As for Joan, she faced her fate with fortitude—fortitude and a supreme faith that her father would succeed in analyzing that sinister orange vapor and find the weapon the world waited for.
But agonizing days passed and he did not find it.
Then at last, on the night of August 14th, when Los Angeles and San Francisco were smoldering infernos, along with Reno, Denver, Omaha, El Paso and a score of other great American cities; when Buenos Aires and Santiago were gone, Berlin and Peking and Cairo; when Australia was all one fiery hell—then it was that Professor Wentworth summoned Jim Carter to Hartford.
Hoping against hope, he hurried over.
Once again, Joan ushered him into the house. She was very pale and did not speak.
At her side stood her father. It was he who spoke.
“Good evening, Jim. You have come promptly.”
His voice was strained, his face grave. He had aged greatly in the past few weeks.
“Well I’ll admit I clipped along. You’ve—found something?”