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His country clinic here was a part of it he made extensive statistical studies of the sizes and growth
rates of country and city people.
Growth Factor One that was what he called the thing he was looking for. The hormone or sub-vitamin
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that influenced all others. The ultimate physiological catalyst. The master-switch to turn on or shut off
the whole process of growth."
Helen and I were leaning forward now, hanging on his words. He waited for a moment, relishing the
suspense, then said lazily, Well, that's about all there is to the story. Except that eventually he found it.
Found Growth Factor One. He rolled the words on his tongue.
What was it, you ask? That's something I'd like to know too, now. But I'm no scientist. It was ...
something that was injected. That much I know, since after the preliminary experiments on animals and
insects, I insisted on being his first human subject. You can readily guess why."
His gloating smile and his air of utter superiority were fast becoming insufferable, but you just had to
listen.
Yes, he repeated. I think you can all readily imagine why a midget should want to grow. No one
loves a midget, eh dear? His words caressed his wife cruelly, like a whip dragged slowly across the
naked skin. And a midget loves no one. Or at least that midget didn't."
He seemed then to become lost in reverie, but I felt sure he was only taking time to let his words sink in,
and to absorb our unwilling interest. Helen gripped my hand under the table and I could feel her
shivering.
Then, staring past us, he continued in a low dreamy voice, An interesting thing, the way this Growth
Factor One works. It doesn't merely increase the size of and number of body cells already existing. After
the fashion of true growth, it develops newkinds of cells. I have, for example, in my brain, neurons of a
sort that probably have never existed before. Very likely they have new powers. The same holds for
muscular cells. I could demonstrate. But it would be rather melodramatic, wouldn't it, if I crumpled this
coffee urn in one hand? Incidentally, the growth process would work in the same way with animals. By
careful use of Growth Factor One you might make an animal, as intelligent, almost, as a man."
He broke off and looked around at us, patronizingly. Well, now you've heard it. A year ago my brother
died. His work was turned over to a group of distinguished scientists. But his notes were inadequate and
very confusing. I don't think they'll ever be able to learn much from them. I remain the sole product of
his labors. The other creatures he experimented with were all destroyed."
Helen gave a little squeal of fright and jerked away from the table. A tiny black spider was scuttling
among the silverware. Malcolm Orne calmly reached out the gravy ladle left from the stew, and crashed
it with a little thwack. Then, as Helen began to apologize for being so startled, we noticed that Cynthia
Orne had fainted.
Her husband made no movement. For a moment I stared at him, then hurried around and did what I
could to revive her, chafing her temples with a wet napkin, lowering her head to bring the blood back.
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Finally her lips twitched and her eyes shuddered open. Leaning over her, close to her face, I seemed to
hear her murmur over and over again a peculiar phrase: Not the web again. Not the web.
Mechanically, almost inaudibly, but with an accent of extreme fear. Then she realized where she was
and quickly sat up. She seemed embarrassed by my attempts to help her.
Malcolm Orne sipped the last of his coffee, and stood up. It's time we were all in bed, he remarked.
Our guests must be tired from their trip. Come, dear."
She struggled to her feet, swaying a little, and took his arm. Helen and I followed silently, though angry
words were on the tip of my tongue.
Right then and there I suppose I ought to have had it out with him, but after all it was his house, so I held
myself in.
In the hall the unpleasant odor that I had ascribed to defective plumbing was more noticeable, and as we
passed the high double doors of the living room I fancied I heard a faint sibilant rustling. Up the stairs
we followed them, Cynthia Orne leaning heavily on her husband's arm. He did not look down at her. At
the first door at the head of the stairs he paused, Good night, dear. I'll be coming considerably later, he
said. She unlinked her arm from his, nodded at us with the specter of a smile, and went in.
At the door of our bedroom he said good night, adding, If you want anything, there's the bell-pull.
Please don't consider stirring out of this room. The servants or I can attend to all your wants."
The door closed and his footsteps moved away. Helen drew out Cynthia Orne's handkerchief, spread it
out on the table. We read it together. The lipstick had smudged, and the printing was hurried, but there
was no question as to what the words were.
Get out. For your lives."
Half an hour later I was tiptoeing in my stockinged feet down the almost pitch-black hall toward Cynthia
Orne's bedroom. I felt slightly ridiculous and not altogether sure of myself. Meddling with the affairs of
a married couple is undiplomatic to say the least. But Helen and I had decided there was nothing else we
could do. Malcolm Orne certainly gave the impression of being vindictive, cruel, and dangerous. For her
own sake as well as our own, it seemed imperative that one of us talk with her alone and find out what it
was all about.
I had successfully negotiated the turn in the hall and was approaching the head of the stairs when the
noise of talking from below brought me to a stop. It sounded like Malcolm Orne. After a few moments I
inched forward past the bedroom door and peered over the ornately carved balustrade down the well of
the stairs. There were no candles below, but the storm had blown over and moonlight shone through the
fanlight enough to illuminate vaguely the face of our host. An oblong of darkness showed me that the
door of the living room was open, and there mounted to my nostrils that now-familiar stench, stronger
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than before. Somehow that odor, more than anything else, cut through my conscious mind to the hidden
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