Bewilderment, complete bewilderment, is the only word which can express the appearance of our little group, as we stood in the bare room. Even Forrester temporarily forgot his professional attitude in the absorbing interest of the tale. But a sigh from Joslinn recalled him.
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Joslinn,” he said hurriedly, and, at his nod of dismissal, we turned and went down the stairs.
“Nothing real, with a vengeance,” remarked Tom, as we descended. “I can’t imagine a more unearthly spectacle than that noiseless fading away. I’d have said mirage, if he hadn’t heard the music, and if the ship hadn’t actually disappeared. Hold on—if this is the work of man, is it possible that he has discovered some new substance which, placed in armored steel, causes it to disintegrate? If he got hold of such stuff, he might get it into armored steel, while it was making, and then after a certain time the whole thing might crumble away.”
Tom had finished speaking as he stood in the door of the doctor’s pleasant library.
Dorothy nodded as he closed. “That’s not a bad idea, Tom. If anything could be found that would make steel crumble into dust, as a puff ball crumbles, it might of course be timed. But the whole thing dazes me. I want plenty of time to think it over.”
“And I must get to work on my story,” I said, trying to shake myself back into the world of reality again, and I rushed back to my desk.
Word for word I wrote the story, drew Joslinn’s life history briefly, ran rapidly through the whole, and as Dorothy entered, “I know how I’ll end,” I exclaimed. “I’ll prophesy the sinking of a British battleship this week.”
She clapped her hands. “Good! good!” she cried. “You couldn’t do better.”