A Battlefield Up-to-Date

I said to Nowell at the time that I didn’t altogether like the notion. He seemed astonished.

“I thought you stipulated for something both novel and surprising?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “I did. But I do not want the roof blown off. I don’t want either the novelty or the surprise to go so far as that. This is an evening party, Nowell. The persons present will be friends of mine.”

Nowell was sarcastic--almost rude. He appeared to be of opinion that “A Battlefield Up-to-Date, with Realistic Illustrations and Experiments,” was just the theme for a drawing-room lecture.

“Steingard,” he observed, “is an enthusiast--a man in a million. Think of the kudos it will bring you to have the ideas of a man like that first given to the world upon your premises--your party’ll be immortal. Steingard’s theories will revolutionise the art of warfare--they’ll amaze you.”

Steingard was the individual who was going to lecture. I never saw him before that fatal night--and I’ve never seen him since. He had better let me catch him.

I did not mention to my wife what was to be the lecturer’s theme until the actual morning of the appointed day--I had had my qualms all through. She at once remarked that the party would have to be postponed--or the lecture. She was not going to have cannons let off in her drawing-room--nor dynamite either. Was I insane? or was I merely a senseless idiot? Did I not know that the mere explosion of a pistol at the theatre brought her to the verge of hysterics? Did I or did anyone else suppose that machine-guns discharging two thousand shots a minute could be fired with impunity at her guests? Was that my notion of an evening party? If so, perhaps I had better let the people know before they came.

I assured her that there would not be any machine-guns nor dynamite--nor, indeed, anything of the kind. Nowell had given me his word of honour that there would be no explosives of any sort. What there would be I did not know, but I had obtained a distinct guarantee that there would be nothing to “go off.” Still, I went to Nowell to tell him I thought that perhaps after all the lecture had better be put off. Only as he turned out to be out of town, and I didn’t know Steingard’s address, I felt that all I could do would be to hope for the best.

If I had had the faintest shadow of a notion of what that best would be!

As soon as the guests began to arrive I perceived that the little programme I had arranged to open the evening with was not altogether relished.

“Well, Mr. Parker,” asked Mrs. Griffin, as I met her at the door, “what are you going to give us this time to amuse us till the dancing begins? Your ideas are always so original. Last year you gave us that beautiful little play.”

“And this year I am going to give you something novel and surprising. The distinguished scientist, Steingard, will give you a vivid impressionistic picture of a battle up-to-date, as it will exist under conditions created by himself.”

“Oh!” She looked a trifle blank. “And where is he going to give it us--in here?”

She glanced round the room, as if she felt that, for an exhibition of that particular kind, space was a little restricted. I admitted to myself that the apartment was getting filled. My wife’s mother became quite excited directly she heard what was about to take place.

“My goodness gracious, Henry,” she exclaimed, “whatever do you mean? You know I am so sensitive that I cannot bear the slightest allusion to war and bloodshed. I shall insist on remaining in Louisa’s bedroom till all is over.”

And she did insist--showing herself to be wiser than she supposed. As I gradually became conscious that others would have insisted had they not feared the appearance of rudeness, I felt that Nowell had been an ass in supposing that such a subject would fitly usher in a little dance, and that I had been another in not snubbing him upon the spot. So, as Steingard was behind his time, I decided that when he did come I would ask him to stop and join the party and have a bit of supper, and just casually as it were put off the lecture to some future occasion.

But I was not prepared for the kind of man Steingard proved himself to be.

Directly he arrived I ran out into the street and found him getting out of a four-wheeled cab, the top of which was covered with large wooden cases.

“You are Mr. Steingard? Delighted to meet you. You are a little late; so, as we’re just beginning dancing, I think we’ll have the lecture some time next week. But of course you’ll stop and join the--eh--festive throng?”

“Your name is Barker?”

I explained that my name was Parker. He spoke with a strong foreign accent, and in a tone of voice which I instinctively disliked. He was about six and a half feet high, and had a moustache which stood out three inches on either side of his face; not at all the sort of looking person with whom one would care to quarrel.

“I have not come to be made a fool of,” he remarked. “I have come to give a lecture, and that lecture I will give!”