diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32670-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 174159 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32670-h/32670-h.htm | 3391 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32670-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 74328 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32670-h/images/illus.jpg | bin | 0 -> 51971 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32670.txt | 3176 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32670.zip | bin | 0 -> 46417 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
9 files changed, 6583 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32670-h.zip b/32670-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..22a5f82 --- /dev/null +++ b/32670-h.zip diff --git a/32670-h/32670-h.htm b/32670-h/32670-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..507a929 --- /dev/null +++ b/32670-h/32670-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3391 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Time Mirror, by Clark South. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Mirror, by Clark South + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Time Mirror + +Author: Clark South + +Release Date: June 3, 2010 [EBook #32670] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME MIRROR *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + +<h1>The TIME MIRROR</h1> + +<h2>By CLARK SOUTH</h2> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories December +1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote">Here was a strange mirror indeed! It reflected an image all +right, but not an image from the same era in history!</div> + + +<p>Pale moonlight spilled through the window and over the wedding gifts +that crowded the little room.</p> + +<p>"And this mirror, darling?" Mark Carter asked. "Who sent it?"</p> + +<p>A sudden flicker of worry flashed across Elaine Duchard's lovely face. +She bit her lower lip nervously. Pretended to inspect a great silver +punchbowl that stood on a nearby table.</p> + +<p>"Who did you say sent the mirror?" her sweetheart repeated.</p> + +<p>Still another moment of taut hesitation. At last:</p> + +<p>"It's from Adrian Vance, Mark."</p> + +<p>"Adrian Vance!"</p> + +<p>Mark spat the name as if it were an epithet.</p> + +<p>"Sshhh! Not so loud!" A pause. "He's an old friend, dear. I can't forbid +him to send us a present. After all he's just trying to be polite."</p> + +<p>The man's brown eyes were smouldering. "Those were fine company manners +he showed off the night you told him you were going to marry me instead +of him!"</p> + +<p>Then, savagely:</p> + +<p>"I should have knocked out a mouthful of that damned antique dealer's +teeth right then! Of all the gall—threatening you; saying you'd regret +turning him down—"</p> + +<p>Again the girl silenced him.</p> + +<p>"Adrian always expected to marry me," she reminded. "My refusal broke +him up terribly. He was disappointed. Angry. So he said a lot of things +he didn't really mean. Now he's trying to make up for it."</p> + +<p>"I still don't like that damned Vance! He's just the kind of snake who'd +figure out a way to get revenge. Something hideous—"</p> + +<p>Elaine laid her hand gently across her fiance's mouth.</p> + +<p>"You're acting jealous, Mark, and there's no need to," she said softly. +"You won. Remember? I'm marrying you tomorrow!"</p> + +<p>Mark's hands stole around her slim, supple waist and drew her to him. +Her thinly-clad body was warm and fragrant in his arms.</p> + +<p>"I guess I keep forgetting," he said huskily. "Part of me still can't +quite seem to believe it's true. That we're going to be together +always."</p> + +<p>The girl's ripe lips curved in a little smile. Slender fingers caressed +her sweetheart's tanned cheek.</p> + +<p>"You can believe it now, Mark," she whispered. "I'm yours. All yours. +Forever."</p> + +<p>And then, ever so gently, she drew his head down. Their lips met. Clung +with young love's ardor.</p> + +<p>At last Mark straightened. He drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>"You'd better go to bed now, dear," he advised. "Tomorrow's going to be +a hard day."</p> + +<p>Another pause. Then a wry smile crossed his lips.</p> + +<p>"Besides, your father might not understand why you're wandering around +the house with me in the middle of the night, even though we are going +to be married tomorrow. That outfit you're wearing is subject to a lot +of misinterpretation."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Elaine matched his smile with one of her own. She smoothed the +diaphanous, curve-revealing negligee that displayed her charms to such +advantage.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'd understand, all right," she retorted. "Only I'm afraid he'd +understand a lot of things that aren't true." She gave vent to a +dolorous sigh that the merriment sparkling in her blue eyes denied. +"Father's all French, you know. He's quick to understand situations +where young ladies appear <i>en deshabille</i>."</p> + +<p>They turned to go. But again the Vance mirror caught Mark's eye.</p> + +<p>"Strange-looking affair, isn't it?" he commented.</p> + +<p>Elaine nodded. Drawing a comb from some place of concealment about her, +she seated herself on a bench before the glass.</p> + +<p>A unique creation, that mirror. Circular and fully three feet in +diameter, it now stood propped on top of a boudoir table. At first +glance its surface somehow gave an impression of queer, concentric waves +rippling through it. Yet the reflections it threw back were true; +perfect.</p> + +<p>The frame was just as paradoxical. It looked as if it once had been +garishly ornate. Now, however, age had transmuted gaudiness to an +indefinable antique charm.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it lovely?" breathed Elaine. She drew the comb through her hair. +Watched the mirror and the moonlight transform its golden beauty to a +rippling cascade of silver. Mark stared, fascinated, over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"The moonlight's beautiful tonight, Mark!" the girl murmured. "It makes +my hair dance in the glass like the waves of the sea." Her voice faded +to nothingness. Her eyes were half-closed.</p> + +<p>"Your hair is always beautiful, Elaine," her lover whispered, "and it's +no lovelier than all the rest of you, every inch." A moment's +hesitation. "But we've got to get to bed, darling. There'll be so much +running around tomorrow—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Mark!</i>"</p> + +<p>Shock was in that sudden exclamation. Shock, and a little lilt of panic. +It burst from Elaine's half-parted lips like the <i>thunk</i> of a bullet +slamming into a hardwood board.</p> + +<p>The man jerked to attention. Caught the girl's smooth shoulders in his +big hands.</p> + +<p>"Elaine! What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Look! The mirror!"</p> + +<p>"The mirror?" Mark Carter's puzzled brown eyes sought the gleaming +surface of the glass. "What—?"</p> + +<p>"The reflection! Look!"</p> + +<p>Mark stared. Went suddenly tense in stark amazement, eyes wide.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>For there, gazing back at him out of the mirror, was a new Elaine. An +Elaine who stood beside a great black coach, the like of which had never +rolled American highways.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>There in the mirror was an image that was NOT a reflection!</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>This woman's face was Elaine's. Yet there the resemblance ended. The +filmy negligee of his own fiancee was replaced by the rich warmth of a +scarlet satin gown and endless yards of white lace ruffles. The creamy +skin of his own Elaine's bare arms came back as covered with long white +gloves to above the elbows. A perky little hat, of scarlet satin to +match the dress, and topped with a huge aigrette plume, rode proudly +upon the elaborate coiffure of golden hair.</p> + +<p>Nor was it only in superficials that the reflection differed.</p> + +<p>The other woman had a character all her own, too. It showed in the tilt +of her head, the way she stood, the expression on her lovely face.</p> + +<p>But most of all it showed in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Proud eyes, they were, and intelligent. They looked into Mark's own +brown orbs calmly and without flinching. And they were not the eyes of +his sweetheart. No. There was an indefinable <i>something</i> lurking deep in +their cool blue depths that differentiated the reflection from Elaine. +That made the woman in the glass another personality. Similar in many +ways, yes. Fundamentally the same kind of person, yes.</p> + +<p>But not Elaine.</p> + +<p>Still Mark stared, mouth agape.</p> + +<p>A feeling was growing within him. A strange conviction that he +recognized this other Elaine.</p> + +<p>"I've seen her before, some place!" he muttered half-aloud.</p> + +<p>And then Elaine was speaking again.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mark? What's happened? Why does that mirror reflect back +another woman?" The girl's voice carried a little quaver of +bewilderment; of fear, almost. Her whole body trembled as if a chill +were running through her.</p> + +<p>Her voice jerked Mark from his paralysis. He turned sharply. His eyes +probed into every corner of the moonlit room, seeking vainly for some +clue to account for this impossible phenomenon—</p> + +<p>"Mark, I'm afraid!"</p> + +<p>Even in the dim light of the little chamber the man could see the color +drain from his sweetheart's face as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"I've got the most awful feeling down inside of me, Mark. As if that +woman was in another world, and as if she was pulling me away from you +and into it. My thoughts—they're not mine; they're hers! My mind's +draining out of me. Don't let me go, Mark. Don't let me! I love you, +Mark—"</p> + +<p>"Light! That's what we need!" Mark exploded into action. Sprang toward +the wall switch. "Hold on, Elaine. Three hundred watts will drive that +damned ghost away—"</p> + +<p>"... I'm falling! I'm falling! Oh, Mark, I love you so! Mark, help me! +<i>Help!