Harker pressed his hands to his temples. His brain seemed to be racing furiously, but he was unable to think coherently.
“No, no,” he gasped, “I don’t know what you mean and I don’t want to know.”
“I will be explicit. If you lost a leg in an accident you would become the beneficiary of your father’s will, for you would be incapacitated and unable to support yourself. Also you would be deferred from military service. That much you can follow, yes? Good. Now listen carefully. I can give you a new leg. A flesh and blood leg as good or better than the one you will lose. This operation will only take a few months. At the end of that time you will have a perfect leg. No one will know of this. It will be presumed that you have gotten yourself an artificial leg. You will have the complete estate of your father and freedom to do as you please; for the army doctors will have deferred you from service. Do you understand now what I mean?”
“Y — yes,” Harker faltered. “I see.” He looked guiltily about the room, as if fearful of being overheard. “But how do I know you can get me a new leg? If you fail I’ll go through life a cripple, helpless—”
“Even if I did fail,” the doctor said, “it would not be too bad. You would have money, life would be pleasant for you.”
“No!” Harker cried hoarsely. He looked down at his legs and shuddered. “I must be sure.”
“Do not be alarmed,” Doctor Zinder said. “I said ‘if’ I failed. I will not fail. You do not have to take my word for that. I will let you examine completely the record of my experiments over the past twenty-five years and you will see things that I have done. Have no fear. You will be convinced. Within three months after you lose your leg I will have grafted another one in place for you. And it will be a perfect leg.”
“Why are you doing this for me?” Harker said. “What do you want out of this deal for yourself?”
“When you inherit your father’s estate you will be a wealthy man. I need money. We will work something out that will be satisfactory to both of us, I think. That is a trifle.” Harker stood up and paced up and down the floor. Tiny beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He ran a hand through his thinning, sandy hair. His mind ran in circles like a caged rat. Doubts assailed him and his skin grew feverish. Amputation! The word had a horrible sound. A cold, gleaming knife poised to slice— No! He bit his lower lip until the salty taste of the blood was in his mouth.
But his greed was great. The thought of his father’s money, tantalizingly close to his grasp, was maddening. All the things he had lusted for in his poverty would be his again, if he took this step. Could he trust this man?
“You want money?” he said jerkily to the doctor.
“That is correct.”
Harker’s breath became ragged as his suspicion grew.
“Why don’t you sell this technique of yours?” he snarled. “That should bring you millions. Damn you, what’s your game?”
“Who would buy it?” Doctor Zinder said gently. “The government? Hardly. They might take it, use it, but such things are never sold. They become public property when their discovery is announced. It is not so much altruism but the force of public opinion that makes doctors release the rights of their discoveries for the public welfare. Also there is a slight matter of pride. The fools have ridiculed my ideas and theories for two decades. Am I to crawl to them again, begging respectfully that they take my grafting technique as a gift? In that case I would not even receive the credit for the discovery.”
“All right, all right,” Harker snapped. He paced the floor, thudding his right fist into his left hand. He stopped suddenly in front of the doctor.
“Where will you get the leg?” he demanded.
Doctor Zinder smiled and his face was unpleasantly shadowed.
“That is a mere detail,” he murmured. “You may leave that in my hands. Have you made up your mind?”
Harker’s breath came in shuddering gasps and his fingers were tightened into straining fists.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve made up my mind.”
Chapter II
Five weeks later Silas Harker was wheeled into the luxuriously furnished private office of Counselor Morton Fortescue, senior partner of the law firm of Fortescue and Higgins.
Harker was in a wheel chair. One shod foot was visible against the foot-rest of the chair. The other was conspicuously missing.
Counselor Fortescue was seated behind a wide mahogany desk. At his side were an elderly, white-haired couple, with bewildered, apprehensive expressions on their tired faces. There was a secretary at the opposite side of the desk with a notebook pad in her hand.
Counselor Fortescue was a heavy-set man with pendulous jowls and snapping brown eyes. He looked up and nodded to Silas Harker.
“It’s been some time, Silas, since I’ve seen you,” he said. “Sorry to meet you again under such — er — unhappy circumstances.”
Harker smiled wanly but didn’t answer. His face was pale and drawn and there were lines about his mouth that had not been there a month before. But his eyes were sharp with a new cunning and sense of power.
“You — er — may come up closer to the desk,” Counselor Fortescue said. “It will be easier for us all if we can hear each other clearly.”
Harker looked over his shoulder. Doctor Zinder was standing impassively behind the wheel chair.
“Doctor, I do not believe you have met Mr. Fortescue, my father’s attorney.”
Doctor Zinder bowed and smiled stiffly.
“It is a pleasure, Counselor.”
“How do you do?” Fortescue said, as Doctor Zinder moved Harker’s chair slowly to the side of the desk. He cleared his throat and glanced down at the papers on his desk. Then he raised his eyes to Silas. “As you know Silas you father’s will was not made in your favor. The bulk of the estate, he left to Mr. and Mrs. Mason, who, as you know, were his only servants for the last twenty five years of his life. You, I am sure, remember the Masons favorably.” He smiled reassuringly at the white-haired couple at his side.
Harker looked up at the two old people, who stood, hands clasped together, watching the scene with troubled eyes.
“I remember the Masons,” he said. He nodded to them and turned his gaze again to the lawyer. “Please go on.”
“However,” Counselor Fortescue said, “there was a provision in your father’s will stipulating that you would become the beneficiary if you should in any way be disabled or incapacitated.” His gaze wavered from Harker’s and dropped to the one shoe visible against the foot rail of the wheel chair. He coughed and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “Since your unfortunate accident you have become, under the terms of the will, your father’s sole beneficiary. However there are a few things remaining to be cleared up.”
“What things?” Harker asked quickly.
“First, I must have a complete report of how the accident occurred, to add to the account we already have. It is a formality, but unfortunately a necessary one. Dr. Zinder, I believe, was the surgeon who performed the operation?”
“Yes,” said Harker.
“That is excellent,” the lawyer said. He leaned back in his chair. “Suppose you tell us, Doctor, the circumstances surrounding the operation. My secretary will take complete notes and we will have this business over with.”