He had been in it before but never alone. The air was heavy and hot. Between the two front windows stood the flat-topped table with its three drawers on each side. In the room were many other things—discarded clothing, two trunks, a case of books, a box of plantation account books—all these Morey had seen and wondered at on the few occasions when he had been permitted to remove, from time to time, his father’s saddle, gun, rod and—only the fall before, as a great prize—the old riding crop.
But these things did not interest him now. Falling on his knees he drew open the drawers, tight with disuse. Each was full; insurance policies, bills of sale, weight tickets, auction lists, letters, small account books. In one a case of pistols; in another, European guide books and old steamship circulars. His hands covered with dust and his clothes white with it he paused after a quick examination. Then, with boyish impulse he turned again to the drawer containing the pistol case. As he drew the case from its dusty bed he saw, beneath it, a flat packet of blue paper tied with red tape.
Holding the mahogany pistol box under one arm with his free hand he lowered the dripping candle to the drawers. On the packet, about eight inches long by four inches wide and an inch deep, he read with difficulty, for the inscription was in faded brown ink: “To whom it may concern. A dream of the future. Aspley Marshall, February 5th, 1889.”
Grasping the package, he let the pistol case sink back into the drawer and, his heart beating wildly, hurried from the room. Locking the door and replacing the keys, he ran to his own little bedroom at the far end of the dark and wide upper hallway. Lighting his own candle he hesitated a moment and then slipped the rotten tape from the parcel.
Opened, the packet turned out to be twelve sheets of heavy blue letter paper. The two bottom ones were covered with the outlines of a mechanical device resembling the cylinder of an engine. These were in black with figures on them in red, and seemed to be front and side elevations of some power apparatus. Next to them were two sheets of formulæ in red figures with chemical equations. Morey made no attempt to understand them. Like the projections on the last pages they were beyond his comprehension. Between these four sheets and a single sheet containing a few lines in brown ink on top, lay seven closely written pages beginning, “Stuttgart, 1888—Last will and testament of a man with a dream.”
The inscription on the top sheet, evidently written later, was brief:
“To whomsoever may take the trouble to open and read this record:
“To those who are striving to harness and apply the forces of nature to man’s uses, these experiments are dedicated and bequeathed. In the knowledge that hydrogen gas in its free and pure state is the most powerful force known, I herein propound, theoretically, the practicability of using it as a motive power. The inefficiency of coal, as transformed into steam, and the known high efficiency of hydrogen as an explosive force being recognized, placing it first in the list of potentialities, I suggest the introduction of hydrogen gas into engine cylinders. The following pages discuss:
“1. The liquefaction of pure hydrogen to render it practically portable.
“2. Its admixture with air behind a piston to secure a maximum of expansive force.