The question was, then—did the universe-of-logical-necessity exist? If so, what relationship did it have to the observable universe which quite obviously did exist?
Was that the question, the answer to which, gained in a moment of insight, had caused two men to utterly vanish?
He sighed with real regret. There was no way of knowing. Possibly a mechanical brain of the most advanced type could come out with a comprehensive picture after solving thousands of successive equations. Knowledge of simple basics was a far cry from a fully expanded system.
He pushed the sheet of paper away with a show of irritation. He was missing something. He was on the wrong track. Neither John nor Horace had the mental equipment to make more than a simple step beyond what he had accomplished. That was certain. It was equally certain that he could and would make it.
A startled expression appeared on his face. "Oh good lord!" he groaned. "My book. I must do something about that the first thing tomorrow. I—" He opened the drawer of his desk and took out an oblong of paper, the check against advance royalties. "I'll return this and not let them publish it. First thing in the morning. And from now on I resolve not to think of my theory or what caused John and Horace to vanish."
Folding the check neatly, he stuck it in his billfold and then started to read a book that interested him. He became engrossed in it. Half an hour later he came to enough to realize he was on safe ground, sigh with relief, and sink back into the trains of thought of the book.
It was a nice feeling to know he was safe.
It was Friday. The sun was shining brightly and the monotony of the blue sky was relieved here and there by filmy white clouds that gave it a pleasing three-dimensionalness.
But to Martin Grant there was something unreal about things. He decided it must be the light. Things stood out with too sharp clarity.