</i>"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The girl's voice rose in a scream of wild terror. It tore at Mark's +eardrums. Echoed through the stillness of the sleep-bound house like a +banshee's wail.</p> + +<p>The man's hand knocked up the switch. Flooded the room with light. Even +as he did so he was whirling. Springing back to Elaine's side. And +barely in time, for her backbone seemed to have turned to water. Her +limp body was slipping to the floor in a nerveless heap, her muscles +slack and unresponding. By a miracle of balance, Mark's hands caught her +in time to break the force of her fall. He lifted her, unresisting, in +his arms. Her ashen lips still were moving in the faintest of whispers—</p> + +<p>"<i>... je t'aime, mon cher, je t'aime....</i>"</p> + +<p>Her voice trailed off. A great sigh shook her. She lay unconscious in +his arms.</p> + +<p>Mark's brain was spinning like a top within his skull. He was breathing +hard, and he was trembling, as if he had just run a long way.</p> + +<p>"... I love you, my dear, I love you...."</p> + +<p>That was what she had said.</p> + +<p><i>But why had she spoken in French?</i></p> + +<p>Even as he hesitated in an agony of indecision, the door burst open. The +frail, white-haired figure of Professor Duchard, Elaine's father, +stumbled into the room. His eyes were sleep-fogged, and spindly, +pajama-clad legs showed below the dressing gown he had thrown about his +thin shoulders.</p> + +<p>"What is it? What has happened?" he mumbled. Even in his dazed state, he +pronounced every syllable. There were no slurrings nor contractions in +Professor Duchard's punctilious vocabulary.</p> + +<p>"Elaine's fainted."</p> + +<p>"Then carry her to her room. I shall get smelling salts from the +medicine cabinet."</p> + +<p>Turning, the professor scurried away. Mark followed, Elaine's soft body +still limp and yielding in his arms. Ascending the stairs to her room, +he laid her tenderly on the bed. Even as he did so, the girl's father +hurried to his side, a dark green bottle in his hand. The old man was +more fully awake now, and he looked down at his daughter with keen, +intelligent eyes. Although outwardly he appeared calm, there was a +little flicker of worry deep within those sharp blue optics.</p> + +<p>"This should revive her!" he announced, waving the bottle. Pulling out +the glass stopper, he held the container close under the girl's nose.</p> + +<p>Elaine drew a little breath. The fumes swirled into her nostrils. She +choked. Jerked spasmodically.</p> + +<p>And slumped back, still unconscious!</p> + +<p>Again the professor applied the carbonate of ammonium.</p> + +<p>Again the results were the same.</p> + +<p>The old man straightened.</p> + +<p>"I do not like this," he clipped. "You had better tell me just what +happened."</p> + +<p>Mark shifted nervously under the scrutiny of the sharp blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Start at the beginning," the professor commanded. "I want to know from +exactly what this 'fainting spell' resulted."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The younger man nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"It all began after you went to bed," he explained. "I said good-night +to Elaine, then decided to step outside and have a smoke before I turned +in myself.</p> + +<p>"When I got upstairs, Elaine opened her door. She already was +undressed—had on the negligee she's wearing now. She said she wasn't +sleepy, and that she'd decided to come back down for another look at the +presents. So I came along...."</p> + +<p>Carefully, yet concisely, Mark outlined the events which had preceded +the girl's collapse. When he had finished, Professor Duchard looked even +more worried than before.</p> + +<p>"I do not like what you tell me," he informed the younger man. "I +believe this is a case for a doctor. A good one. I have a friend who is +a neurologist. I shall call him."</p> + +<p>He disappeared toward the telephone.</p> + +<p>Not once in the half-hour preceding the specialist's arrival did the +girl stir. She lay upon the big double bed like a lovely corpse, +unmoving save for the slight rise and fall of her breasts as she +breathed.</p> + +<p>The neurologist examined her with keen interest.</p> + +<p>"A remarkable case!" he declared. "Her pulse and respiration have slowed +to the point where they are scarcely apparent."</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"But what does it mean?" exploded Mark, beside him, his handsome young +face pale and haggard. "Why can't you revive her?"</p> + +<p>The doctor frowned, pinched his chin thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"A remarkable case!" he repeated slowly. "To be frank about it, I can't +find the slightest clue as to what's wrong. She seems in a perfect state +of health. Organically I can detect no possible cause for this coma. Yet +she doesn't respond to any resuscitatory measures."</p> + +<p>"But there must be something—"</p> + +<p>The specialist shot Mark a disapproving glance. Without a word he opened +his bag, taking from it a smaller case of instruments. He selected a +long, slender dissecting needle. Plunged its point into a bottle of +disinfectant.</p> + +<p>"Watch me!" he commanded.</p> + +<p>Turning to the bed, he plunged the needle an eighth of an inch into the +unconscious girl's breast!</p> + +<p>Mark's eyes went wide with horror. He started forward. Found himself +halted by Professor Duchard's hand.</p> + +<p>"You asked a question, Mark!" the white-haired scientist rapped. "The +doctor merely is giving you his answer. Look at her!"</p> + +<p>Elaine had not stirred! If anything, she lay even more still than +before, not a muscle so much as quivering. Her eyes were closed, her +face calm, her golden hair halo-like about her head.</p> + +<p>The neurologist bared her thigh. Again plunged in the needle.</p> + +<p>She did not move.</p> + +<p>A dozen times the physician pricked her, moving over the white surface +of her body from one nerve center to another. At last he straightened.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"You see?" he demanded grimly. "Anaesthesia is complete. She feels +nothing."</p> + +<p>Mark's eyes were horror-stricken. He was breathing hard.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean, doctor?" he choked. "What's happened to her?"</p> + +<p>The medical man motioned him closer.</p> + +<p>"Touch her!" he ordered.</p> + +<p>Half-afraid, Mark bent forward. He rested his trembling fingers against +the girl's breast. The next instant he jerked back, his face gray with +shock.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he gasped. "She's dead! Her body's getting cold! She's dead!" +His face twisted in a grimace of emotional agony.</p> + +<p>"No!" contradicted the neurologist.</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"No," repeated the other. "She's not dead, young man."</p> + +<p>"Then what—"</p> + +<p>"The closest I can come to it in language you'd understand is to say +that she's falling into a state of suspended animation," the doctor +answered. "Her bodily functions are slowing down. I believe this will +continue—that eventually her muscles will tighten into catalepsy."</p> + +<p>"What will happen eventually?" Professor Duchard broke in.</p> + +<p>The neurologist shrugged. "I don't know, professor. My hope is that she +simply will continue to lie in a coma. But there is always the +possibility that the thread of life will break. That she will die +without recovering consciousness—"</p> + +<p>"You can't let her!" cried Mark hysterically, unable to restrain himself +longer. "She musn't die! She musn't! You've got to do something, doctor! +There must be a way—"</p> + +<p>"—if it can be found!" interrupted Professor Duchard. He again gripped +the younger man's arm. "Do not let yourself go to pieces, my boy. That +will not help.</p> + +<p>"Because you, yourself, are a man of action, you want our friend, here, +to prescribe for Elaine with the same speed and certainty that you would +go after a hot news story. Only that is not the way of science, Mark. We +must be patient and hope for the best, content in the knowledge that +everything possible is being done for Elaine."</p> + +<p>He turned to the neurologist.</p> + +<p>"What do you recommend, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"There's only one thing to do, Professor Duchard. We must place the girl +in a hospital, where she can be taken care of properly and kept under +observation."</p> + +<p>The aged scientist nodded. "Yes. I thought that would be your +suggestion."</p> + +<p>"If you'll excuse me," the doctor continued, "I shall use your telephone +to make the necessary arrangements."</p> + +<p>He left the room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Beside the bed, Mark Carter still stared dumbly down at the girl he +loved. The girl who tomorrow—no, today, for it was nearly morning +now—was to have become his wife. He tried to speak, but his throat was +too twisted and thick with pain for words to come. His broad shoulders +were slumped. His brown eyes blurred with tears. A queer, strained sound +of awful grief tore itself from somewhere deep within his chest, like +the moan of an animal in torment.</p> + +<p>A hand touched his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Come, Mark. We can do no more good here."</p> + +<p>Mute, stumbling, broken, Mark allowed Professor Duchard to lead him from +the room. Down the hall. Into the old man's study.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, my boy, and pull yourself together."</p> + +<p>Mark dropped into the cool, fragrant depths of a timeworn leather chair. +The professor relaxed in another.</p> + +<p>"I want you to tell me your story again," Elaine's father said. "Think +back carefully. Give me every detail."</p> + +<p>Slowly, spiritlessly, Mark forced himself to concentrate on the +happenings of the evening. His voice a dull monotone, he again recounted +his story.</p> + +<p>"This woman," probed Professor Duchard, his bright blue eyes stabbing +into the other's brown orbs. "Tell me about her. What did she look +like?"