"You know we have to get all our chemicals from New York—so the first thing to do is to make out a list, for I can't risk using these unlabelled bottles, even those that are easily recognized. The contents may have been tampered with."
"Can you test that?" Knowlton asked.
"Yes." I took at random two or three bottles and poured some of their contents into test-tubes. I then tried a few simple reactions. In each case, the chemical purity of the materials proved to have been destroyed. Our hands were completely tied.
"That old devil would never have thought of that all by himself," Knowlton said, after a string of complicated introductory epithets. "The circus woman did that—I recognize the feminine touch."
"I can't help admiring the skill with which it was done. Not a bottle betrays by sight or smell, except for the missing label, that the contents aren't all right."
Knowlton grinned, in spite of himself.
"Good boy, Ted. I'm glad to see you aren't panic-stricken, any way. Well, I might as well go home and get some sleep. You make out your list and telegraph tonight."
I began my list of needed materials, wondering the while what Helen would say if she knew how the day was ending for us both. The thought of her put a desperate eagerness into me—I was not going to be beaten, black as things looked. Then a new idea came to me. Prospero would probably appear in the morning to see the results; if he found me simply getting ready to begin again, he might try a new scheme to injure us. On the other hand, if he saw me working away with the damaged chemicals, as if ignorant of what had happened to them, he would conclude his devilish plan was succeeding and keep quiet. I left my desk, lit the Bunsen burners under the sand baths, and set out several dishes of compounds to stew and evaporate. I spent an hour or more in carefully setting my stage; under the safety hood there was a fuming beaker; there were filtrates in various stages of progress, in addition to the dishes over the flames. It was a normal-looking night's work—a continuation of Friday's experiments to all outward appearances. Then I returned to my real work.
About four in the morning I heard a familiar step, and my heart leaped to think I had so well prepared for just this contingency. Prospero entered, bleary, dishevelled, his flowing black tie loose and streaming, his brass-buttoned waistcoat buttoned awry, his yellow gloves dirty and stained. On his face was the leering, crafty expression of the drunkard or the insane.
"You're early," I remarked drily, barely glancing at him.