“HERE is where I saw Miss Mayne last,” said Jack, as he and Jim paused before a massive door studded with iron nails, in the western end of a high cement wall, on which the shadows of the trees bordering the avenue were thrown by the noon sun. “It’s just twenty-one hours since that door opened, and she went in.”
“What opened it, boss?” inquired the gnome. “I don’t see no handle.”
Jack thought a minute. “She pressed her thumb on one of those nails,” he said. “I think it was this one,” and he laid a finger on the third nail from the west edge of the door, four feet down from the top. Jim examined the nail carefully.
“Guess yer right, boss,” he muttered. “That ain’t no real nail, it’s the top of a spring. Will I try a punch on it?”
“Wait!” said Jack, arresting his hand. “As I remember, she pressed it in a particular way—like this!” He pressed the nail-head, which yielded to the impulse; then twice again, in rapid succession; then a fourth punch after a moment’s interval. The door swung heavily inward, and the two companions stepped quickly within. They found themselves in a spacious garden, planted with flowers and ornamental bushes; a path led up to a house made of gray stone, with an iron dome thirty feet in diameter projecting from its roof. Jim, after a glance around, shut the door behind them, and hobbled after Jack, who was advancing up the path. In a few moments they reached a doorway on the east side of the building, at the top of a short flight of steps. Jack laid a hand on the latch, which yielded, and the two entered. They passed down a corridor, which brought them to a stairway. Up the stairs they went, Jim’s crutch tapping on each step as they ascended. The stair wound upward for a considerable distance; at length they emerged on the landing, and saw another door, with a heavy blue curtain hanging before it. As Jack stepped toward it, it was pushed aside from within, and a tall figure in a dark robe stood before them.
“Who are you? What do you want?” asked the figure. The voice, quiet and deep, was evidently a woman’s. The face, pale, with regular features and level, dark brows, might almost have been a man’s, such was the power and firmness of its expression.
Jack’s eyes met hers intently. He was sending the whole force of his nature into the gaze, and she was conscious of it; they measured each other.
“Jack Paladin—a friend of Miriam Mayne’s,” he said after a moment. “I parted from her at your door yesterday afternoon—you are Mme. Faust, I suppose? She has not been seen since. Her father sent me here. Is she here?”
“Does her father think she is here?”
“I alone know she comes here,” answered the young man.
“Who is this?” inquired the other, indicating Jim, who was scrutinizing her with great interest.
“My trusty servant,” returned Jack.
“The gen’leman saved me life, lady,” put in Jim. “Catch’d me in his arms, fallin’ out of an air-boat. I bumped him good, and bruk me leg; an’ I’d go to hell and back for him, any time, surest thing you know. That’s me!”
“His is not the only life you have saved, I understand,” said Mary Faust, continuing to fix her eyes on Jack’s face. He blushed red. “I am come for Miriam Mayne,” was his rejoinder. She was silent for some time, seeming to take counsel with herself.
“Come with me,” she finally said, and turning, held back the curtain that concealed the room beyond. Jack entered, Jim following; and she brought up the rear. The room was large, with a high ceiling, which was pierced by the shaft of a great sidereal telescope mounted beneath it on massive piers which passed through the floor and were no doubt anchored in the ground far below. A wide table, covered with diagrams and other papers stood in a window on the north. Several machines of odd construction were disposed here and there. Of these, the most noticeable was a structure of black metal, shaped somewhat like a large chair or throne; the seat-room was cushioned with blue silk; at the right side a hand-lever projected, connected with a powerful system of geared wheels; in front was a funnel-like projection formed of copper wire coiled in a spiral, the diameter of the cone diminishing outward. On the sides of the structure were clock-like disks, the hands pointing to astronomical signs. Above the chair was suspended a large hollow hemisphere, highly polished, and covered with flowing designs somewhat resembling Persian writing. The chair was placed facing a broad open window opposite the eastern sky. The whole contrivance may have weighed more than a ton, and, like the telescope, rested on solid foundations passing through the floor.
Jack gave all this a passing glance. He had no head for mechanics. Jim, on the contrary, had a natural insight into machinery, and he examined this strange object with a fascinated but perplexed expression.
“I have doubted how best to make known what has happened here,” said Mary Faust, “but your coming has forced me to a course which is, perhaps, the best. Miriam Mayne was here on Tuesday afternoon—has been in the habit of coming here for more than a year past, as my pupil and assistant. Together we built this engine. It is psycho-physical; its function is to transport persons from this earth to other planets of the solar system. But it was not to be used until means had been perfected for their return hither.”
“Gee! dat’s big stuff! How does yer work it, lady?” required Jim.
“I shall explain it when Miriam’s father arrives—I have already sent for him,” said she, addressing herself to Jack. “Meanwhile, if your nerves are steady, I will show you something. But bear in mind that appearance misleads; sleep resemble death, and trance still more. The spirit has no relation to space.”
Jack drew in a long breath; his heart was beating painfully. He felt as if he stood on the brink of a fathomless abyss, from the depths of which things unimagined were to arise. The woman took his hand and led him to a large cabinet on the left. Her touch sent through him a strong vibration, which seemed to calm his mind and fortify his resolution. The cabinet had folding doors; she touched the knob, and they opened wide. The interior was lined with blue satin, and was illuminated with a white light. The figure of a young woman lay there, apparently deep asleep. Her hair flowed beside her like a black river. On her left breast glimmered faintly a blue star: it flickered like a flame.
At the sight, Jack stiffened and trembled. His grasp tightened upon Mary Faust’s hand. The serene, cool pressure of her fingers steadied him. “Miriam—here!” he uttered in a husky whisper.
“A part of her,” rejoined Mary Faust quietly. “The garment she wears on this earth. Miriam is absent. The flickering of that star is the assurance that she lives.”
“Where is she, then?” demanded Jack, with dry lips.
“She is on the planet Saturn,” replied Mary Faust.