“Very well.” The doctor took the package and followed instructions. “A hot flame now,” he murmured. “There it is. The bits of paper burn quickly and we have——”
Jimmie held his breath. What would they have? Nothing? Just nothing at all?
“Ah,” the chemist breathed, “you were right. There is something left. A very little glass.”
“Good! Oh, good!” Jimmie was all but dancing a jig. “How—how much do I owe you?”
“Nothing, my boy. Nothing at all.”
“Dr. Andre, tell me,” Jimmie was in deadly earnest now, “would it be possible for one to produce a gas that would put a person to sleep but not kill them?”
“Certainly,” said the chemist. “There are several such gases.”
“Doc—doctor,” Jimmie stammered again, “would it be possible to blow some of this gas into a glass bubble so thin that it would burst at the slightest compact?”
“That,” said the doctor, “I could not say for sure. I am not an authority on glass. I could, however, send you to a man who is. There’s the man who does my test tubes for me. He is what you might call a ‘keen’ glass blower.”
“Will you send me to him?”