The scientific pioneer returns

By Nelson S. Bond
Time was no barrier to Lancelot Biggs when he found out Horse-sense Hank alone could solve his problem.
Before their eyes a strange figure materialized. It was Lancelot Biggs—out of the future!
This sounds silly. At half past three on a Tuesday afternoon, in broad daylight, Professor Hallowell of the Midland University physics department left Jurnegan Hall, walked down a campus path clogged to the gutters with students—and disappeared into thin air.
This sounds even sillier. At nine-fifteen the next Friday morning, Travis Tomkins, chief technician of Midland's new observatory, stepped to the platform of Old Main to speak before an attentive crowd of twelve hundred undergraduates—and vanished before their eyes!
But this sounds silliest. H. Logan MacDowell, fat, fifty, feverish, and president of our institute of (alleged) learning, came to me about it! He came on the run. That is, he came at a brisk, lurching shamble. Which is, to him, the equivalent of a Cunningham four-minute mile. He collapsed on my studio couch, gasped and panted like the White King for a minute, then wheezed out a strangled plea.
Blakeson, you—you've got to do something!
I looked at his gaping mouth and bulging eyes, and nodded.
Right! I remembered. I've got to rewind my bass rod and see that the reel is oiled. They'll be running in a week or so.
No, you impertinent young snippet! I mean, you've got to do something about these mysterious disappearances.
I laughed right out loud. I bared my arms frankly.
I said, Grab a look, Prexy! Nothing up the right sleeve; nothing up the left sleeve. I didn't snatch your pedagogues. After all, just because certain members of the faculty find it expedient to take a powder—