The Stolen Bacillus and Other Incidents | Page 8

and the
flowers were growing limp and brown at the edges of the petals. The
doctor stooped towards it, then saw that one of the aërial rootlets still
stirred feebly, and hesitated.
The next morning the strange orchid still lay there, black now and
putrescent. The door banged intermittently in the morning breeze, and
all the array of Wedderburn's orchids was shrivelled and prostrate. But
Wedderburn himself was bright and garrulous upstairs in the glory of
his strange adventure.

IN THE AVU OBSERVATORY

The observatory at Avu, in Borneo, stands on the spur of the mountain.
To the north rises the old crater, black at night against the
unfathomable blue of the sky. From the little circular building, with its
mushroom dome, the slopes plunge steeply downward into the black
mysteries of the tropical forest beneath. The little house in which the
observer and his assistant live is about fifty yards from the observatory,
and beyond this are the huts of their native attendants.
Thaddy, the chief observer, was down with a slight fever. His assistant,
Woodhouse, paused for a moment in silent contemplation of the
tropical night before commencing his solitary vigil. The night was very
still. Now and then voices and laughter came from the native huts, or
the cry of some strange animal was heard from the midst of the mystery
of the forest. Nocturnal insects appeared in ghostly fashion out of the
darkness, and fluttered round his light. He thought, perhaps, of all the
possibilities of discovery that still lay in the black tangle beneath him;
for to the naturalist the virgin forests of Borneo are still a wonderland
full of strange questions and half-suspected discoveries. Woodhouse
carried a small lantern in his hand, and its yellow glow contrasted
vividly with the infinite series of tints between lavender-blue and black
in which the landscape was painted. His hands and face were smeared
with ointment against the attacks of the mosquitoes.
Even in these days of celestial photography, work done in a purely
temporary erection, and with only the most primitive appliances in
addition to the telescope, still involves a very large amount of cramped
and motionless watching. He sighed as he thought of the physical
fatigues before him, stretched himself, and entered the observatory.
The reader is probably familiar with the structure of an ordinary
astronomical observatory. The building is usually cylindrical in shape,
with a very light hemispherical roof capable of being turned round from
the interior. The telescope is supported upon a stone pillar in the centre,
and a clockwork arrangement compensates for the earth's rotation, and
allows a star once found to be continuously observed. Besides this,
there is a compact tracery of wheels and screws about its point of
support, by which the astronomer adjusts it. There is, of course, a slit in

the movable roof which follows the eye of the telescope in its survey of
the heavens. The observer sits or lies on a sloping wooden arrangement,
which he can wheel to any part of the observatory as the position of the
telescope may require. Within it is advisable to have things as dark as
possible, in order to enhance the brilliance of the stars observed.
The lantern flared as Woodhouse entered his circular den, and the
general darkness fled into black shadows behind the big machine, from
which it presently seemed to creep back over the whole place again as
the light waned. The slit was a profound transparent blue, in which six
stars shone with tropical brilliance, and their light lay, a pallid gleam,
along the black tube of the instrument. Woodhouse shifted the roof, and
then proceeding to the telescope, turned first one wheel and then
another, the great cylinder slowly swinging into a new position. Then
he glanced through the finder, the little companion telescope, moved
the roof a little more, made some further adjustments, and set the
clockwork in motion. He took off his jacket, for the night was very hot,
and pushed into position the uncomfortable seat to which he was
condemned for the next four hours. Then with a sigh he resigned
himself to his watch upon the mysteries of space.
There was no sound now in the observatory, and the lantern waned
steadily. Outside there was the occasional cry of some animal in alarm
or pain, or calling to its mate, and the intermittent sounds of the Malay
and Dyak servants. Presently one of the men began a queer chanting
song, in which the others joined at intervals. After this it would seem
that they turned in for the night, for no further sound came from their
direction, and the whispering stillness became more and more
profound.
The clockwork ticked steadily. The shrill hum of a mosquito explored
the place and grew shriller