</p> + +<p>Mark shrugged.</p> + +<p>"She was only a reflection in a mirror, professor. It was Elaine. +Probably the lighting gave me the illusion of someone else."</p> + +<p>"Cease thinking of her as a reflection!" the savant retorted, his voice +suddenly sharp. "You are a newspaperman by trade. You have been trained +to observe closely. I want you to use those powers now. Think of this +woman as a person. Describe her to to me as if she were one—"</p> + +<p>"She looked like Elaine," said Mark, racking his brain for details. "She +looked just like her. Only different, the way two identical twins are +different. You know what I mean, professor? The way a person's +individual personality sticks out of him in spite of his appearance—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I quite understand."</p> + +<p>"Well, that was the way it was with this woman. She was Elaine, but she +wasn't. There was something about her that didn't belong to Elaine." His +brows knitted. "It seemed as if I'd seen her before, somewhere. Just +like I'd known her, but couldn't remember just when or where."</p> + +<p>A pause.</p> + +<p>"It was her clothing that made us notice her, though. She wore a red +satin dress with more white ruffles than I ever saw before. She had a +red hat, too, with a big plume. Her hair was done in a different style +than I've ever seen. All fixed up. And she wore gloves that reached to +above her elbow."</p> + +<p>He searched his weary mind for more details. Gave it up in despair,</p> + +<p>"I don't know, professor. I can't remember any more. She was just like a +picture of one of the women attending a Louis XVI ball in France—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A sudden light sprang into his brown eyes. He stopped short in +mid-sentence.</p> + +<p>"That's it!" he cried. "I've got it! I know where I saw her before!"</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard leaned forward, blue eyes flashing.</p> + +<p>"Where?" he demanded. "Hurry, man! Out with it!"</p> + +<p>"You've got a picture of her!" Mark exclaimed excitedly. "Right here, in +this study!" He half-rose from the leather chair. Peered into the corner +behind him.</p> + +<p>"It's gone!"</p> + +<p>The professor's face was suddenly pale.</p> + +<p>"That picture called 'Elaine Duchard's Escape'? The Jerbette? Is that +the one you mean?"</p> + +<p>"That's it. That's the one. Where is it?"</p> + +<p>"It is gone," the savant answered grimly. "A genuine painting by Gustav +Jerbette is worth a great deal of money. And I am not a wealthy man. +When Adrian Vance offered to buy it—"</p> + +<p>"Adrian Vance! That snake! He's the one who gave Elaine the mirror—"</p> + +<p>The white-haired scientist was on his feet, his eyes suddenly very +bright and cold. The veins stood out at his temples.</p> + +<p>"I want to see that mirror!" he rapped. "This is the first time you have +mentioned that it was he who sent it. Come on!"</p> + +<p>Together they hurried down the stairs to the little room where the +wedding gifts were on display. Mark started across toward the mirror. +The professor's hand shot out. Caught the younger man's arm.</p> + +<p>"Stand back!" he cried in a terrible voice. "Do not go near that mirror. +Above all, do not pass in front of it!"</p> + +<p>Mark stared at the savant open-mouthed. His earlier black despair was +gone, now, replaced by sudden, inexplicable hope.</p> + +<p>"Why not? What's wrong?"</p> + +<p>The other licked dry lips.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, I hope. The chances are a thousand to one that I am wrong. +Yet an idea came to me, my boy. An incredible idea, and a horrible one. +And if it is right"—he shook his head slowly—"may God have mercy on +Elaine!"</p> + +<p>Carefully, then, they approached the mirror. The professor studied it +through narrowed eyes from a vantage-point far to one side. At last he +turned to Mark.</p> + +<p>"Do you notice any defects or flaws in the surface of that glass?" he +demanded.</p> + +<p>His daughter's fiance nodded.</p> + +<p>"The whole thing's out of kilter, professor."</p> + +<p>"How would you describe it? What do you mean by 'out of kilter'?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mark considered for a moment. Then:</p> + +<p>"The impression I get is that this mirror was <i>poured</i> into a circular +form, instead of being cut to shape. And that while it was still molten, +something struck it in the center, so that little ripples formed in the +glass, all the way from the center to the outer edge."</p> + +<p>It was the scientist's turn to nod.</p> + +<p>"Precisely my own view."</p> + +<p>Moving away, he selected a candlestick and candle from among the gifts +on display. He handed it to Mark.</p> + +<p>"I want you to move this stick in front of that glass," he instructed. +"However, you must be careful to stand well to one side, so that you, +yourself, will not be reflected."</p> + +<p>"What's the angle, professor? What do you expect to find? What's wrong +with this mirror?"</p> + +<p>The elder man shook his head, moved to a point where he could watch the +surface of the glass.</p> + +<p>"I do not know what to expect," he said. "I may be completely on the +wrong track."</p> + +<p>But his flashing eyes denied the words.</p> + +<p>Seething with curiosity and excitement though he was, Mark carefully +carried out his instructions. He moved the candlestick back and forth +and up and down until it had been reflected from every inch of the +mirror. And the farther he progressed, the more excited Elaine's father +became.</p> + +<p>"The reflection is perfect!" the old man cried. "It is true! Nowhere is +there a single sign of distortion!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Of course it's true." Mark was a little bewildered. "Why shouldn't +it be? Isn't every looking-glass supposed to throw back a reasonably +exact image?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course!" The scientist was impatient. "But can you not +see the difference?"</p> + +<p>"The difference? What difference?"</p> + +<p>"Mark: this is not an ordinary mirror. That is what I mean! It denies +every law of optics! Glass as full of waves and ripples as this +apparently is should return hideously distorted reflections. Yet it does +not do so!"</p> + +<p>"But what—"</p> + +<p>"We shall see. Come on! Bring the mirror to my laboratory."</p> + +<p>Hesitating only long enough to throw a tablecloth across the face of the +glass, the old man hurried out. Mark strode along in his wake, the heavy +mirror in his arms. Together, they left the house and followed the +bricked path to the little laboratory structure located at the far end +of the lot.</p> + +<p>"Set it down here, in this rack," the professor instructed, indicating +an easel-like arrangement in one corner. He himself wheeled a strange +electrical apparatus into position in front of the glass. Then took up a +position behind a large glass screen, and motioned Mark to join him.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"You shall see!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The white-haired savant threw a switch. The laboratory's lights went +out. He pressed a button on the control board of the apparatus behind +which they stood. Leaned forward eagerly, peering through the glass +screen at the mirror. Manipulated dials and levers.</p> + +<p>An inexplicable excitement gripped Mark. He had a sudden, unshakable +conviction that he and the professor were on the verge of incredible +discoveries. Discoveries that would lead him to an explanation of the +strange coma that held Elaine in its grim sway.</p> + +<p>His brown eyes fastened on the mirror. The next instant they went wide +with astonishment.</p> + +<p>The glass screen behind which he and the professor were standing was +clearly reflected.</p> + +<p>But it was merely an opaque surface! Neither he nor the scientist could +be seen behind it!</p> + +<p>As if reading his mind, Professor Duchard gave vent to a little laugh.</p> + +<p>"'One-way' glass," he explained. "It permits vision in only one +direction." Then the humor went out of his voice. "We may thank God that +science developed it before we are through."</p> + +<p>Again he leaned forward, his eyes on the mirror.</p> + +<p>An instant later he leveled a quivering forefinger.</p> + +<p>"<i>Look!</i>"</p> + +<p>There, in the semi-darkness where stood the looking-glass, a weird +figure was beginning to glow!</p> + +<p>Tension flooded through Mark's veins. His fingers knotted into fists. +His eyes strained to catch the thing which grew upon the mirror's +surface.</p> + +<p>Slowly, like some wizard's evil phantasmagoria, the glowing lines came +together. Took form. Painted a figure—</p> + +<p><i>The figure of the woman in the mirror!</i></p> + +<p>"That's her!" he cried excitedly. "That's the woman we saw reflected +instead of Elaine!"</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard snapped off the machine beside him. He turned on the +lights. Swung around to face his daughter's fiance. His face was grey. +Grim lines of worry etched deep into the flesh.</p> + +<p>"So that is it!" he said. "That is what he has done to her!"</p> + +<p>There was fear in his voice ... living, breathing fear. That and +despair. The despair of utter hopelessness. His shoulders sagged with +it. The sparkle had gone out of his eyes.</p> + +<p>Mark gripped the old man's arm. Blood lust flamed in his own brown orbs. +Every muscle was taut. The cords in his neck stood out like knotted +ropes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he demanded savagely. "Is it Vance? What has he done to +her?"</p> + +<p>Wearily, the scientist pulled his arm away and gestured the other to a +seat.</p> + +<p>"I shall tell you," he said. "You will not believe me, but I shall tell +you."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Go on. I'll decide for myself whether I'll believe you or not."</p> + +<p>The professor stared into Mark's eyes.</p> + +<p>"How much do you know about time?" he demanded.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And time travel."</p> + +<p>The younger man shrugged.