“Talkin’ of death,” said Lord John.  “I’m a Christian of sorts, but it seems to me there was somethin’ mighty natural in those ancestors of ours who were buried with their axes and bows and arrows and the like, same as if they were livin’ on just the same as they used to.  I don’t know,” he added, looking round the table in a shamefaced way, “that I wouldn’t feel more homely myself if I was put away with my old .450 Express and the fowlin’-piece, the shorter one with the rubbered stock, and a clip or two of cartridges—­just a fool’s fancy, of course, but there it is.  How does it strike you, Herr Professor?”

“Well,” said Summerlee, “since you ask my opinion, it strikes me as an indefensible throwback to the Stone Age or before it.  I’m of the twentieth century myself, and would wish to die like a reasonable civilized man.  I don’t know that I am more afraid of death than the rest of you, for I am an oldish man, and, come what may, I can’t have very much longer to live; but it is all against my nature to sit waiting without a struggle like a sheep for the butcher.  Is it quite certain, Challenger, that there is nothing we can do?”

“To save us—­nothing,” said Challenger.  “To prolong our lives a few hours and thus to see the evolution of this mighty tragedy before we are actually involved in it—­that may prove to be within my powers.  I have taken certain steps——­”

“The oxygen?”

“Exactly.  The oxygen.”

“But what can oxygen effect in the face of a poisoning of the ether?  There is not a greater difference in quality between a brick-bat and a gas than there is between oxygen and ether.  They are different planes of matter.  They cannot impinge upon one another.  Come, Challenger, you could not defend such a proposition.”

“My good Summerlee, this etheric poison is most certainly influenced by material agents.  We see it in the methods and distribution of the outbreak.  We should not a priori have expected it, but it is undoubtedly a fact.  Hence I am strongly of opinion that a gas like oxygen, which increases the vitality and the resisting power of the body, would be extremely likely to delay the action of what you have so happily named the daturon.  It may be that I am mistaken, but I have every confidence in the correctness of my reasoning.”

“Well,” said Lord John, “if we’ve got to sit suckin’ at those tubes like so many babies with their bottles, I’m not takin’ any.”

“There will be no need for that,” Challenger answered.  “We have made arrangements—­it is to my wife that you chiefly owe it—­that her boudoir shall be made as airtight as is practicable.  With matting and varnished paper.”

“Good heavens, Challenger, you don’t suppose you can keep out ether with varnished paper?”

“Really, my worthy friend, you are a trifle perverse in missing the point.  It is not to keep out the ether that we have gone to such trouble.  It is to keep in the oxygen.  I trust that if we can ensure an atmosphere hyper-oxygenated to a certain point, we may be able to retain our senses.  I had two tubes of the gas and you have brought me three more.  It is not much, but it is something.”