A. C. Doyle - The Disintegration Machine

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The Disintegration Machine and Other Stories

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Table of Contents

The Disintegration Machine and Other Stories...............................................................................................1

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle...........................................................................................................................1

The Disintegration Machine and Other Stories

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

THE DISINTEGRATION MACHINE

The Disintegration Machine• The Horror of the Heights• When the World Screamed•

PROFESSOR CHALLENGER was in the worst possible humour. As I stood at the door of his study, my

hand upon the handle and my foot upon the mat, I heard a monologue which ran like this, the words booming

and reverberating through the house:

'Yes, I say it is the second wrong call. The second in one morning. Do you imagine that a man of science is to

be distracted from essential work by the constant interference of some idiot at the end of a wire? I will not

have it. Send this instant for the manager. Oh! you are the manager. Well, why don't you manage? Yes, you

certainly manage to distract me from work the importance of which your mind is incapable of understanding.

I want the superintendent. He is away? So I should imagine. I will carry you to the law courts if this occurs

again. Crowing cocks have been adjudicated upon. I myself have obtained a judgement. If crowing cocks,

why not jangling bells? The case is clear. A written apology. Very good. I will consider it. Good morning.'

It was at this point that I ventured to make my entrance. It was certainly an unfortunate moment. I confronted

him as he turned from the telephone −− a lion in its wrath. His huge black beard was bristling, his great chest

was heaving with indignation, and his arrogant grey eyes swept me up and down as the backwash of his anger

fell upon me.

'Infernal, idle, overpaid rascals!' he boomed. 'I could hear them laughing while I was making my just

complaint. There is a conspiracy to annoy me. And now, young Malone, you arrive to complete a disastrous

morning. Are you here, may I ask, on your own account, or has your rag commissioned you to obtain an

interview? As a friend you are privileged −− as a journalist you are outside the pale.'

I was hunting in my pocket for McArdle's letter when suddenly some new grievance came to his memory.

His great hairy hands fumbled about among the papers upon his desk and finally extracted a press cutting.

'You have been good enough to allude to me in one of your recent lucubrations,' he said, shaking the paper at

me. 'It was in the course of your somewhat fatuous remarks concerning the recent Saurian remains discovered

in the Solenhofen Slates. You began a paragraph with the words: "Professor G. E. Challenger, who is among

our greatest living scientists−−"'

'Well, sir?' I asked.

'Why these invidious qualifications and limitations? Perhaps you can mention who these other predominant

scientific men may be to whom you impute equality, or possibly superiority to myself?'

The Disintegration Machine and Other Stories 1

'It was badly worded. I should certainly have said: "Our greatest living scientist,"' I admitted. It was after all

my own honest belief. My words turned winter into summer.

'My dear young friend, do not imagine that I am exacting, but surrounded as I am by pugnacious and

unreasonable colleagues, one is forced to take one's own part. Self−assertion is foreign to my nature, but I

have to hold my ground against opposition. Come now! Sit here! What is the reason of your visit?'

I had to tread warily, for I knew how easy it was to set the lion roaring once again. I opened McArdle's letter.

'May I read you this, sir? It is from McArdle, my editor.'

'I remember the man −− not an unfavourable specimen of his class.'

'He has, at least, a very high admiration for you. He has turned to you again and again when he needed the

highest qualities in some investigation. That is the case now.'

'What does he desire?' Challenger plumed himself like some unwieldy bird under the influence of flattery. He

sat down with his elbows upon the desk, his gorilla hands clasped together, his beard bristling forward, and

his big grey eyes, half−covered by his drooping lids, fixed benignly upon me. He was huge in all that he did,

and his benevolence was even more overpowering than his truculence.

'I'll read you his note to me. He says:

"Please call upon our esteemed friend, Professor Challenger, and ask for his co−operation in the following

circumstances. There is a Latvian gentleman named Theodore Nemor living at White Friars Mansions,

Hampstead, who claims to have invented a machine of a most extraordinary character which is capable of

disintegrating any object placed within its sphere of influence. Matter dissolves and returns to its molecular or

atomic condition. By reversing the process it can be reassembled. The claim seems to be an extravagant one,

and yet there is solid evidence that there is some basis for it and that the man has stumbled upon some

remarkable discovery.

"I need not enlarge upon the revolutionary character of such an invention, nor of its extreme importance as a

potential weapon of war. A force which could disintegrate a battleship, or turn a battalion, if it were only for a

time, into a collection of atoms, would dominate the world. For social and for political reasons not an instant

is to be lost in getting to the bottom of the affair. The man courts publicity as he is anxious to sell his

invention, so that there is no difficulty in approaching him. The enclosed card will open his doors. What I

desire is that you and Professor Challenger shall call upon him, inspect his invention, and write for the

Gazette a considered report upon the value of the discovery. I expect to hear from you to−night.−− R.

McARDLE."

'There are my instructions, Professor,' I added, as I refolded the letter. 'I sincerely hope that you will come

with me, for how can I, with my limited capacities, act alone in such a matter?'

'True, Malone! True!' purred the great man. 'Though you are by no means destitute of natural intelligence, I

agree with you that you would be somewhat overweighted in such a matter as you lay before me. These

unutterable people upon the telephone have already ruined my morning's work, so that a little more can

hardly matter. I am engaged in answering that Italian buffoon, Mazotti, whose views upon the larval

development of the tropical termites have excited my derision and contempt, but I can leave the complete

exposure of the impostor until evening. Meanwhile, I am at your service.'

And thus it came about that on that October morning I found myself in the deep level tube with the Professor

speeding to the North of London in what proved to be one of the most singular experiences of my remarkable

The Disintegration Machine and Other Stories

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