Holcomb. The man, Kennedy, had kept it in his
pocket. How had he held it a prisoner? The professor had use for
it in some scientific work! No wonder! Certainly it was not a
jewel. What could it be? It was solid. It was lighter than air.
Could it be a substance? If not; what is it?
"What would you advise?"
In answer the jeweller reached for the telephone. He gave a
number.
"Hello. Say, is Ed there? This is Phil. Tell him to step to the
phone. Hello! Say, Ed, I want you to come over on the jump.
Something to show you. Too busy! No, you're not. Not for this. I'm
going to teach you some chemistry. No; this is serious. What is
it? I don't know. What's lighter than air? Lots of things? Oh, I
know. But what solid? That's why I'm asking. Come over. All right.
At once."
He hung up the receiver.
"My brother," he spoke. "It has passed beyond my province and into
his. He is a chemist. As an expert he may give you a real
opinion."
Surely we needed one. It was against reason. It had taken me
completely off my balance. I took a chair and joined the others in
the contemplation of the blue dot on the ceiling. We could
speculate and conjecture; but there was not one of us deep enough
even to start a theory. Plainly it was what should not be. We had
been taught physics and science; we had been drilled to
fundamentals. If this thing could be, then the foundations upon
which we stood were shattered.
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