don’t know what
happened yet. We haven’t even found Jimmy and Alison. Carter Wilkes says the
case is still wide open.’
‘I’m only repeating what I heard
tell,’ said Greg McAllister. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any mischief.’
‘I know that,’ I told him. ‘But you
can tell whoever told you that it’s not true, and you can make sure they spread
the right story just as fast as they managed to spread the wrong one.’
‘Well, I sure will. Do you want that
letter now, for old man Martin? If you want to give me a ride back to my
property, I could set it down for you straight away.’
‘Thanks. That would help.’
Greg McAllister gave another of his
crumpled, wrinkly smiles. ‘I’m real glad of that. I’m a neighbour, see, and I
can tell you straight that I’d do anything in the world to be of help.
Anything at all, bar nothing.’
Dan sighed. ‘Thank you, Mr
McAllister. Now, let’s go, shall we, while the rain’s still easy?’
By the time we returned to Dan’s
laboratory in New Milford, the sky was almost black, and there was a smell of
more rain in the air. Mrs Wardell had gone home with a migraine, but Rheta was
still there, working at the binocular microscope on sections of skin taken from
the body of the crustaceous mouse. She sat alone in a bright ellipse of
lamplight.
The mouse itself was lying on a pad
of cotton at the bottom of its cage, panting. It was still as scaley as ever,
although its encrustations didn’t seem to have spread any further along its
body. I took a quick look at it and then turned away. It reminded me too much
of poor young Oliver Bodine, and of what I might have to face when I went out
to meet his parents. Scales, and gristly joints, and bony
carapaces.
Dan hung up his wet raincoat, and
said: ‘How’s it going? Any luck with the Hersman tests?’
Rheta sat up straight on her lab
stool and rubbed her eyes. Dan leaned forward and peered into the microscope
himself. ‘That looks like a regular crustaceous structure,’ he said.
Rheta nodded. ‘There really isn’t
anything vimasual about the cell formations at all. The scaley parts of the
mouse have the same type of” cell structure as a crab shell, and the mousey parts of the mouse are absolutely normal and unremarkable.’
‘Have you tried giving the mouse
more of the Bodines’ water?’
‘No. I haven’t gotten around to that
yet. And I’m not sure that we have the equipment or the expertise to handle an
experiment of that magnitude. At the very least, we’d need a Morton refractor.’
Dan smoothed the top of his bald
head thoughtfully. ‘You think we ought to pass this on to Hartford?’
She climbed off the stool and walked
across to the mouse’s cage. She stared at the tiny monster through the bars for
a moment, and then she said: ‘The change is so sophisticated. Ordinary soft
mouse flesh has metamorphosed into scaley crab shell, and the whole process has
happened without killing the mouse or even interfering with its bodily
functions. I made twenty or thirty X-rays, and they all show that, internally,
the mouse is still functioning properly. Let me show you.’
We gathered around the fluorescent
light table at the end of the room, and Rheta opened an envelope of X-ray
photographs. She clipped them on to the light table, and we examined them with
care.
‘This is one of the clearest,’ said
Rheta, pointing. ‘You can see that the mouse’s internal bone structure seems to
have dissolved, and that all its bodily calcium has gravitated somehow to its
outer skin layer. What we’re actually seeing is a creature that has turned
itself inside out, and developed bones on the surface instead of inside.’
I peered at the X-rays cautiously.
‘Is there any indication that the water was responsible for it?’ I asked her.
She shrugged. ‘There’s nothing
conclusive. I can’t say one hundred per cent. But from all the studies I’ve
made today, I’d say that those squiggly bugs in the water are
happened yet. We haven’t even found Jimmy and Alison. Carter Wilkes says the
case is still wide open.’
‘I’m only repeating what I heard
tell,’ said Greg McAllister. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any mischief.’
‘I know that,’ I told him. ‘But you
can tell whoever told you that it’s not true, and you can make sure they spread
the right story just as fast as they managed to spread the wrong one.’
‘Well, I sure will. Do you want that
letter now, for old man Martin? If you want to give me a ride back to my
property, I could set it down for you straight away.’
‘Thanks. That would help.’
Greg McAllister gave another of his
crumpled, wrinkly smiles. ‘I’m real glad of that. I’m a neighbour, see, and I
can tell you straight that I’d do anything in the world to be of help.
Anything at all, bar nothing.’
Dan sighed. ‘Thank you, Mr
McAllister. Now, let’s go, shall we, while the rain’s still easy?’
By the time we returned to Dan’s
laboratory in New Milford, the sky was almost black, and there was a smell of
more rain in the air. Mrs Wardell had gone home with a migraine, but Rheta was
still there, working at the binocular microscope on sections of skin taken from
the body of the crustaceous mouse. She sat alone in a bright ellipse of
lamplight.
The mouse itself was lying on a pad
of cotton at the bottom of its cage, panting. It was still as scaley as ever,
although its encrustations didn’t seem to have spread any further along its
body. I took a quick look at it and then turned away. It reminded me too much
of poor young Oliver Bodine, and of what I might have to face when I went out
to meet his parents. Scales, and gristly joints, and bony
carapaces.
Dan hung up his wet raincoat, and
said: ‘How’s it going? Any luck with the Hersman tests?’
Rheta sat up straight on her lab
stool and rubbed her eyes. Dan leaned forward and peered into the microscope
himself. ‘That looks like a regular crustaceous structure,’ he said.
Rheta nodded. ‘There really isn’t
anything vimasual about the cell formations at all. The scaley parts of the
mouse have the same type of” cell structure as a crab shell, and the mousey parts of the mouse are absolutely normal and unremarkable.’
‘Have you tried giving the mouse
more of the Bodines’ water?’
‘No. I haven’t gotten around to that
yet. And I’m not sure that we have the equipment or the expertise to handle an
experiment of that magnitude. At the very least, we’d need a Morton refractor.’
Dan smoothed the top of his bald
head thoughtfully. ‘You think we ought to pass this on to Hartford?’
She climbed off the stool and walked
across to the mouse’s cage. She stared at the tiny monster through the bars for
a moment, and then she said: ‘The change is so sophisticated. Ordinary soft
mouse flesh has metamorphosed into scaley crab shell, and the whole process has
happened without killing the mouse or even interfering with its bodily
functions. I made twenty or thirty X-rays, and they all show that, internally,
the mouse is still functioning properly. Let me show you.’
We gathered around the fluorescent
light table at the end of the room, and Rheta opened an envelope of X-ray
photographs. She clipped them on to the light table, and we examined them with
care.
‘This is one of the clearest,’ said
Rheta, pointing. ‘You can see that the mouse’s internal bone structure seems to
have dissolved, and that all its bodily calcium has gravitated somehow to its
outer skin layer. What we’re actually seeing is a creature that has turned
itself inside out, and developed bones on the surface instead of inside.’
I peered at the X-rays cautiously.
‘Is there any indication that the water was responsible for it?’ I asked her.
She shrugged. ‘There’s nothing
conclusive. I can’t say one hundred per cent. But from all the studies I’ve
made today, I’d say that those squiggly bugs in the water are
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