"Of course, Gary."
"Every minute? Neither of you left the study?"
"Not for a second. We were together every moment until we heard Miss Powell's cry; then we hurried here together. Really, Gary—"
"Yes, I know," conceded Gary ruefully. "I'm sorry. But the man did look a little like Dr. Anjers, and—"
The small scientist nodded sympathetically.
"Say no more about it, Doctor. You have had ample reason to be apprehensive—and to question. Judging from what I see here, you narrowly escaped a horrible death. Our foe's weapon is, indeed, a terrible one. As a physicist, I cannot understand how anything can create spontaneous combustion in such nonflammable substances as metal and plaster—"
"No?" grunted Gary. "Well, I can! Look here!"
He stepped to the wall upon which the ray had played most fiercely, bent and rose, sifting through his fingers a palm-full of tiny granules.
"Here's your answer. And it ties in exactly with what we were talking about earlier this afternoon. Condensation of matter!