“My friend speaks of a struggle such as one man might wage against a mob in the street. It is not for this that Hartmann has plotted so long. It is not to be shot by soldiers or hunted by police that he will once more shake this city. Do you wish to guess his weapon? Take this piece of stuff in your hand, and tell me what you think of it.”
As he spoke he rummaged his pockets and produced a small plate, apparently of silvery grey metal, of about two square inches of surface, and one-tenth of an inch or so in thickness. I examined it carefully.
“Now take this steel knife and hammer and test its hardness and texture.” I did so. Burnett looked on knowingly.
“Well, it is extremely tough and hard, for I can make no impression. What it is, however, I can’t say.”
“But its weight, its weight!” said Burnett.
I must have changed colour. “Why, it is as light or lighter than cardboard. What an extraordinary combination of attributes!”
“Extraordinary indeed! It is the grandest of Hartmann’s strokes! But you cannot guess its use?”
I shook my head.
“Well, suppose you try to think it out between now and Saturday night, when I will promise to introduce you to the inventor himself.”
“What, Hartmann?”