Затерянный мир / The Lost World - стр. 3

“And if I…”

Her dear hand rested upon my lips.

“Not another word, Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hour ago. Some day, perhaps, when you have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again.”

And so I left her with my heart glowing within me and with the eager determination to find some deed which was worthy of my lady. But who… who in all this world could ever have imagined this incredible deed I was about to take? Was it hardness, was it selfishness, that Gladys should ask me to risk my life for her own glorification? Such thoughts may come in middle age but never when you are twenty three and in the fever of your first love.

I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, red-headed news editor, and I hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was the real boss but he was above and beyond us – we saw him very seldom. And McArdle was his first lieutenant. The old man nodded as I entered the room.

“Well, Mr. Malone, you seem to be doing very well,” he said in his kindly Scottish accent.

I thanked him.

“The article about the explosion was excellent. So why did you want to see me?”

“To ask a favour… Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission? I would do my best to get you some good copy.”

“What sort of mission, Mr. Malone?”

“Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. The more difficult it was, the better it would suit me.”

“You seem very anxious to lose your life.”

“To justify my life, Sir.”

“Dear me, Mr. Malone, I’m afraid the day for this sort of thing is rather past. There’s no room for romance… Wait a bit, though!” he added, with a sudden smile. “What about exposing a fraud… a modern Munchausen… and making him ridiculous? You could show him as the liar that he is! How does it sound to you?”

“Anything… anywhere… I don’t care.”

McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.

“You seem to have, I suppose, animal magnetism, or youthful energy, or something… So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger?”

I looked a little startled.

“Challenger!” I cried. “Professor Challenger, the famous zoologist! The man who broke the skull of Blundell, of the Telegraph!”

The news editor smiled grimly.

“Do you mind? Didn’t you say it was adventures you wanted?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

“I don’t suppose he can always be so violent as that. You may have better luck, or more tact in handling him.”

“I really know nothing about him,” I said. “I only remember his name in connection with the police-court proceedings, for striking Blundell. I am not very clear yet why I am to interview this gentleman. What else has he done?”