“I came to ask you, sir”—he said after a pause—“whether you would not, now you know all, manage to take away that devilish thing that killed my master? I’m afraid to touch it myself, and no one else will—and there it lies up in the ruined tower shining away like a big lamp, and sticking like a burr to the iron rod I lifted it with, If it’s any good to you, I’m sure you’d better have it—and by the bye, I found this, sir, in my master’s room addressed to you.”
He held out a sealed envelope, which El-Râmi opened. It contained a folded paper, on which were scratched these lines—
“To El-Râmi Zarânos.
“Good friend, in the event of my death, I beg you to accept all my possessions such as they are, and do me the one favour I ask, which is this—Destroy the Disc, and let my problem die with me.”
This paper, duly signed, bore the date of two years previously. El-Râmi read it, and handed it to Karl, who read it also. They were silent for a few minutes; then El-Râmi crossed the room, and, unlocking a small cupboard in the wall, took out a sealed flask full of what looked like red wine.
“See here, Karl”—he said;—“There is no devil in the great stone you are so afraid of. It is as perishable as anything else in this best of all possible worlds. It is nothing but a peculiar and rare growth of crystal, which, though found in the lowest depths of the earth, has the quality of absorbing light and emitting it. It clings to the iron rod in the way you speak of because it is a magnet,—and iron not only attracts but fastens it. It is impossible for me just now to go to Ilfracombe—besides there is really no necessity for my presence there. I can fully trust you to bring me the papers and few possessions of my poor old friend,—and for the rest, you can destroy the stone yourself—the Disc, as your master called it. All you have to do is simply to pour this liquid on it,—it will pulverise—that is, it will crumble into dust while you watch it, and in ten minutes will be indistinguishable from the fallen mortar of the shattered tower. Do you understand?”
Karl’s mouth opened a little in wonderment, and he nodded feebly,—he found it quite easy and natural to be afraid of the flask containing a mixture of such potent quality, and he took it from El-Râmi’s hand very gingerly and reluctantly. A slight smile crossed El-Râmi’s features as he said—
“No, Karl! there is no danger—no fear of pulverisation for you. You can put the phial safely in your pocket,—and though its contents would pulverise a mountain if used in sufficient quantities,—the liquid has no effect on flesh and blood.”
“Pulverise a mountain!” repeated Karl nervously—“Do you mean that it could turn a mountain into a dust-heap?”
“Or a city—or a fortress—or a rock-bound coast—or anything in the shape of stone that you please”—replied El-Râmi carelessly—“but it will not harm human beings.”