</p> + +<p>"Practically nothing," he admitted. "Oh, I've read a few stories, of +course. But that's all. I don't know what the theory of it all is, if +that's what you mean."</p> + +<p>"I thought so." Professor Duchard sighed. "That being the case, there is +little use in my wasting energy trying to give you any real +understanding of it.</p> + +<p>"However, I can tell you this: time is not the immutable thing most +people presume it to be. Actually, it is only another dimension. As a +research physicist, I have for many years been convinced of this."</p> + +<p>"You mean that time travel really is possible? That men can be +transported into the future or the past—"</p> + +<p>The other held up a restraining hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Time travel <i>is</i> possible, if men could break through into that +other dimension." A pause. "Yet up until tonight, I never believed that +man had found a way to pass that barrier."</p> + +<p>"But professor! Think what you're saying! You're telling me that I could +go back and murder my own grandfather. That I could prevent myself from +being born—"</p> + +<p>Again the elder man sighed.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid of this," he said. "I knew you could not understand." He +hesitated. Then: "At any rate, take my word for it that time travel is +possible. Also, I assure you that there are any number of perfectly +sound theoretical and practical reasons why you never could hope to +murder your grandparents."</p> + +<p>The other brushed the words aside.</p> + +<p>"What about Elaine? What's all this got to do with her?"</p> + +<p>"Everything. You see, my boy, it is <i>not</i> possible for us to transport +our material bodies across time. They cannot bridge the gap. They must +remain in the period in which they are born—"</p> + +<p>"But Elaine—"</p> + +<p>Never had Mark seen the white-haired savant so solemn. His aged face was +drawn with worry. Yet there was terrifying self-confidence in his words.</p> + +<p>"Elaine," he said quietly, "at this moment is trapped in time!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There was a moment of stunned silence, then. Mark's brain was spinning. +He stared at Professor Duchard through narrowed eyes, half-convinced +that the man was mad. And yet—</p> + +<p>"I am not insane," the scientist declared, as if answering an unspoken +question. "Believe me, my boy, I am not."</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"That mirror which Adrian Vance sent to my daughter actually is a crude +time machine. A device for transporting a human soul to another period. +Who devised it I cannot say. I believe it is old, and that Vance came +upon it only by chance."</p> + +<p>"But it isn't a machine. It's just a mirror—"</p> + +<p>"Yet it is the gate through which a mind may be reflected into past or +future. All that is needed is a focal point. A person to receive that +mind. In this case, Adrian Vance made the focal point one of my +ancestors, the first Elaine Duchard."</p> + +<p>"The first Elaine Duchard!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. She was the woman in the picture. And the woman whose image we now +find imprinted in that devil's mirror."</p> + +<p>"But how—"</p> + +<p>"You remember how Adrian Vance swore vengeance when Elaine refused to +marry him." The aged savant's voice choked with anger. "This must be +what he planned. He bought the picture Gustav Jerbette painted of my +ancestor. Then, by some process, imprinted her portrait in the center of +this mirror, whose secret he somehow discovered. Apparently the picture +does not show except at a certain angle. Perhaps only my daughter's +coloring or facial configuration would ordinarily bring it out." He +shrugged. "That I do not know."</p> + +<p>Mark nodded slowly. He was breathing hard, his eyes dark with anger.</p> + +<p>"At any rate," the other continued, "Elaine tonight looked into the +mirror. By some accident—an accident Vance had counted on taking place +eventually, of course—, she happened to get exactly the right angle. +She saw her ancestor. Her mind flashed back through time, into that +other Elaine Duchard's brain—"</p> + +<p>And then, all at once, the old man's iron will cracked.</p> + +<p>"She is trapped!" he cried in a voice like the wail of a north wind +through the pines. "She is trapped in the body of that first Elaine +Duchard, while her own lies here, a useless, unconscious husk! She will +die, as our ancestor died—"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? How did the first Elaine Duchard die?" Mark was on +his feet, fists clenched.</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard sat slumped forward, his face buried in his hands, +white hair awry.</p> + +<p>"She was a tragic figure," he mumbled. "You saw her picture. You know +how beautiful she was.</p> + +<p>"She came from a minor family of the French nobility, but she loved a +young Jacobin—a man such as those who, a few years later, overthrew the +monarchy and founded the French republic.</p> + +<p>"She had another suitor, however. A Baron Morriere. When he learned that +she was going to marry another, he kidnapped her the night before her +wedding. Her lover was present at the time, and was nearly killed trying +to protect her. Later he returned to help her escape from the Chateau +Morriere. They succeeded in getting away.</p> + +<p>"But the baron's guards tracked them down and murdered them both two +days later. And Gustav Jerbette gained his first renown—he was then but +a young student—when he immortalized them by painting his famous +picture, 'Elaine Duchard's Escape'."</p> + +<p>"And now Elaine—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The old man straightened wearily.</p> + +<p>"Our Elaine will die," he said. "Her mind will be wiped out when the +Morriere pikes stab through my ancestor's body."</p> + +<p>"There must be some way of calling her back—"</p> + +<p>"If there is, I do not know it." He shook his head. "No. There is +nothing we can do."</p> + +<p>"We can try!"</p> + +<p>Mark's voice rang out like the clang of a great iron bell, echoing with +grim resolve. His tanned jaw jutted hard with determination. His eyes +flashed brown fire.</p> + +<p>Elaine's father let his hands fall in a hopeless gesture.</p> + +<p>"What is there to try, my boy? Elaine's mind is gone, back a hundred and +fifty years into the past. Her body lies unconscious in a hospital. What +can we do?"</p> + +<p>A savage, humorless smile played over the other's lips.</p> + +<p>"Earlier this evening you said I was a man of action," he told the +savant tautly. "You said I knew how to handle things I knew about. Well, +I think it's time for action. Real action!"</p> + +<p>"But what action can we take? What can—"</p> + +<p>"Who's responsible for what's happened to Elaine?"</p> + +<p>"Responsible? Adrian Vance is responsible, of course. There is too much +evidence for it to be coincidence—"</p> + +<p>"Right!" Mark's eyes were black with rage. "That snake planned this. He +said he'd get revenge. This"—he gestured toward the mirror—"is his way +of doing it!"</p> + +<p>"All this is rather obvious," the scientist commented wearily. "But the +fact that Vance is guilty of this atrocity does us no good. Nor does it +help Elaine—"</p> + +<p>"But it will!"</p> + +<p>"It will? How?"</p> + +<p>The younger man hunched forward tensely.</p> + +<p>"We're going to catch that devil and strangle an answer out of him!" he +grated. "We're going to make him tell us how to bring Elaine safely back +to 1942!"</p> + +<p>"And if he does not know how? If he cannot help us?"</p> + +<p>"That'll be too bad. Because then we'll just keep on strangling him." He +laughed harshly. "Oh, yes. Vance may win. We may not be able to save +Elaine. But"—and his face was terrible to see—"Vance certainly won't +live long enough to gloat much!"</p> + +<p>A spark of hope sprang into Professor Duchard's blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could believe you—"</p> + +<p>"Forget it. We've got more important things to do than wishing. Look out +that window!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The white-haired scientist turned to the casement toward which the other +pointed. Saw dawn reddening the eastern sky.</p> + +<p>"It's morning already," Mark went on determinedly. "In a few hours more, +we can start things rolling by having you call up Vance."</p> + +<p>"Call up Vance? What would I say?"</p> + +<p>The devil's bitter mirth played in the other's eyes. But it was a mirth +spiked with menace.</p> + +<p>"Simple. Just don't let on anything's wrong. Pretend that the wedding's +to come off as scheduled. Then tell him that things are in a mess. All +the excitement's got you tied in a knot. Because he's such a close +friend of Elaine's, you thought maybe he'd be willing to lend a hand."</p> + +<p>The spark of hope in the professor's eyes brightened to a glowing coal.</p> + +<p>"I wonder...." he mused. "It might work—"</p> + +<p>"Of course it'll work. It's got to. It's the only chance we have...."</p> + +<p>It was nine fifteen precisely when Adrian Vance rang the doorbell. He +stepped back. Polished the nails of his right hand on the grey suede +glove which still garbed the left.</p> + +<p>The door swung open.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, professor."</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Adrian." The savant stepped aside. "Please come in."</p> + +<p>Not by the slightest vocal tremor or change of expression did the old +man hint of his secret—that if necessary Adrian Vance would never leave +this place alive!</p> + +<p>"It is kind of you to come," he told the antiquarian as he led the way +toward the back of the dwelling. "I never knew that a wedding could +cause so much turmoil." He chuckled softly. "Of course, I have had +little experience in such matters, my wife being dead and Elaine an only +child. And my own nuptials were celebrated a good many years ago."</p> + +<p>Every word, every inflection, was perfect. No actor could have matched +that sinister soliloquy.</p> + +<p>Vance smoothed the sleek black hair that at once crowned and +characterized him.