and second class work. Yes, Betterton has disappointed me.'
'But don't you find that constantly happening? These people are, after all, in prison here. Surely they rebel? At first, at any rate?'
'Yes,' Mr. Aristides agreed. 'That is only natural and inevitable. It is so when you first cage a bird. But if the bird is in a big enough aviary; if it has all that it needs; a mate, seed, water, twigs, all the material of life, it forgets in the end that it was ever free.'
Hilary shivered a little.
'You frighten me,' she said. 'You really frighten me.'
'You will grow to understand many things here, Madame. Let me assure you that though all these men of different ideologies arrive here and are disillusioned and rebellious, they will all toe the line in the end.'
'You can't be sure of that,' said Hilary.
'One can be absolutely sure of nothing in this world. I agree with you there. But it is a ninety-five per cent certainty all the same.'
Hilary looked at him with something like horror.
'It's dreadful,' she said. 'It's like a typists' pool! You've got a pool here of brains.'
'Exactly. You put it very justly, Madame.'
'And from this pool, you intend, one day, to supply scientists to whoever pays you best for them?'
'That is, roughly, the general principle, Madame.'
'But you can't send out a scientist just as you can send out a typist.'
'Why not?'
'Because once your scientist is in the free world again, he could refuse to work for his new employer. He would be free again.'
'True up to a point. There may have to be a certain – conditioning, shall we say?'
'Conditioning – what do you mean by that?'
'You have heard of lobotomy, Madame?'
Hilary frowned.
'That's a brain operation, isn't it?'
'But yes. It was devised originally for the curing of melancholia. I put it to you not in medical terms, Madame, but in such terms as you and I understand. After the operation the patient has no more desire to commit suicide, no further feelings of guilt. He is carefree, conscienceless and in most cases obedient.'
'It hasn't been a hundred per cent success, has it?'
'In the past, no. But here we have made great strides in the investigation of the subject. I have here three surgeons: one Russian, one Frenchman and an Austrian. By various operations of grafting and delicate manipulation of the brain, they are arriving gradually at a state where docility can be assured and the will can be controlled without necessarily affecting mental brilliance. It seems possible that we may in the end so condition a human being that while his powers of intellect remain unimpaired, he will exhibit perfect docility. Any suggestion made to him he will accept.'
'But that's horrible,' cried Hilary. 'Horrible!'
He corrected her serenely.
'It is useful. It is even in some ways beneficent. For the patient will be happy, contented, without fears or longings or unrest.'
'I don't believe it will ever happen,' said Hilary defiantly.
'Chere Madame, forgive me if I say you are hardly competent to speak on the subject.'
'What I mean is,' said Hilary, 'that I do not believe a contented, suggestible animal will ever produce creative work of real brilliance.'
Aristides shrugged his shoulders.
'Perhaps. You are intelligent. You may have something there. Time will show. Experiments are going on all the time.'
'Experiments! On human beings, do you mean?'
'But certainly. That is the only practical method.'
'But – what human beings?'
'There are always the misfits,' said Aristides. 'The ones who do not adapt themselves to life here, who will not co-operate. They make good experimental material.'
Hilary dug her fingers into the cushions of the divan. She felt a deep horror of this smiling, yellow-faced little man with his inhuman outlook. Everything he said was so reasonable, so logical and so businesslike, that it made the horror worse. Here was no raving madman, just a man to whom his fellow creatures were so much raw material.
'Don't you believe in God?' she said.
'Naturally I believe in God.' Mr. Aristides raised his eyebrows. His tone was almost shocked. 'I have told you already. I am a religious man. God has blessed me with supreme power. With money and opportunity.'
'Do you read your Bible?' asked Hilary.
'Certainly, Madame.'
'Do you remember what Moses and Aaron said to Pharaoh? 'Let my people go.''
He smiled.
'So – I am Pharaoh? – And you are Moses and Aaron in one? Is that what you are saying to me, Madame? To let these people go, all of them, or just – one special case?'
'I'd like to say – all of them,' said Hilary.
'But you are well aware, chere Madame,' he said, 'that that would be a waste of time. So instead, it is not your husband for whom you plead?'
'He is no good to you,' said Hilary. 'Surely by now you must realise that.'
'Perhaps, it is true what you say, Madame. Yes, I am very much disappointed in Thomas Betterton. I hoped that your presence here might restore him to his brilliance, for undoubtedly he has brilliance. His reputation in America leaves no doubt as to that. But your coming seems to have had little or no effect. I speak not of my own knowledge, of course, but from the reports of those fitted to know. His brother scientists who have been working
