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asked.
    â€˜You must be mad! Every doctor who left the hospital this morning was shaken to his vitals.’
    Palfrey repressed the obvious retort, and said, ‘And has need to be.’
    Simister now stood in front of him, wild-eyed, a striking-looking man so much more attractive to look at than Maddern.
    â€˜They’ll go round and spread the story that every woman in this part of the world is barren!’
    â€˜Well,’ Palfrey said coldly. ‘Isn’t that what it looks like?’
    â€˜No, they can’t be. They—’
    Simister broke off, as two men appeared from the passage. One, tall, massive, almost prophet-like, was Chief Superintendent King of the Middlecombe Police. The other was a small, middle-aged man who wore pince nez, the nosepiece fastened together by cotton twisted round and round. He had a button of a nose and a button of a mouth and his cheeks looked like dry leather.
    â€˜Dr. Simister!’ exclaimed King.
    Simister rounded on him.
    â€˜You’ve got to stop Palfrey,’ he cried. ‘You’ve got to stop him from spreading alarm and despondency. What he says can’t be true, it’s impossible! You’ve got to—’
    Suddenly, Simister broke off, staring at the smaller man as if he hadn’t noticed him before. Now, he seemed appalled. Palfrey moved back a little, self-effacingly, to watch the others without playing a direct part in this little tragicomedy.
    â€˜Dale!’ he gasped.
    The little man nodded, a mannerism more than agreement.
    â€˜Dale!’ Simister gasped again. ‘What—what on Earth is he doing here?’ Now Simister turned towards the police Superintendent. ‘Are you mad, too? To allow the Press—Good God! If this story gets out there could be panic. My God, this has to be hushed up until—until the truth is known. And you allow Dale—’ He broke off almost incoherent with distress or despair or with rage. ‘Don’t print a word. Do you understand, don’t print a word! To do so would be lunacy!’
    Into a curiously static pool of silence, the newspaperman said quietly, ‘If it’s true, then the story must be told, Dr. Simister.’
    â€˜It can’t be true!’
    â€˜It is quite true that there are no cases at the pre-natal clinic,’ interrupted Dale. ‘But don’t worry, doctor, we won’t print anything against the public interest.’
    â€˜But this whole story would be against the public interest!’ cried Simister, his voice almost a screech.
    Dale said, ‘Have you a patient expecting a child?’
    â€˜No, but—’
    â€˜Do you know of any doctor in the district who has?’ demanded Dale. Then, with a glance at Palfrey, he went on, ‘The only possible justification for not printing the truth about this phenomenon is that by keeping silent we might help to find out who is behind it.’ He turned to Palfrey and asked with the same forthrightness as Maddern had shown earlier, ‘Do you think we should keep silent, Dr. Palfrey? That is what my editor sent me to find out.’
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Chapter Seven
THE NEWS BREAKS
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    Palfrey looked from Simister’s taut, near-despairing face to the newspaperman’s leathery one in which the periwinkle-blue eyes were very deep-set, then to the massive police Superintendent whose bland features showed no emotion at all, and on to Maddern. Maddern looked as he usually did; acutely intelligent in spite of his flabbiness.
    â€˜You can’t let such news out!’ cried Simister; he was almost gasping. ‘It would cause panic up and down the country. You can’t release it. Why, every woman in Britain would be afraid in case she was affected.’
    Superintendent King said, ‘A lot of them would heave a great sigh of relief, too.’
    â€˜Don’t make a joke of it!’ Simister cried.
    â€˜No joke. Simple fact,’ stated the