</p> + +<p>"It's a great privilege to be allowed to assist in any way at Elaine's +wedding," he observed unctuously. "Anything which I can do to help make +this a happier occasion for her is a pleasure."</p> + +<p>Blue fire flared in the scientist's eyes. He looked away quickly.</p> + +<p>A moment later his composure was regained.</p> + +<p>"There are some things in the laboratory I wish to bring to the house," +he announced. "If you will come this way—" He opened the back door. Led +the antique dealer down the brick walk to the laboratory.</p> + +<p>Together, they stepped inside.</p> + +<p>The door swung shut. In the silence its jarring slam echoed like a shot +fired in a tomb.</p> + +<p>Vance cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"So this is your laboratory, professor—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mark Carter stepped out of the shadows. His tanned face looked as if it +had been carved from the rock of ages. His eyes were pools of sudden +death.</p> + +<p>He spoke:</p> + +<p>"Elaine's gone, Vance. Through the mirror. We want her back."</p> + +<p>Just that. Nothing more. But suddenly Vance was shaking.</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about? I don't know what you mean."</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard said:</p> + +<p>"You are lying. I have examined the mirror. I tested with black light. +It showed the picture of the first Elaine Duchard."</p> + +<p>"You're mad," said Vance. "You don't make sense."</p> + +<p>"I fear I make too much sense, Adrian Vance. I wish I could disbelieve +my own mind. But I cannot. I know that you have found a way to pass the +barrier between space and time. I know that you have projected Elaine's +mind into the past, leaving her body behind in a state of suspended +animation."</p> + +<p>"And we want her back, Vance," Mark broke in. "We want her back right +now!"</p> + +<p>He was moving forward, a juggernaut of menace, clenched fists +half-raised.</p> + +<p>"Keep away from me!" the antiquarian shrilled. His greasy face was +paste-colored with terror. "Keep away! Don't touch me!"</p> + +<p>The other caught his shoulders. Shook him as a terrier shakes a rat.</p> + +<p>"Tell us!" he thundered. "Tell us how to bring her back!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you're talking about! There wasn't anything wrong +with the mirror I sent Elaine!"</p> + +<p>"Tell us—"</p> + +<p>The professor caught Mark's arm.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" he begged. "Do not hurt him. There is a better way."</p> + +<p>"A better way? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>The scientist turned to Vance.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are telling the truth," he said. "I feel certain the +mirror is harmless." His tone was silky. A thin smile rippled across his +aged face.</p> + +<p>He was like a cat playing with a mouse.</p> + +<p>"Only our friend, young Mr. Carter, remains to be convinced," he went +on. "However, we shall have no difficulty in proving him wrong."</p> + +<p>Adrian Vance stared at the professor in terrified fascination. His lips +moved, but no words came.</p> + +<p>The savant hurried across to an ancient desk which stood in one corner. +Rummaged through it. Came back with a big sheet of heavy paper.</p> + +<p>"Over there," said the professor—gesturing toward the spot where the +mirror still stood upon the easel, again shrouded by the tablecloth—"is +the glass that has caused all the trouble."</p> + +<p>He smiled sympathetically at Vance.</p> + +<p>"All so unnecessary, too, Adrian!"</p> + +<p>"Unnecessary?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. We shall demonstrate to Mark right now that it is not a +means of time travel."</p> + +<p>"Demonstrate?" Vance was shaking again. "How?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Again the professor smiled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very simply. I have here"—he held up the heavy paper—"a +lithographed portrait of the late General George A. Custer. You will +recall he was killed by Indians at the battle of Little Big +Horn—popularly known as Custer's last stand."</p> + +<p>Vance's teeth suddenly were chattering.</p> + +<p>"We shall hang this picture on your chest, Adrian," Professor Duchard +went on. "Then we shall stand you in front of that mirror and give you a +chance to concentrate on the reflection." He chuckled softly. "Of +course, since the mirror has nothing to do with time travel, you need +have no fear of your mind leaving your body and going back to that of +General Custer, and death in a Sioux massacre—"</p> + +<p>Without warning, Vance erupted into action.</p> + +<p>As if by magic, the panic fled his face. His features contorted with +hate. His eyes suddenly were glistening pinpoints of jet.</p> + +<p>And even faster moved his sinuous body. He snaked free of Mark's +restraining grasp. Sprang back like a wounded tiger. His right hand +darted under his coat to his left armpit like a Gila monster streaking +for cover.</p> + +<p>Mark Carter's lips twisted in a snarl of rage. He lunged after the +antiquarian, big fists balled and deadly.</p> + +<p>"Look out!"</p> + +<p>It was Professor Duchard, his voice a shrill warning blast.</p> + +<p>Mark's eyes shifted. He caught the sudden spearing movement of Vance's +right hand. Lashed out in savage fury to meet the new threat.</p> + +<p>The antiquarian shrank back. The other's fist drove by him. Missed him +by a hair.</p> + +<p>And then his right hand was back in view. Back, and gripping the butt of +a long-barreled Smith & Wesson Magnum. His teeth were bared, in a +grimace of hideous triumph.</p> + +<p>Like a rattlesnake striking, he slashed out with the heavy gun. Brought +it down at his adversary's head in a vicious blow.</p> + +<p>Mark still reeled, off balance, from his own missed blow. But he saw the +gun descending. Threw up his arm to ward it off.</p> + +<p>The barrel caught him at the juncture of shoulder and collar bones. Sent +screaming pain stabbing to the farthest reaches of his brain. Paralyzed +his whole side. He staggered drunkenly.</p> + +<p>Again that triumphant leer contorted Vance's hatchet face. Once more he +whipped the pistol barrel down.</p> + +<p>And this time his aim was true. This time the heavy gun slammed home +square at the base of the other's brain.</p> + +<p>The universe was exploding inside Mark's skull. A crimson universe, with +planets that burst into bloody flame. His control centers went numb. The +life vanished from his muscles. He felt himself falling ... falling ... +falling....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>As if in some macabre nightmare, he heard Adrian Vance laugh. Saw the +antiquarian step back and bring the gun in his hand to bear on Professor +Duchard.</p> + +<p>"So you're going to force me to bring Elaine back to the twentieth +century!" the rejected suitor mocked. "So you think you still have a +chance to save her from death at the hands of Baron Morriere's +retainers!"</p> + +<p>The old man's eyes were like blue steel as he met the antiquarian's +gaze.</p> + +<p>"You devil!" he said. "You admit it! You have killed her!"</p> + +<p>Vance nodded, his narrow face sinister.</p> + +<p>"Of course I admit it. Why shouldn't I? What is there you can do about +it? Or do you think the police are going to hold me on a charge of +subjecting your daughter to involuntary time travel by sending her a +mirror?" He laughed harshly, smoothed his sleek black hair. Then +continued:</p> + +<p>"Yes, professor. Go to the police. Tell them all about my hideous +crimes." Again he laughed. "See how long it takes them to put you under +psychiatric observation."</p> + +<p>The aged scientist's lips quivered with passion and despair.</p> + +<p>"Why do you stay?" he cried. "You have won. Why do you mock us? Go away! +Let us alone!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no." The other shook his head. "I don't want to leave just yet, +professor. There are still some things I have to tell you. Things I +learned while making preparations for Elaine's little trip."</p> + +<p>He paused to gloat.</p> + +<p>"How thoroughly have you investigated the case of that first Elaine +Duchard, in whose body your daughter now resides, Professor Duchard?" he +demanded.</p> + +<p>The white-haired savant did not even answer. He leaned weakly against a +laboratory bench, a broken man.</p> + +<p>"Did you know, for instance," Adrian Vance continued, "that Baron +Morriere's men tortured Elaine Duchard before they murdered her?"</p> + +<p>"You fiend! Not even a savage would do a thing like that!"</p> + +<p>Vance chuckled evilly.</p> + +<p>"You exaggerate," he sneered. "Besides, Elaine's sweetheart, here"—he +prodded the still-prone Mark with his foot—"no doubt will protect her."</p> + +<p>His face darkened.</p> + +<p>"And if you did not want harm to befall her, why did you let her reject +me when I asked to marry her? I gave her her chance. When she didn't +take it, what else could she expect but my revenge?"</p> + +<p>"Go away. Please go away."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>On the floor, Mark stirred uneasily. His brain was clear now, though his +head throbbed like a jungle tom-tom under the beat of a mad witch +doctor. Slowly, he tried his muscles. Tensed them. Relaxed them. Tested +them for complete control.</p> + +<p>Vance said:</p> + +<p>"In case you still have any notions of rescuing your daughter from the +far reaches of time, professor, forget them now. It's impossible to call +a person back. In the first place, a time mirror would be needed—and +the only one in existence, the one I bought from a French sorcerer who +once studied under Eliphas Levi, now stands on that easel in the +corner."</p> + +<p>Sobs racked the other's frail form. He still leaned against the bench, +his face buried in his hands.</p> + +<p>But on the floor, Mark Carter's jaw grew hard. He readied himself for a +savage leap.</p> + +<p>"Furthermore," their captor went on, "your precious Elaine remembers +nothing of her life in this century. For all practical purposes she has +become the first Elaine Duchard. I know this, because I tried out the +mirror by sending one of my clerks three months into the past. He was +possessed by a strange amnesia that left his mind a perfect blank so far +as what had happened in those three months was concerned!"