ing before the mirror which hung beside the hatstand.
He was a trifle unsteady, and swayed on his frail legs, but he was
staring at himself with a kind of savage intensity. At last he turned
away and I caught the expression on his face.... With a slight shiver, I
let down the flap noiselessly. There was something in that expression
that for me remains unnamable; and I think now, as I look back into
those past times, that of all the signs which showed me that the
Sarakoff-Harden bacillus was an offence against humanity, that strange
look on the nonagenarian's face was the most terrible and obvious.

CHAPTER XII

MR. CLUTTERBUCK'S OPINION

When I reached London it was dusk, and a light mist hung in the
darkening air. The lamps were twinkling in the streets. I decided to get
some tea in a restaurant adjoining the station. When I entered it was
crowded, and the only seat that was empty was at a small table already
occupied by another man. I sat down, and gave my order to the waitress,
and remained staring moodily at the soiled marble surface of the table.
My neighbour was engrossed in his paper.

During my journey from Cambridge I had come to a certain conclusion.
Sarakoff was of the opinion that we should publish a statement about the
germ of immortality, and now I was in agreement with him. For I had been
reflecting upon the capacity of human mind for retaining secrets and had
come to the conclusion that it is so constructed that its power of
retention is remarkably small. I felt that it would be a matter of
extraordinary relief if everyone in that tea-shop knew the secret of the
Blue Germ.

I began to study the man who sat opposite me. He was a quietly dressed
middle-aged man. The expression on his rather pale, clean-shaven face
suggested that he was a clerk or secretary. He looked reliable,
unimaginative, careful and methodical. He was reading his newspaper with
close attention. A cup of tea and the remains of a toasted muffin were
at his elbow. It struck me that here was a very average type of man, and
an immense desire seized upon me to find out what opinion he would
pronounce if I were to tell him my secret. I waited until he looked up.

"Is there any news?" I asked.

He observed me for a moment as if he resented my question.

"The Blue Disease is spreading in London," he remarked shortly, and
returned to his paper. I felt rebuffed, but reflected that this, after
all, was how an average man might be