# Grey Face/Chapter 32
### CHAPTER XXXII
#### THE FAR-FLUNG WEB

I SAW Sir John Nevinson to-night," said Carey; "or, rather"—glancing across to where the grey light of dawn was beginning to show through the curtains—"I saw him last night. The ramifications of this affair are even greater than I had supposed. It is positively colossal. At last a sort of common understanding has been reached between the responsible authorities of the several countries concerned, and there is no doubt that the person, or group of persons, which we three associate with the expression 'Grey Face' is engaged in a conspiracy surpassing any in history. That entire movement which may roughly be classified under the head of 'Bolshevism' is no more than an instrument of this directing power."
Muir Torrington interrupted excitedly:
"What do you think is the ultimate object?"
"I cannot even guess," Carey replied. "But it is certain that the closely guarded secret policies of the great nations are as an open book to this organization. Grey Face is playing a stupendous game of chess with the peoples of the world. A belief is growing in the highest quarters that the political unrest which disturbs almost every country one can think of just now is due, in a large measure, to this influence."
Muir Torrington began to walk up and down the library, and for a long time the sound of his footsteps alone disturbed the silence. Sir Provost Hope, seated by the table, tapped gently and silently with the case containing his spectacles. Carey, tying back in an arm-chair, stared thoughtfully straight before him. Then:
"'Let him who closes his eyes also close his mouth,'" Torrington quoted. "When we put our cards on the table, I am expecting to find that between us we hold all the big ones. The truth of this matter is so strange that even when I have had glimpses of it, I have found myself jibbing."
He pulled up in front of a bookcase, staring hard. Then, over his shoulder:
"Sir Provost," he said, "have you a copy of Atomic Pathology by the late Professor Gühl?"
"Yes," was the reply; "but it is not with his other works where you are looking. It is on the lower shelf by your left hand."
Torrington stooped, nodded, and pulled out the volume. Sir Provost was watching him intently; and:
"Why does this work interest you?" he asked.
"I have been studying it again," Torrington explained; "and in the light of recent events I begin to have a hazy glimmering of the port for which Gühl was steering at the time that he wrote it."
He carried the big book to the table and opened it immediately under the lamp. It contained a frontispiece—a portrait of the author—with a reproduction of his autograph: Hadrian Ernst von Gühl.
The celebrated pathologist was represented as a man advanced in years, heavily Teutonic, with strong, fleshy features and a broad, bald forehead. He wore old-fashioned spectacles and was posed with his bearded chin resting in his hand. All three stared at the picture; and:
"When do you say this man died?" Carey asked.
"I am not quite sure," Sir Provost replied, glancing at Torrington. "The outbreak of war deprived us of news at about that time. But why do you ask?"
"Because," Carey replied slowly, "in some way his face is vaguely familiar. I was wondering if he had ever visited England in my time."
Torrington shook his head vigorously.
"I think not," he said; "I think not, my lad."
He closed the book, and, crossing, replaced it on the shelf. Sir Provost continuing to watch him curiously.
"In what way, Torrington," he asked, "do you find Gühl's theories of interest in relation to this other matter?"
Torrington turned his face in the speaker's direction.
"I am not sure," he answered; "the idea only came to me last night. In fact, I was at work upon it when I was interrupted by the call to Mrs. Lewisham."
"Ah!" Sir Provost nodded his head. "A very, very singular coincidence, Torrington."
Without giving the latter time for comment:
"We are passing through one of those phases of gross materialism," he continued, "which always seem to presage social upheaval, and even you, I strongly suspect, doubt the existence of powers higher than those which may be controlled by a suitable prescription."
"Pardon me, Sir Provost," Torrington interrupted. "I am by way of being a materialist—yes, I agree. But latterly I have begun to learn the A B C of my business all over again from a new angle. No. I don't doubt the higher powers."
"Very well." Sir Provost smiled slightly. "Then I may say what I had in mind. One of the instruments of those higher powers is what we call coincidence, and
I am wondering " He paused for a moment, and then: "I am wondering," he repeated, "whether your obtaining possession of that phenomenal diamond is another of these 'coincidences' intended for our guidance?"
Carey looked up with a start.
"You puzzle me, sir," he declared.
Torrington's face exhibited blank bewilderment.