</p> + +<p>The antiquarian paused, savoring the full effect of his words on +Elaine's father with evil glee. His black eyes were shining with hell's +own fire.</p> + +<p>And in that tense, silent second, Mark Carter struck.</p> + +<p>He came off the floor like a tiger springing, and the roar of a jungle +beast was in his throat. His arms shot out to embrace Adrian Vance's +legs and pull him down. His fingers hungered for the feel of his +enemy's throat.</p> + +<p>He was still in the air when the other moved. Like lightning, Vance +leaped aside. Away from Mark's clutching hands. He landed, tense and +poised, the gun in his fist sighted on young Carter's chest, a grin of +triumph splitting his oily face.</p> + +<p>"Did you think I was asleep, you fool?" he crowed. "Did you think I +wasn't watching you every second out of the corner of my eye? I've been +ready to kill you from the moment your eyelids first fluttered!"</p> + +<p>Mute, his face still livid with hate, Mark staggered to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Come on!" Vance challenged. "If you think you can jump me before I pull +the trigger, come ahead! I'll be glad to take my chances before a jury +when you're dead!"</p> + +<p>Elaine's fiance glared helplessly. His fists clenched and relaxed again +and again.</p> + +<p>"You win," he said at last, his face grey beneath its tan. "Go on. Get +out. You've got us licked."</p> + +<p>But the antiquarian shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Not quite yet," he answered. "I've still got one job to do."</p> + +<p>Then, so fast the eye could hardly follow, his gun-hand came up.</p> + +<p><i>Bang—bang—bang!</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Three shots he fired. Three shots, straight toward the easel in the +corner. Dead center into the mirror that stood upon it.</p> + +<p>There was a wild tinkling of falling glass. The tablecloth slipped away. +Revealed the shattered remnants of the time mirror.</p> + +<p>"I'm taking no chances!" cried Vance. "Professor Duchard's reputation as +a research physicist is too high." And then, mockingly: "However, I +doubt that even he can make any good use of that mirror now!"</p> + +<p>With that final sally, he backed away and out the door, the Magnum in +his hand still grim and unwavering as he covered Mark and the old +scientist.</p> + +<p>Curtly:</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't come out too soon if I were you."</p> + +<p>The door slammed shut.</p> + +<p>Mark started forward. But the professor caught his arm.</p> + +<p>"It is useless," the savant said. "To follow him would bring death and +would avail nothing, my boy. He has won."</p> + +<p>Like men in a daze, then, they stared into each other's eyes. They saw +only dull hopelessness. The last spark was gone out.</p> + +<p>Slowly, Mark walked over to the corner where stood the shattered mirror. +Looked blankly down at its fragments. Bending, he picked up a splinter. +Inspected it idly.</p> + +<p>The next instant he whirled about.</p> + +<p>"Professor Duchard!" he rapped. "How did this devil's looking-glass +work?"</p> + +<p>The scientist looked up dispiritedly, shrugged.</p> + +<p>"I could not make you understand. It is a complicated matter of +space-time theory—"</p> + +<p>The other strode back to him. Gripped his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I don't care about the details. Just try to give me a simplified +version of the principle."</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard gazed into the younger man's eyes. Caught the fierce +light within them—the gleam of spirit that marks those who will not be +downed for long, no matter what the odds. The ray of struggle that only +death could take away.</p> + +<p>For a long moment, then, the old man sat buried in thought. At last he +looked up again. Broke the silence.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen the physical experiment in which a wave of sound is +used to break a glass?"</p> + +<p>"No. But I've heard of it. I know what you're talking about."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. Imagine, if you can, that the barrier between space +and time is that glass. It is apparently impenetrable."</p> + +<p>"I see." Elaine's fiance nodded eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Then try to conceive of a terrific wave of energy being concentrated +against it, just as the sound wave is concentrated on the glass. But +this time, the wave must be so manipulated as to strike the barrier as a +pebble strikes and breaks a window. Otherwise it would be too weak to +break through. Or, if it was strong enough, it would break down the +entire space-time relationship."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Again Mark nodded, this time more slowly.</p> + +<p>"You mean that the wave of energy really must be like a sword, stabbing +one small hole through the barrier?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly." A pause. "The time mirror represented just such a hole +through the barrier. What appeared to us to be waves in the glass +actually were frozen ripples in the space-time continuum—just as if you +had dropped a stone in water, and the hole and ripples had frozen."</p> + +<p>"Then when you looked into the mirror—"</p> + +<p>"Your mind went out through that gap in the barrier. Ordinarily, of +course, you would not even know that this was happening. But if your +mind was concentrated on something in the past or future—as Elaine's +was upon the picture of her ancestor—, you were automatically hurtled +through time to that period."</p> + +<p>The younger man frowned.</p> + +<p>"Then why didn't my mind go, too, when Elaine's did? We both were +looking into the mirror."</p> + +<p>"But from different angles," the professor reminded him. "Remember, the +actual break in the continuum was relatively small. Elaine, seated +before the mirror, must have been directly in front of the gap, so she +was sucked through. You, on the other hand—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I was standing up. Off center. So I didn't go." Mark nodded. "I +see."</p> + +<p>"And now," said the scientist, "the mirror is broken. Our last chance of +saving Elaine is gone."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"What?" The professor peered up at the other incredulously. "What do you +mean, Mark?"</p> + +<p>Brown eyes narrowed with excitement, Elaine's sweetheart held out the +splinter of glass he had picked up. He shook it in front of the savant's +face.</p> + +<p>"Professor, every piece of glass that went to make up that mirror is +laying over there on the floor."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, my boy." The elder man frowned. "I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Professor, if you break your glasses, all you have to do to get a new +pair is to take the pieces to an optician. He'll figure the formula of +the lens from the fragments and make you a new set."</p> + +<p>"You mean—"</p> + +<p>"I mean that we can put the pieces of that mirror together as if it was +a jigsaw puzzle. From it, you can figure out some kind of a formula. +Then, by experimenting, you can find what kind of energy bolt it takes +to blast through the barrier!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Something of the man's intensity, his enthusiasm, communicated itself to +the professor. His blue eyes came alight.</p> + +<p>"It is conceivable!" he declared. "Not likely. But conceivable." He +gripped the fragment of glass which Mark held. "Yes! We shall try it! If +it works, we can—"</p> + +<p>He stopped short. His face fell.</p> + +<p>"We can what?" he finished. "Another time mirror will not help us bring +Elaine back—"</p> + +<p>His companion interrupted fiercely:</p> + +<p>"How do we know? There's always a chance we'll think of something, isn't +there? And it's a cinch we won't accomplish anything just sitting here."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"The least we can do is try!"</p> + +<p>They worked like madmen in the hours that followed, heedless of the +wedding guests who came and went from the house in bewildered knots. +Unmindful of gashed fingers, Mark fitted the slivers of mirror together, +while Professor Duchard tested and analyzed and figured at his side.</p> + +<p>And then—</p> + +<p>"I have it!" shouted the savant triumphantly. "I have the formula!"</p> + +<p>"Then we can construct another mirror?"</p> + +<p>Some of the old man's elation dropped away. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Not yet. We know only the <i>effect</i> we want. But how to achieve it—" He +shrugged.</p> + +<p>Experiments. More experiments. Hours of experiments, with Mark and the +professor hovering over an electric crucible bubbling with molten glass.</p> + +<p>Hours of failure.</p> + +<p>At last the old scientist straightened, his face haggard with weariness.</p> + +<p>"It is no use," he said sadly. "I have exhausted my knowledge, and to no +avail."</p> + +<p>He turned away, shoulders sagging. Stumbled toward the door.</p> + +<p>The next instant Mark's voice rose in a scream.</p> + +<p>"<i>Look out!</i>"</p> + +<p>Instinctively, without so much as a backward glance, the old man lunged +forward. Even as he did so, he felt something jerk at his ankle. His leg +came out from under him. He pitched to the floor.</p> + +<p><i>Crash!</i></p> + +<p>The crucible was falling, jerked from its place atop the lab bench! The +electric cable which supplied its current was twisted about the +professor's ankle, somehow unconsciously caught by his foot as he +worked.</p> + +<p>Molten glass burst out of the pot in a white-hot wave. Slopped over the +composition floor in a steaming river. Engulfed table legs and radiator +pipes alike.</p> + +<p>And then, like a writhing snake, the high tension line from which the +crucible cable stemmed was whipping down, torn loose by the jar of the +professor's leap!</p> + +<p>Down it came! Struck the floor once. Lashed against the glass-engulfed +radiator pipes, bare wires flashing.