“God knows what it is,” said Darrow, rousing himself.  “Not the perfected product; the doctor said that when he gave it to me.  If I could remember one-tenth of what he told me that night!  It is like a disordered dream, a phantasmagoria of monstrous powers, lit up with an intolerable, almost an infernal radiance.  This much I did gather:  that Dr. Schermerhorn had achieved what the greatest minds before him had barely outlined.  Yes, and more.  Becquerel, the Curies, Rutherford—­they were playing with the letters of the Greek alphabet, Alphas, Gammas, and Rhos, while the simple, gentle old boy that I served had read the secret.  From the molten eruptions of the racked earth he had taken gases and potencies that are nameless.  By what methods of combination and refining I do not know, he produced something that was to be the final word of power.  Control—­ control—­that was all that lacked.

“Reduced to its simplest terms, it meant this:  the doctor had something as much greater than radium as radium is greater than the pitchblende of which a thousand tons are melted down to the one ounce of extract.  And the incredible energies of this he proposed to divide into departments of activity.  One manifestation should be light, a light that would illuminate the world.  Another was to make motive power so cheap that the work of the world could be done in an hour out of the day.  Some idea he had of healing properties.  Yes; he was to cure mankind.  Or kill, kill as no man had ever killed, did he choose.  The armies and navies of the powers would be at his mercy.  Magnetism was to be his slave.  Aerial navigation, transmutation of metals, the screening of gravity—­does this sound like delirium?  Sometimes I think it was.

“That night he turned over to me the key of the large chest and his ledger.  The latter he bade me read.  It was a complete jumble.  You have seen it....  We were up a good part of the night with our pet volcano.  It was suffering from internal disturbances.  ‘So,’ the doctor would say indulgently, when a particularly active rock came bounding down our way.  ‘Little play-antics-to-exhibit now that the work iss finished.’

“In the morning he insisted on my leaving him alone and going down to give the orders.  I took the ledger, intending to send it aboard.  It saved my life possibly:  Solomon’s bullet deflected slightly, I think, in passing through the heavy paper.  Slade has told you about my flight.  I ought to have gone straight up the arroyo....  Yet I could hardly have made it....  I did not see him again, the doctor.  My last glimpse ... the old man—­I remember now how the grey had spread through his beard—­he was growing old—­it had been ageing labour.  He stood there at his laboratory door and the mountain spouted and thundered behind.

“‘We will a name-to-suit-properly gif it,’ he said, as I left him.  ’It shall make us as the gods.  We will call it celestium.’

“I left him there smiling.  Smiling happily.  The greatest force of his age—­if he had lived.  Very wise, very simple—­a kind old child.  May I trouble you for a light?  Thanks.”