Craft and Hathaway could not help looking at this man in amazement.
Was this the man with whom they had played billiards, with whom they had drank and associated, never dreaming that he was engaged in any such investigations? Was he, indeed, crazy? and were they the listeners to a lunatic’s chattering discourse?
Such were the thoughts that passed through the minds of both.
Cobb stood watching the effect of his words upon them. He noted every change in their countenances; he read every thought as it came to their minds. He spoke not a word, waiting for them to give utterance to the skeptical ideas which he knew they entertained.
“It is too strange! It is too contrary to natural law and science! It is impossible!” and Craft arose as if to go.
“Yes, Cobb,” said Hathaway, “this is too much; it is a fancy you have gotten, but a fancy which can never be realized. You have allowed your theories to become shadows, your shadows to become tangible, but the tangibility is apparent to no one but yourself.” He too arose from his chair.
A smile played upon the lips of Cobb, a smile of perfect self-satisfaction. His eyes shone as if his very soul centered in them.
“Look!” he cried; “look! and behold for yourselves whether my words are worthy of consideration!”
Saying this, he raised the lid of the box on the table; then, stepping back and pointing his finger at it, exclaimed, in a tone of command, a tone of majestic confidence in his own power:
“Look! Behold life in death; death in life!”