Page:Amazing Stories Volume 01 Number 09.djvu/38

a thought came into his mind that sobered him with a jolt. Ten minutes later he was speeding towards New York in his big Mercer.

At precisely 5 p.m. he was shown into the private office of Brig.-General Humiston, commanding the new secret intelligence department of the Washington government.

Not only the General but, unknown to him, his daughter also, had long taken a deep interest in young Errell, the latter's father and the General having been classmates at West Point. This interest was fully reciprocated, especially in the case of the daughter,—a vivacious exponent of the younger set.

But it was in his capacity as a government official that Errell had called on General Humiston, having determined to proffer his services and the services of his invention as well to the country of his birth.

"Well, my boy," boomed the gruff old soldier, "What's on your mind? And why haven't you been to see us for so long? Jerry thinks you have forgotten her entirely."

"General," broke in the young man, ignoring his inquiry, "can you jump into my car and come down to my place on Long Island at once? I have something to show you, something so breath-taking in its possibilities and of such tremendous importance to your department that every moment counts."

"Are you in earnest?" demanded the General, sitting up with a jerk "You want me to break a theatre engagement with Jerry and go with you now?"

"Precisely that," replied Errell gravely; then, hopefully: "Why not bring Jerry with you?"

"Call at the Biltmore in one hour," was the reply in curt, military tones. "One or both of us will be ready to go with you."

Errell's hand went up in salute, he turned smartly on his heel and left the room.

Promptly on the hour, the General appeared at the motor entrance of the hotel, followed closely by Jerry,—bewitching in rich furs and silken coat. Errell's heart thumped riotously as he leaped from the car and met her with outstretched hands.

"Oh Jerry," he cried, "It's good to see you," and his eyes fully confirmed the words.

"I'm from Missouri," was that young person's flippant reply, but the words could not disguise the wonderful glow of happiness that irradiated the lovely little face.

Once out of the city, the big car sped down the island, roaring past sleepy farms and villages as it tore through the night, and as the clock struck 9 they drew up at the Errell doorstep.

Little was said on the outward trip, but once inside the house the General asked:

"Now, Errell, what's it all about? I hope you haven't dragged me down here on a wild goose chase."

"Come up to my laboratory," was Errell's reply. He waited a second, then added: "You too, Jerry." She gave him a quick glance of appreciation.

A moment more and they were in the laboratory, Jerry and her father looking with frank curiosity at the mysterious cabinet.

"General, and you too, Jerry," began Errell very soberly. "What I am about to show you is something so fantastic, so weird, so utterly removed from all human experience, that before proceeding further I feel I should prepare your minds for what you are to behold. Please be seated and follow closely." He paused, then went on:

"When the dynamo at a power-house breaks down, every trolley car on that system stops and the electricity in the overhead wire and in the dynamo itself disappears,—swallowed up in the earth's general store of electric force. Unless this electricity can be made to reappear, by starting up the dynamo again, street-car service on that system is a thing of the past. This is obvious. Now for the next step:

"You know how moving pictures are made, with a blasé photographer turning a crank while the villain chokes the heroine. Once the lights are switched off, however, the scene has passed into oblivion,—unless or until it is resurrected by projecting the film on to a screen. What few people realize, is that every event on this earth leaves a record in light rays, whether or not a human photographer is present to snap the picture.

"In other words, light rays persist, or endure, since nothing is lost in Nature. To illustrate: Through the medium of a powerful telescope we are now able to get a view of celestial bodies which, without the aid of this instrument, would necessitate a journey of years in their direction in order to obtain a corresponding view. If a cataclysm should destroy the Martian canals today and we should travel towards that planet in a projectile at the rate of a mile a minute, it would take years ere we reached a point in space where the event would become visible to our eyes; or, if we elected to remain here, it would take just that much longer before the event would appear to the inhabitants of this sphere.

"Again, consider the curious paradox presented last New Year's eve, when couples in London danced by radio during the last moments of 1925 to music played in Berlin in 1926, and then, a few moments later, danced in 1926 to music being played in New York in 1925. An evening paper in San Francisco might truthfully have stated on December 31st: 'The West End club of London danced the old year out at 4 o'clock this afternoon,' while a London paper on the morning of January 1st might with equal truth have announced: 'The Waikiki club of Honolulu will dance the New Year in at 10:30 o'clock this forenoon.'

"From this you can readily comprehend that Time is but a measure of space. Now for the final step:

"In order to reproduce a past scene in Nature, two problems arise: First, that of reproducing the light rays in their proper sequence. As I stated before, nothing is lost in Nature, although it may change its form. So, just as electricity can be made to manifest itself again after disappearing, so also can light rays, which persist, be made to reappear, although no longer visible to the eye. It is not essential that the identical light rays of the former scene be brought back; only that the rays