“What’s that?”
“It looks like soap or wax. But it has the force of a devil. One half of this would be enough to blow St. Peter’s into bits. It is a capricious Devil. You may kick it about or chop it into pieces, you may burn it in your stove, it will remain ever silent: a dynamite shell may tear it apart yet it will not rouse its wrath. I may throw it into the street, beneath the hoofs of horses; the dogs may bite at it and children may play with it—and still it remains indifferent. But I need only apply a current of high pressure to it—and the force of the explosion will be monstrous, limitless. A strong but silly devil!”
With equal carelessness, bordering almost upon contempt, Magnus threw his devil back into the table drawer and looked at me sternly. My eyebrows twitched slightly:
“I see you know your subject to perfection, and I rather like this capricious devil of yours. But I would like to hear you discuss man.”
Magnus laughed:
“And was it not of him I have just spoken? Is not the history of this piece of soap the history of your man, who can be beaten, burned, hacked to bits, hurled beneath the hoofs of horses, thrown to the dogs, torn into shreds—without rousing his consuming wrath or even his anger? But prick him with something —and the explosion will be terrible...as you will learn, Mr. Wondergood.”
He laughed again and rubbed his white hands with pleasure: he scarcely remembered at that moment that human blood was already upon them. And is it really necessary for man to remember that? After a pause commensurate with the respect due to the subject, I asked:
“And do you know how to make a man explode?”
“Certainly.”
“And would you consider it permissible to give me this information?”