Tiring of the problem, Farr gave the remains one last scornful look and moved away. He had no sympathy for one who comes out second best in a contest of cunning. But as he walked on to the temple and passed into its shadows he felt a dark premonition of danger edging into his mind.
He paused inside the structure's entrance and switched on a torch, sweeping its beam about the chamber in which he stood. The room was cubical, small, dank and musty with age. Blank walls stared back at him mockingly, and for the briefest instant he again experienced a feeling of impending doom, then it faded as before.
Before moving on into the temple proper, he looked over his shoulder to see if the Mumums had followed. They hadn't. They crowded around the portal, jabbering shrilly and jostling one another in their eagerness to get a better view, but carefully refrained from entering.
Shrugging, he turned away. He had no time to wonder at the stupidity of the Mumums; there were more important matters to look after. Directing the ray of the torch before him he located an inner door and moved through it, heart leaping in sudden excitement at the sight.
There, resting in solitary splendor atop a marble pillar in the center of a vast hall, was the object which he had braved every conceivable type of horror to obtain. Awed in spite of himself, he walked slowly forward, eyes riveted in fascination on the gleaming prize.
Then the spell was gone and he broke into a run, a shout of exultation on his lips. He caught up the object from its pedestal and waved it wildly overhead, brain enfevered by the triumph of the moment. He brought the gleaming metal cylinder in front of his eyes and gazed at it in rapture. Power. This represented more power than any man had known, and plans for its use were already spinning in his brain.
Something rustled dryly in the vacuum container. Powder; it was a powder, rather than a liquid. The legend had erred on that point, but the discrepancy was inconsequential. He peered eagerly at the container, expecting to see the formula of the powder inscribed thereon. There was none, but it did not disturb him. Chemists could analyze the stuff and manufacture it.
Flashing his light once more over the great hall to make certain he had missed nothing, he strode buoyantly to the entrance and passed into the small outer chamber, thrusting the container of powder in his tunic pocket as he went.
Immediately a dazzling brilliance lit up the room. Varicolored lights played about his head, blazed radiantly in his brain and etched every cell in bold relief. Farr fell to his knees, throwing his arms over his eyes in a vain effort to shut out the light. The torment in his mind was unbearable, agonizing.