As ten o’clock struck Nordenholt came in. He looked more cheerful than when he had left us, though as he dropped into a chair I noticed that he seemed to be physically tired.
“Henley-Davenport asked me to make his excuses to you, Elsa. He wants to work out something which struck him when we were over at his laboratory; so I left him there.”
He smoked for a while in silence, as though ruminating over what he had seen.
“That’s a brave man if you want to see one,” he said at last. “From what he told me, there will be a terrible explosion the first time he manages to jar up his atomic powder-magazine; and yet he goes into the thing as coolly as though he were lighting a cigarette. I hope he pulls it off. More hangs on that than one can well estimate just now. It may be the last shot in our locker for all we know.”
“But surely, Uncle Stanley, you have foreseen everything?”
“I’m not omniscient, Elsa, though perhaps you have illusions on the point. I do what I can, but one must allow a good deal of latitude for the unpredictable which always exists. And in this affair, I am afraid the unpredictable will not be on the helping side. But don’t worry your head over that; we can’t help it. What’s wrong with you to-night. You look more worried than usual. Tired?”
“Not specially.”
“Would you sing to us a little?”
“Only something very short, then.” She moved to the piano. “What do you want?”
“Oh, let’s see.... I’d like.... No, you wouldn’t care for it. Let’s think again.”