Midnight lights burned brightly in the Fairaday laboratory. A group of tense watchers, Madge and Mr. Brownell, Jack, and Mr. and Mrs. Brady, stood watching Anne who was busy at the work table. Clyde Wendell, guarded by a forest ranger, sat propped carelessly back in his chair, a look of amused contempt on his face.
“Well, I’m afraid it’s a failure,” Anne said in a subdued tone. She smiled bravely but her face was wan. “We’ve tested each page except the back cover.”
Jack looked accusingly at Wendell.
“You could tell us how to bring out that formula if you would!”
“Perhaps, if there were a formula,” the chemist retorted. “Now that this nonsense is over, am I free to go?”
“You are not.”
All eyes focused upon Anne as she gave the final sheet the chemical test which had been applied to the other pages. As she removed it from the iodine bath a few minutes later, Madge, who was close at her friend’s side, bent closer. Scattered lines, at first indistinct and unconnected, gradually as if by magic, lengthened and conformed into written characters.
“It’s the formula!” she cried exultingly.
Mr. Brownell moved nearer. His face, passive until now, became animated. He studied the page which Anne held up for his inspection and then said quietly: “It’s the genuine thing. Miss Fairaday, I congratulate you.”
For a few minutes Clyde Wendell was forgotten. When Madge looked at him she saw that he had lost his arrogant assurance. He arose and with a gesture of submission faced Jack.