</p> + +<p>A ball of purple fire exploded at the contact point, while the cable +jerked and twisted like a living thing. The laboratory was suddenly +permeated with ozone's peculiar odor.</p> + +<p>"Look out!" cried Mark again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>But already Professor Duchard had jerked his foot free of the crucible +line. He shrank back under the long bench, away from the writhing cable.</p> + +<p>An instant later the current went dead. The crackling ball of purple +fire evaporated into thin air.</p> + +<p>Mark sprang across the room to where the scientist lay. He pulled him to +his feet.</p> + +<p>"Are you all right, professor? Are you hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, my boy. It was a narrow escape, but your warning saved me. I +am all right."</p> + +<p>The savant leaned against the bench, trying to still the reflexive +trembling of his body. His face was pale. He ran his tongue over lips +suddenly gone dry as he stared down at the broken high tension line, and +thought of what would have happened had it touched him in its spasm.</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly, his blue eyes went wide with stark amazement.</p> + +<p>"Mark!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong, professor? What is it?"</p> + +<p>"That glass on the floor! Look at it!"</p> + +<p>The other stared uncomprehendingly.</p> + +<p>"The waves, Mark! See the waves!"</p> + +<p>A startled exclamation burst from the younger man's lips. He dropped to +his knees. Scrutinized the puddle of glass.</p> + +<p>But the scientist pulled him erect again.</p> + +<p>"My instruments!" he ordered in a voice that trembled. "Quick! I must +make tests—"</p> + +<p>For half an hour he worked. And when at last he straightened, complete +confidence gleamed deep in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is it—"</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard nodded.</p> + +<p>"It is. That was the secret, my boy. The secret we sought but could not +find. The time mirror is merely a special glass which has been subjected +to a terrific electrical discharge, then silvered. That piece on the +floor is worthless, of course; too many elements were uncontrolled.</p> + +<p>"But knowing the formula as we do; knowing exactly what we are searching +for and how to prepare it, I would stake my reputation that we can +duplicate the mirror Adrian Vance sent to Elaine."</p> + +<p>Mark's eyes were gleaming. His jaw hard.</p> + +<p>"Then do it!" he commanded.</p> + +<p>"But what good would it do? We cannot bring Elaine back—"</p> + +<p>"Maybe not." The other's tanned face was grim. "But we can send me back +to where she is."</p> + +<p>"Send you back!"</p> + +<p>"Yes." A pause. "You see, I've been thinking about the things you've +told me, Professor Duchard. About time travel, and how it works.</p> + +<p>"You say we can't save Elaine. Well, that's probably true. Maybe she's +got to die in France, back in the days before the revolution."</p> + +<p>A tremor of emotion passed over him as he said it. He swallowed hard. +Then:</p> + +<p>"But if she must die, she can at least die easily. Cleanly. Quickly, +with a knife through her heart. She doesn't have to go the way Adrian +Vance wants her to—tortured by a bunch of drunken scum, then cut to +pieces without a chance to fight back."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There was pain in the professor's face, too, when he answered.</p> + +<p>"I wish it were as easy as that, Mark."</p> + +<p>Mark's voice was fierce.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with it? What's to stop me?"</p> + +<p>The other sighed. Brushed back white hair with a sweep of one frail +hand.</p> + +<p>"You cannot change history, my boy," he said sadly. "A study of +cosmology would show you that such things are immutable. You can go +backward or forward through time and participate in them, but you cannot +change them."</p> + +<p>"How do you know? Who's traveled through time and then come back to say +we can't change events?"</p> + +<p>"You do not understand—"</p> + +<p>"And I don't care!" the younger man flared. "I may fail—but I'm going +to try! I'm not going to sit here, waiting for Elaine to die—"</p> + +<p>"But you would have no memory of your life in this century! Remember +what Vance said—"</p> + +<p>"Right. That's the one thing that might stop me. I'm counting on you to +take care of it, though. Is there anything you can do?"</p> + +<p>There was a long moment of tension-studded silence. Then:</p> + +<p>"Perhaps there is. I have been working on equipment to prevent fighter +pilots 'blacking out' during power dives, and I believe there is a +relationship between time travel and terrific speeds in space. It is +possible that I could insulate you—"</p> + +<p>"That's all I need, then. Make me a mirror, professor, and something to +insulate me—"</p> + +<p>"But you have no focal point! You might go through time to a place a +thousand miles and a thousand years from where Elaine is captive—"</p> + +<p>Mark laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>"Wrong, professor! I've got the most accurate focal point in the world. +Or I will have—"</p> + +<p>"The most accurate—? What do you mean?" The old man's face was +bewildered.</p> + +<p>"I'll have the same focal point Elaine had, sir: Gustav Jerbette's +painting, 'Elaine Duchard's Escape'." Again that laugh. "I'm going now +to steal it from Adrian Vance!"</p> + +<p>The house of Adrian Vance was one befitting a professional dealer in +antiquities. It set far back from the street, towering against the sky +like the black bulk of a medieval castle. A high iron fence surrounded +it.</p> + +<p>At this moment Mark Carter stood surveying the estate from the shelter +of a nearby clump of trees.</p> + +<p>"It's like a damned fortress!" he muttered to himself. "He's taking no +chances on anyone getting in."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Turning, then, he gripped a branch of the nearest tree. Swung up into +it. Clambered out, cat-like, until he lay beyond the fence and above the +grounds of Vance's home.</p> + +<p>The limb bowed under his weight as he proceeded until at last he was +able to drop lightly to the ground.</p> + +<p>One hazard passed!</p> + +<p>"And with no worries about that fence being wired for an alarm system, +either!" he told himself triumphantly.</p> + +<p>He hurried toward the house, thankful for the darkness of the night.</p> + +<p>On one side of the big building lay a terrace. French windows opened +onto it.</p> + +<p>Like a wraith in the night, taking advantage of every shrub and patch of +shadow, Mark crept close to the casements.</p> + +<p>They were locked.</p> + +<p>The trespasser stripped off his coat. Wrapped it around his hand, a +bulky, protective wad of cloth covering the flesh. Then, as silently as +possible, he pressed on one of the small panes of glass close beside the +lock. Harder ... harder ... harder....</p> + +<p>With a faint tinkle of falling glass, the pane gave way.</p> + +<p>Tense seconds crawled by on leaden feet. Mark's mouth was dry, his +throat cottony. He stood taut, his back to the wall, waiting fearfully +for some sign that Vance had been aroused.</p> + +<p>At last he relaxed again. Reached through the broken pane and unlocked +the big window. Swung it open, ever so gently, and stepped inside, +fading swiftly into the thick blackness of the nearest corner.</p> + +<p>Once Mark had interviewed a burglar as a feature assignment. He +remembered the man's words now.</p> + +<p>"Gettin' in ain't the hard part," the second-story worker had explained. +"It's gettin' out that's tough. The first thing you gotta do on a job is +to line up an exit."</p> + +<p>Now, as his eyes grew accustomed to the blackness, Mark searched for a +means of escape. There was a window at the far end of the room. He +approached it with swift, silent strides. Opened it wide.</p> + +<p>The slightest of creakings caught his ear. Instantly he was on the +alert, every muscle tense.</p> + +<p>The sound was not repeated. He relaxed.</p> + +<p>Where would the picture be?</p> + +<p>A large canvas hung above the fireplace. He tiptoed over to it.</p> + +<p>The lovely face of the first Elaine Duchard looked down at him!</p> + +<p>With trembling fingers he whipped a knife from his pocket. Looked about +for a chair to stand on—</p> + +<p>"It ain't smart to work a room without fixin' the door first," the +burglar had said. "You feel lots better if you know nobody ain't gonna +stumble in on you unexpected."</p> + +<p>Ten seconds later Mark had wedged a straight-back chair under the knob +of the only door leading into the rest of the house.</p> + +<p>Turning, he hurried back to the Jerbette painting. With swift, deft +slashes he cut it from its frame. Started to roll it up.</p> + +<p>"Ah! A visitor!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The trespasser whirled as if he had been stabbed. He stumbled from the +chair on which he stood. As he did so, the brilliant beam of a five-cell +flashlight hit him square in the face like a physical blow. It blinded +him. Left him helpless.</p> + +<p>"No doubt this is just a social call. Too bad that the police will call +it breaking and entering with larcenous intent!"</p> + +<p>It was the oily, mocking voice of Adrian Vance, and it came from the +French window through which Mark had entered.</p> + +<p>"Try to lie out of it!" Vance gloated. "Just try to explain that picture +in your hands!"</p> + +<p>"I don't have to explain, Vance. You know why I'm here."</p> + +<p>The wail of a siren sounded in the distance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course I know." The other was laughing softly, greasily. "But +will the police understand, Carter? That siren you hear—it's coming +here, you know; I called the station before I came down to grab you."</p> + +<p>Mark's heart jumped like a wounded stag. He looked around wildly. Was +this to be the end of it all? Was he to lie in jail while Elaine went to +her death, back there in Bourbon France?