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The powder had turned it to vapor, and the purifying chemicals had sucked it up. Nothing was left save a heap of smoking, grayish ashes in the center of the broken glass. Van Emmon's fingers relaxed their grip. He stirred to action, and turned briskly to Smith. "Here! Help me with this thing!" Between them they got the remains of the cabinet, with its gruesome load, into the vestibule.
Van Emmon's "gold mine" had not been a pit in any sense of the word; it had been the inside of the blossom of a very simple, poppy-like flower. The "nuggets" had been not mineral, but pollen.
Instantly all three drew long breaths; the tension was relaxed; and Van Emmon's curiosity found a harsh and unsteady voice. "How under heaven has he been preserved all this time? Especially," he added, remembering, "considering the air that we found in the room?" The doctor answered after a moment, his reply taking the form of advancing a step or two and holding out a hand. It touched glass.
From the telephone came a confused murmuring, at which Van Emmon's face lighted up with delight. The murmuring had an angry sound! "This is outrageous!" a loud contralto voice was raised above the rest. "You are unethical, Savarona, to announce such a thing before adapting it to both sexes!"
The builder improved upon Van Emmon's example by setting up the car's biggest telescope, a four-inch tube of unusual excellence. All three pronounced the planet, which was three-fourths "full" as they viewed it, as having pretty much the appearance of the moon. "Wonder why there's always been so much mystery about Mercury?" pondered the architect invitingly.
Into the man's face there came a look of amazement followed by one of admiration, and another of genuine delight He gave a little laugh, and unconsciously threw out his hands. "Much better, Billie." Neither of them cared a particle whether Smith or the doctor saw that Billie, very simply and naturally, walked right into Van Emmon's arms. "Much better.
There was no doubt about it; they were wireless antennae! For presently the newcomer, who so far had not shown himself at any point on his machine, sent out a message which was read as quickly as it was received by Van Emmon's agent, and as unconsciously translated: "Number Eight Hundred Four, you are wanted on Plot Seventeen."
Van Emmon's "gold mine" had not been a pit in any sense of the word; it had been the inside of the blossom of a very simple, poppy-like flower. The "nuggets" had been not mineral, but pollen.
Nothing was said about it during the quiet leave-taking, and when the cube finally rose away from the roof, Van Emmon's face beamed with happiness and a great sigh of satisfaction escaped him. "Well" looking at the books "they kind of make up for the fact that the folks didn't ask us to call again!"
It was located on the roof; a large black hieroglyphic, set in a square black border, which Billie first thought to be all alike. Billie turned her attention to her agent. She seemed to belong to the same type as Smith's and Van Emmon's; otherwise she was certainly much more active, much more interested in her surroundings, and possessed of a far more powerful machine.
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