The Ray Cummings MEGAPACK ®: 25 Golden Age Science Fiction and Mystery Tales. Ray Cummings
science, and all its sociological and economic questions, I got hardly more than a glimpse. It is a world and a people far less advanced than ours, yet with something we have not, and probably never will have—the universally distributed milk of human kindness. Yes, gentlemen, it is a world well worth studying.”
The Banker came out of a brown study. “How about your formulas for these drugs?” he asked abruptly; “where are they?” The Chemist tapped his forehead smilingly. “Well, hadn’t you better leave them with us?” the Banker pursued. “The hazards of your trip—you can’t tell—”
“Don’t misunderstand me, gentlemen,” broke in the Chemist. “I wouldn’t give you those formulas if my life and even Lylda’s depended on it. There again you do not differentiate between the individual and the race. I know you four very well. You are my friends, with all the bond that friendship implies. I believe in your integrity—each of you I trust implicitly. With these formulas you could crush Germany, or you could, any one of you, rule the world, with all its treasures for your own. These drugs are the most powerful thing for good in the world today. But they are equally as powerful for evil. I would stake my life on what you would do, but I will not stake the life of a nation.”
“I know what I’d do if I had the formulas,” began the Very Young Man.
“Yes, but I don’t know what you’d do,” laughed the Chemist. “Don’t you see I’m right?” They admitted they did, though the Banker acquiesced very grudgingly.
“The time of my departure is at hand. Is there anything else, gentlemen, before I leave you?” asked the Chemist, beginning to disrobe.
“Please tell Lylda I want very much to meet her,” said the Very Young Man earnestly, and they all laughed.
When the room was cleared, and the handkerchief and ring in place once more, the Chemist turned to them again. “Good-by, my friends,” he said, holding out his hands. “One week from tonight, at most.” Then he took the pills.
No unusual incident marked his departure. The last they saw of him he was calmly sitting on the ring near the scratch.
Then passed the slow days of watching, each taking his turn for the allotted six hours.
By the fifth day, they began to hourly expect the Chemist, but it passed through its weary length, and he did not come. The sixth day dragged by, and then came the last—the day he had promised would end their watching. Still he did not come, and in the evening they gathered, and all four watched together, each unwilling to miss the return of the adventurer and his woman from another world.
But the minutes lengthened into hours, and midnight found the white-faced little group, hopeful yet hopeless, with fear tugging at their hearts. A second week passed, and still they watched, explaining with an optimism they could none of them feel, the non-appearance of their friend. At the end of the second week they met again to talk the situation over, a dull feeling of fear and horror possessing them. The Doctor was the first to voice what now each of them was forced to believe. “I guess it’s all useless,” he said. “He’s not coming back.”
“I don’t hardly dare give him up,” said the Big Business Man.
“Me, too,” agreed the Very Young Man sadly.
The Doctor sat for some time in silence, thoughtfully regarding the ring. “My friends,” he began finally, “this is too big a thing to deal with in any but the most careful way. I can’t imagine what is going on inside that ring, but I do know what is happening in our world, and what our friend’s return means to civilization here. Under the circumstances, therefore, I cannot, I will not give him up.
“I am going to put that ring in a museum and pay for having it watched indefinitely. Will you join me?” He turned to the Big Business Man as he spoke.
“Make it a threesome,” said the Banker gruffly. “What do you take me for?” and the Very Young Man sighed with the tragedy of youth.
CHAPTER 9
AFTER FIVE YEARS
Four men sat in the clubroom, at their ease in the luxurious leather chairs, smoking and talking earnestly. Near the center of the room stood a huge mahogany table. On its top, directly in the glare of light from an electrolier overhead, was spread a large black silk handkerchief. In the center of this handkerchief lay a heavy gold band—a woman’s wedding-ring.
An old-fashioned valise stood near a corner of the table. Its sides were perforated with small brass-rimmed holes; near the top on one side was a small square aperture covered with a wire mesh through which one might look into the interior. Altogether, from the outside, the bag looked much like those used for carrying small animals.
As it lay on the table now its top was partly open. The inside was brightly lighted by a small storage battery and electric globe, fastened to the side. Near the bottom of the bag was a tiny wire rack, held suspended about an inch from the bottom by transverse wires to the sides. The inside of the bag was lined with black plush.
On an arm of the Doctor’s chair lay two white tin boxes three or four inches square. In his hand he held an opened envelope and several letter pages.
“A little more than five years ago tonight, my friends,” he began slowly, “we sat in this room with that”—he indicated the ring—“under very different circumstances.” After a moment, he went on:
“I think I am right when I say that for five years the thought uppermost in our minds has always been that ring and what is going on within one of its atoms.”
“You bet,” said the Very Young Man.
“For five years now we have had the ring watched,” continued the Doctor, “but Rogers has never returned.”
“You asked us here tonight because you had something special to tell us,” began the Very Young Man, with a questioning look at the valise and the ring.
The Doctor smiled. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t mean to be aggravating.”
“Go ahead in your own way, Frank,” the Big Business Man put in. “We’ll wait if we have to.”
The Doctor glanced at the papers in his hand; he had just taken them from the envelope. “You are consumed with curiosity, naturally, to know what I have to say—why I have brought the ring here tonight. Gentlemen, you have had to restrain that curiosity less than five minutes; I have had a far greater curiosity to endure—and restrain—for over five years.
“When Rogers left us on his last journey into the ring, he gave into my keeping, unknown to you, this envelope.” The Doctor held it up.
“He made me swear I would keep its existence secret from every living being, until the date marked upon it, at which time, in the event of his not having returned, it was to be opened. Look at it.” The Doctor laid the envelope on the table.
“It is inscribed, as you see, ‘To be opened by Dr. Frank Adams at 8 P. M. on September 4th, 1923.’ For five years, gentlemen, I kept that envelope, knowing nothing of its contents and waiting for the moment when I might, with honor, open it. The struggle has been a hard one. Many times I have almost been able to persuade myself, in justice to our friend’s safety—his very life, probably—that it would be best to disregard his instructions. But I did not; I waited until the date set and then, a little more than a month ago, alone in my office, I opened the envelope.”
The Doctor leaned forward in his chair and shuffled the papers he held in his hand. His three friends sat tense, waiting.
“The envelope contained these papers. Among them is a letter in which I am directed to explain everything to you as soon as I succeed in doing certain other things. Those things I have now accomplished. So I have sent for you. I’ll read you the letter first.”
No one spoke when the Doctor paused. The Banker drew a long breath. Then he bit the end off a fresh cigar and lit it with a shaking hand. The Doctor shifted his chair closer to the table under the light.
“The