He was gone from the room for a minute or two.  I remember that none of us spoke in his absence.  The situation seemed beyond all words or comments.

“The medical officer of health for Brighton,” said he when he returned.  “The symptoms are for some reason developing more rapidly upon the sea level.  Our seven hundred feet of elevation give us an advantage.  Folk seem to have learned that I am the first authority upon the question.  No doubt it comes from my letter in the Times.  That was the mayor of a provincial town with whom I talked when we first arrived.  You may have heard me upon the telephone.  He seemed to put an entirely inflated value upon his own life.  I helped him to readjust his ideas.”

Summerlee had risen and was standing by the window.  His thin, bony hands were trembling with his emotion.

“Challenger,” said he earnestly, “this thing is too serious for mere futile argument.  Do not suppose that I desire to irritate you by any question I may ask.  But I put it to you whether there may not be some fallacy in your information or in your reasoning.  There is the sun shining as brightly as ever in the blue sky.  There are the heather and the flowers and the birds.  There are the folk enjoying themselves upon the golf-links and the laborers yonder cutting the corn.  You tell us that they and we may be upon the very brink of destruction—­that this sunlit day may be that day of doom which the human race has so long awaited.  So far as we know, you found this tremendous judgment upon what?  Upon some abnormal lines in a spectrum—­upon rumours from Sumatra—­upon some curious personal excitement which we have discerned in each other.  This latter symptom is not so marked but that you and we could, by a deliberate effort, control it.  You need not stand on ceremony with us, Challenger.  We have all faced death together before now.  Speak out, and let us know exactly where we stand, and what, in your opinion, are our prospects for our future.”

It was a brave, good speech, a speech from that stanch and strong spirit which lay behind all the acidities and angularities of the old zoologist.  Lord John rose and shook him by the hand.

“My sentiment to a tick,” said he.  “Now, Challenger, it’s up to you to tell us where we are.  We ain’t nervous folk, as you know well; but when it comes to makin’ a week-end visit and finding you’ve run full butt into the Day of Judgment, it wants a bit of explainin’.  What’s the danger, and how much of it is there, and what are we goin’ to do to meet it?”

He stood, tall and strong, in the sunshine at the window, with his brown hand upon the shoulder of Summerlee.  I was lying back in an armchair, an extinguished cigarette between my lips, in that sort of half-dazed state in which impressions become exceedingly distinct.  It may have been a new phase of the poisoning, but the delirious promptings had all passed away and were succeeded by an exceedingly languid and, at the same time, perceptive state of mind.  I was a spectator.  It did not seem to be any personal concern of mine.  But here were three strong men at a great crisis, and it was fascinating to observe them.  Challenger bent his heavy brows and stroked his beard before he answered.  One could see that he was very carefully weighing his words.