"I speak very little," he said as he shook hands. "I am ready if it is you have the cloak."
The tubes of this instrument might have been Neon lamps by their aspect. There were coils; a multiplicity of wires; a tiny series of amplifiers; a system of prisms and mirrors; beams of lights, whirling from tiny mirrors swiftly rotating. There was a metal tube like a small microscope; a rack beneath it, upon which a dull red light was focused. There were rows of dials—tuning dials, and indicators; and a large fluorescent screen which seemed under electronic bombardment from the rear. The whole apparatus occupied a table some six feet long, with the dials to one side and the screen upright at its end.
Lentz placed Nanette's cloak upon the rack; he focused the red light upon it; then stood gazing into the eyepiece of the tube as one might gaze into a microscope.
Lea and San stood by Alan. Lea gestured toward the screen; it was empty of image. Then she pointed to one of the dials. Alan saw it bore figures he could understand—figures ranging over thousands of centuries. Some of it B.C.; the rest A.D. There was a point on it marked zero. The indicator stood there at rest.
"Your ancient calendar," said Powl. "With this garment belonging to your sister we may be able to tune our receivers and make connection. The image of her is here in the ether—if we can adjust to it."
Lentz was twirling the tuning knobs. The pointers on all the dials stirred a little; images seemed trying to form on the fluorescent screen.
A minute. Ten minutes. Then Lentz relaxed.
"Not now," he said. "It will not come. Presently we try again."
"They may still be traveling," said Powl. "It would be difficult to get the image—"