"You see," Sir Provost went on quietly, "the diamond in itself is supernormal. I happen to know something about diamonds, and the one which you showed me was a phenomenon, quite apart from the manner in which it came into your possession. In the first place, there are only half-a-dozen known stones of this size in the world: the Great Mogul, which is said to have weighed two hundred and eighty carats; the Orloff, one hundred and ninety-three; the Koh-i-Noor, somewhere about a hundred and six, I believe; the Regent, a hundred and thirty-six, and one or two others. Now, the diamond in your possession is a rose-cut brilliant of almost perfect water, weighing, I should estimate, fully a hundred and twenty carats."
He fixed his penetrating gaze upon Torrington.
"Do you realize," he said slowly, "that the thing cannot well be worth less than thirty thousand pounds, and might possibly fetch four or five times this amount? Now, how does it happen that the existence of this treasure has remained unknown? All such stones are historical. If it had been a rough diamond, several explanations might have suggested themselves. It is cut, however, but"—he paused impressively—"it is, not polished. Torrington! we are on the eve of stranger things than we have yet known.
"I spoke of your recent study of Atomic Pathology as a singular coincidence. It was not a coincidence. We three now in this room are instruments of those higher laws which we cannot control because we do not understand them. From now until a certain menace to the peace of the community has been removed there will be for us no coincidences and no accidents. This phenomenal diamond did not come haphazard into your possession. The stranger did not select you by accident. Providence guided his choice."
"It was no accident that prompted me to go down to Low Ketley last night," Carey interrupted. "Here the hand of Providence showed plainly."
Torrington whistled, and began to stride up and down the library again.
"If this goes on," he declared, "I shall end up a religious maniac. I am by way of it already."
"I doubt it," said Sir Provost drily; "but that your studies will become enlarged in the future is almost certain. I fear this council must break up, but before we part there are one or two points upon which I think I should enlighten you."
He closed his eyes, as was his custom in moments of deep reflection. Then:
"I was visited not many hours ago," he went on, "by a man whose knowledge of Nature's laws exceeds that of almost any other living. He is what is termed, in the jargon of Occultism, an Adept; that is to say, he is a master of certain neglected sciences. I myself have gone some little way along the same road, and I think we shall all have a better grasp of the task which has been thrust upon us if I explain the nature of the danger which we have to meet.
"Briefly, then, to begin with a paradox, there is no such thing as discovery. All the forces controlled, or partially controlled, by modern science, have always been in existence, and at some period of the world's history have been used before—perhaps not in quite the same way as they are used to-day. They are natural treasures, and when a Marconi, an Edison, a Nikola Tesla, announces a discovery to the world, he is merely acting as the chosen agent of what I shall continue to call higher powers. In other words, the time has come when a dormant natural force may be given with benefit to the world.
"There is a law which prevents the premature issue of any such force. The very hour at which men should be permitted to speak to one another through space was ordained. There was no accident about it. It could not possibly have happened one hour earlier, or even one minute earlier. Baron von Reichenbach tried to 'discover' radio-activity in 1852; but he was more than a generation too early. And now, to come to the heart of the matter:
"There are only a certain number of forces in existence. Or—to make my meaning clearer—Nature's treasure chest of secrets is not a conjuror's cabinet. Its contents may be counted and tabulated; and, as civilization advances, one after another is issued to humanity. When the time comes for the chest to be empty——"
"The world ends?" Carey suggested.
"Not at all," Sir Provost replied; "that particular civilization ends. Barbarism sweeps over it, effacing all that had been; and so, the endless cycle proceeds."
"But do you suggest," Torrington cried, "that there is any living human being who knows the sciences of the future—who understood the use of steam electricity before steam engines and dynamos were invented; who knows now all about radio-vision; who could tell us how to communicate with the other planets; who could sweep disease from the world, and prolong human life indefinitely! Do you mean to tell me——"
"I mean to tell you," Sir Provost interrupted quietly, "that there are several such people living amongst us to-day—yes; human beings like ourselves, curators of Nature's deathless secrets, of the powers for good or evil inherent in man and in Mother Earth; to whom the past and the future are one; to whom time and space are names but not realities; yet who are compelled, by immutable laws which they understand but do not control, to live as you and I live, bounded by much the same limitations. One of these advanced students visited me recently, and his visit was occasioned by an event such as only occurs once in many centuries. I refer to a premature discovery—a revolt against the higher laws.
"In brief, there is a man here, in London, who should not be living to-day, but who has rifled Nature's treasure chest, and who threatened, at one time, to change the swing of the pendulum which regulates the history of humanity. He has unlocked forces for which the world is not ready——"
"And his name," Torrington shouted, "is Trepniak!"
Sir Provost fixed his strange blue eyes upon the speaker, and:
"You are wrong," he said "his name is not Trepniak."