II
Robert Shoreham struggled into raucous¹ difficult speech.
‘I have destroyed my brain child and nobody in the world knows how Iarrived at it. One man helped me but he is dead. He died of tuberculosis² ayear after we had come to success. You must go away again. I cannot helpyou.’
‘But this knowledge of yours means you could save the world!’
The man in the chair made a curious noise. It was laughter. Laughter ofa crippled man.
‘Save the world. Save the world! What a phrase! That’s what your youngpeople are doing, they think! They’re going ahead in violence and hatredto save the world. But they don’t know how! They will have to do it them-selves, out of their own hearts, out of their own minds. We can’t give theman artificial way of doing it. No. An artificial goodness? An artificial kind-ness? None of that. It wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t mean anything. It wouldbe against Nature.’ He said slowly: ‘Against God.’
The last two words came out unexpectedly, clearly enunciated³.
He looked round at his listeners. It was as though he pleaded with themfor understanding, yet at the same time had no real hope of it.
‘I had a right to destroy what I had created–’
‘I doubt it very much,’ said Mr Robinson, ‘knowledge is knowledge.
What you have given birth to– what you have made come to life, youshould not destroy.’
‘You have a right to your opinion–but the fact you will have to accept.’
‘No,’ Mr Robinson brought the word out with force.
Lisa Neumann turned on him angrily.
‘What do you mean by “No”?’
Her eyes were flashing. A handsome woman, Mr Robinson thought. Awoman who had been in love with Robert Shoreham all her life probably.
Had loved him, worked with him, and now lived beside him, ministeringto him with her intellect, giving him devotion in its purest form withoutpity.
‘There are things one gets to know in the course of one’s lifetime,’ saidMr Robinson. ‘I don’t suppose mine will be a long life. I carry too muchweight to begin with.’ He sighed as he looked down at his bulk. ‘But I doknow some things. I’m right, you know, Shoreham. You’ll have to admitI’m right, too. You’re an honest man. You wouldn’t have destroyed yourwork. You couldn’t have brought yourself to do it. You’ve got it some-where still, locked away, hidden away, not in this house, probably. I’dguess, and I’m only making a guess, that you’ve got it somewhere in a safedeposit or a bank. She knows you’ve got it there, too. You trust her. She’sthe only person in the world you do trust.’

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