Then, remembering the old vault-keeper’s remark, “It doesn’t seem to take the heat right. Gets all sort of crumbly when it’s been heated,” he dashed for the forge, seized a pair of tongs, and drew the piece of metal from the fire. It slipped from the tongs and fell upon the cement floor with a dull thud.
In an agony of fear lest the steel had been ruined he seized a hammer and cold chisel and, placing the edge of the chisel against the still white-hot surface, struck it sharply with the hammer.
A thin circle of steel coiled up about the edge of the chisel, then dropped to the floor.
“Nothing the matter with that steel,” he muttered, as he watched the white heat slowly fade to a bright red, then dull red, then black, “but one thing, I’ll wager: That was our old friend the ‘white fire’ once more.”
He glanced about him apprehensively, as if fearing to see glowing eyes staring at him from the dark, but all he saw was a fresh flash of lightning followed by a burst of thunder.
Looking down, his eyes were caught by the thin coil of steel cut from the bar. It was cool now and blue almost to transparency. He picked it up and dropped it again, to see it bounce ten inches from the floor.
“Nothing the matter with that steel,” he repeated.
Then a new thought struck him.
“Why, that—that bit of coiled steel is my particle for testing.”
Touching the bar of steel he found it still hot. Waiting impatiently for it to cool, he paced the floor, his eye first on the vault-door, then on the precious steel. What if he were to be successful in his analysis of the steel? That would be a great honor, indeed.