They left the house, crossing the gardens toward an outbuilding in which was the instrument room. Alan's mind was tumultuous with his thoughts. This incredible catastrophe into which so unexpectedly he and those he loved had fallen! Alan had always been one to walk alone in life. He made few friends; his friendship for me, his love for Nanette—to these he could now add an emotion, as yet barely understood, his feeling for Lea.
Into this, his world, Turber had suddenly thrust himself, abducting Nanette; capturing, perhaps killing me. What could Alan do about it? Suppose they located the Time-world to which Turber had gone? Alan could go there—with this girl Lea to help him and San to guard the tower. Hopeless adventure! He had one small weapon, his revolver. And a frail girl for companion. There seemed no one else from whom he could get help. No one in this Time-world of Lea's.
His mind roved the possibility of getting help elsewhere. His own world of 1945? Who could he get there to do more than smile incredulously at his fantastic tale? He envisaged all the other centuries. But to go to any one of them for help—for weapons and men—was hardly practical. He would be a stranger; he would fall into a strange civilization with only this same incredible story to aid him. He would be imprisoned perhaps—or, at best, be disregarded as a lunatic.
Lea had faced all this. She had tried it in 1945. It was not feasible. Alan saw now that he would have to depend upon himself. The tower would transport him. The rest lay with himself, his own wits. He felt that very probably I was dead. He would rescue Nanette from Turber's clutches if he could. For the rest—this oath of vengeance sworn by Lea and her brother against Turber—Alan gritted his teeth; and as he thought of Nanette's gentle beauty and Turber's grinning, satanic visage, he swore to himself a similar oath. He would kill Turber if he could!
"This way," said Powl. "Stoop down—you are so tall for our door openings."
It was a low-vaulted room, dimly illumined. A laboratory crowded with strangely fashioned apparatus. Powl made no attempt at explanation of his devices. Nor was Alan interested, except in one—the Time-vision which might disclose Nanette.
"My assistant," said Powl. "He is called Lentz—he speaks a little of your ancient language."
A man of about thirty rose from a seat before one of the instruments. He offered his hand. Powl added to Alan:
"You may speak openly before Lentz. He is my trusted helper—the only person besides ourselves who knows the secrets of my Time-vision and of the tower."
He was an undersized, heavy-set fellow, garbed in a short robe like San's. His black hair was clipped close on a bullet head. He wore goggles which now were pushed up on his forehead.