Three weeks ago I made this instrument, and ever since then, at regular intervals, there have been rhythmic flutterings of the goldleaf, regular repetitions, as if it were knocking at the door of earth from the eternal silences. I have watched it—the same measured fluttering—two beats—then three—then two—then four and a pause! It is a studied measure! It has meaning! When I first noticed it—the faint flutter of the goldleaf—and knew that any waves from a nearer point than thirty-five million miles would utterly destroy so delicate an instrument—my hair stood on end. I have watched it three weeks—alone—and you ask me why I do not sleep!... Look!
(The doctors spring up electrified, and stare at the instrument.)
Philo
There it is again! Two beats—then three—then two—then four—now it is over!
(Seymour continues to stare at the instrument. Bellows subsides into a chair, looking foolish.)
Seymour (to himself)
Impossible!... (To Philo.) What was it you were saying? What did you see?
Philo
I saw what you saw—signals from a distance farther than the distance of the nearest planet to our earth.
Seymour (shaken)