</p> + +<p>His captor was speaking again:</p> + +<p>"I didn't dream I could have this much luck! To see that slut Elaine +dead—that was the height of my ambition. But now—to have you sent to +the penitentiary for burglary—"</p> + +<p>The words ended in a roar of laughter. It died, and Vance went on, his +tone grim and deadly:</p> + +<p>"It's time you dropped that picture, Carter. Drop it—and put your hands +up!"</p> + +<p>The picture! The one link between 1942 and 1780!</p> + +<p>"Drop it!"</p> + +<p>Slowly, Mark's hands relaxed. He let the picture fall to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Now—raise your hands and walk over to the corner. Stand with your face +to the wall!"</p> + +<p>Mark moved like one paralyzed. His hands came up as if they were +weighted with lead. His brown eyes were fixed on the shadowy finger back +of the flashlight, and impotent rage and hatred seethed within them.</p> + +<p>Yet what could he do? Jump Vance? Try to wrest the inevitable gun from +the antiquarian's hand?</p> + +<p>Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. No. It was impossible. His +slug-riddled body would pitch lifeless to the floor before he could take +two steps forward.</p> + +<p>Nor was it mere fear of death that made him halt. That he would have +faced, and gladly.</p> + +<p>But what actually held him back was that such a suicidal attempt would +avail him nothing. It would bring him no nearer his real goal than +before: Elaine still would meet that awful doom which history had +recorded as her fate!</p> + +<p>"Turn around, damn you! Get over to the corner! Put your face to the +wall!"</p> + +<p>Ever so slowly, Mark turned. His brain was pounding with frantic effort +as he strove to find some flaw in the awful wall of circumstance that +rose about him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And then he saw the curtain!</p> + +<p>It was just an ordinary curtain, buff-colored and a trifle stiff with +starch.</p> + +<p>But it hung in front of the window he had opened as an emergency exit +when he came in. At the moment, it swayed ever so slightly in the ripple +of draft.</p> + +<p>Most important of all, that window was set in the wall against which +Adrian Vance had directed that he stand. The corner Vance had indicated +was a step to the right of where Mark now stood; the window, a step to +the left. And a grand piano half-sheltered it from the antiquarian's +line of fire!</p> + +<p>"Hurry up! Get into that corner!"</p> + +<p>Instinctively, the captive tensed to leap.</p> + +<p>But the picture! What about it? He must have it! Without that painting, +the time mirror Professor Duchard was constructing would be useless!</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, a grim smile played across Mark's lips. There was an +angle! There was one wild chance by which he might escape alive and take +Jerbette's masterpiece with him!</p> + +<p>"Hurry up, or I'll shoot!"</p> + +<p>Like a stone from a sling, Mark hurled himself toward the window in a +headlong dive. The blackness of the outer night engulfed him.</p> + +<p>In the room behind, Vance's Magnum roared a cannonade of death. +Copper-jacketed slugs splintered the sill at the fleeing man's heels.</p> + +<p>Mark landed on one shoulder in a somersaulting roll. The next instant he +was on his feet and sprinting for the shadows at the corner of the +house.</p> + +<p>Flashlight in hand, Vance sprang to the open window.</p> + +<p>On Mark ran, and on. Around the house as fast as he could go. Then the +smooth plateau of the terrace loomed before him, with its wide-open +French window.</p> + +<p>He slowed, silenced his pounding footsteps.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the big room, still peering out the window through +which Mark had hurled himself, stood Vance. His sleek form was +silhouetted behind the flashlight's beam.</p> + +<p>Like a wraith in the night, the other slipped inside. He crossed the +room on tiptoe. His hand darted down to snatch the rolled picture from +where it still lay on the floor.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And then Vance turned. His flashlight caught Mark.</p> + +<p>But this time it was the antiquarian who was surprised. He jerked back. +Already his adversary was leaping for the cover of a heavy mahogany +table. Vance snapped a shot at him. Tried again to place him with the +light.</p> + +<p>Mark's hand came down on a porcelain vase. He hurled it at Vance with +all his might.</p> + +<p>Vainly, his enemy tried to dodge. But too late. The vase <i>thunk'd</i> home +against his left shoulder. The flashlight fell to the floor.</p> + +<p>Like a thunderbolt, Elaine's fiance lunged forward. His left hand +slashed down; pinioned the arm that held the Magnum. His right fist came +up with express-train speed. Smashed home on the point of Vance's jaw. +The antiquarian's body jerked spasmodically. Went limp. Sagged to the +floor.</p> + +<p>But now the sound of harsh voices and running feet came to Mark's ears.</p> + +<p>Clutching the Jerbette painting in one hand, he ducked back out the +window. Even in the gloom he could see black figures converging on the +house. A sedan stood in the driveway, its spotlight sweeping the house.</p> + +<p>"The police!"</p> + +<p>Cold sweat stood out on Mark's forehead as he gasped the exclamation. +But he did not hesitate. Keeping to the shadows, he headed for the +still-open gate through which the car had come.</p> + +<p>The iron fence loomed close. He ran along it in a half-crouch.</p> + +<p>"Hey, you! Stick 'em up or we shoot!"</p> + +<p>For the barest fraction of a second Mark halted in mid-stride. The +spotlight was swinging toward him.</p> + +<p>But the gate was only a dozen yards away. He made for it in a mad rush. +Bullets sang about him. Slugs ricocheted from the iron spikes. But on he +went. Lunged through the opening and into the shadowy fastnesses across +the street.</p> + +<p>The return to Professor Duchard's laboratory was a nightmare of mad +dashes and narrow escapes. Squad cars seemed everywhere. Police always +on his heels.</p> + +<p>And then—</p> + +<p>He was slipping through the door, alive and unharmed, with the picture +clasped under his arm!</p> + +<p>The professor jerked about from the task of hanging a new and bigger +time mirror on the easel. It still was shrouded with a heavy cloth.</p> + +<p>"It's ready?"</p> + +<p>The scientist nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I got special co-operation from an old friend who is manager of a +glass works." He paused. "And you?"</p> + +<p>Mark waved the Jerbette.</p> + +<p>"I got the picture," he clipped, "but we're going to have to work fast. +The police probably are on their way here now. Vance caught me in the +act of stealing the painting." He still was panting from the exertion of +his race here.</p> + +<p>"Then clip it to this frame quickly!" The professor indicated an +arrangement like an oversize drawing board. He hurried to assist the +younger man. In a moment their work was done.</p> + +<p>There, at last, was "Elaine Duchard's Escape." Mark for the first time +studied it carefully.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Four people were shown. The central figure was that of the first Elaine +Duchard. She was in the act of entering a carriage, her lovely face +alive with panic. Beside her a young man—his face in the shadows—held +a horse pistol on another man. This second man's features were twisted +with hate; Mark thought he never had seen such malevolent eyes.</p> + +<p>"Baron Morriere" the professor explained. "The younger man is Jacques +Rombeau, Elaine Duchard's lover."</p> + +<p>Mark nodded. Turned to scrutinize a third man, unidentifiable, who was +clambering to the driver's seat of the coach.</p> + +<p>The next instant the laboratory was re-echoing with the sound of heavy +blows upon the door.</p> + +<p>"Open up!" roared a muffled voice. "It's the law!"</p> + +<p>"The police!" Mark's face went pale.</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard darted to the bench which lined one wall. Seized a +strange-looking helmet which stood there. Rushed with it to Mark.</p> + +<p>"The insulator-helmet!" he explained hastily, his blue eyes feverish +with excitement. "Strap it on! Quickly!"</p> + +<p>"Open up!" the alien voice roared again. "We want in!"</p> + +<p>And then the angry accents of Adrian Vance:</p> + +<p>"Break it down, officer! Don't let them get away!"</p> + +<p>Mark hauled the frame on which the painting was stretched to a position +in front of the mirror. Whirled back. Gripped his companion's hand.</p> + +<p>"Will it work, professor? Will the mirror take me back through time?"</p> + +<p>"That I cannot tell you, my boy. But it should. You know the formula I +worked out. You understand the process by which it was constructed." A +second's pause. "Actually, I believe it should work far better than the +previous time mirror. The one Vance gave Elaine was very old, very +crude. This one is the product of modern science, modern workmanship. It +creates a tremendously larger rift in the space-time continuum—"</p> + +<p>A shot rang out.</p> + +<p>At the other end of the laboratory, the outside door burst open, lock +shattered. Uniformed police rushed in, Adrian Vance at their head.</p> + +<p>"Mark! Quickly! I shall hold them!"</p> + +<p>With a savage jerk, Elaine's fiance ripped aside the cloth that veiled +the new time mirror. The reflection of Jerbette's painting sprang across +its silver surface.</p> + +<p>Mark's jaw went hard with tension. He glued his eyes to the figure of +Jacques Rombeau, Elaine Duchard's lover.</p> + +<p>Behind him, Adrian Vance charged down the laboratory, struggling to +shake off the frail, tenacious figure of Professor Duchard. He brought +up his heavy Magnum.</p> + +<p>But Mark paid him no heed. Already his brain was spinning, his senses +reeling. Yet still he concentrated on the lithe, tense figure of Jacques +Rombeau holding the fuming Baron Morriere at bay. And through his mind +the words kept ringing:</p> + +<p>"I shall take over the brain of Jacques Rombeau! I shall save Elaine +from her fate!</p> + +<p>"<i>I shall change history!</i>"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"You dog!" said Baron Morriere in a voice that trembled with passion. +"I'll see you drawn and quartered for this! You'll swing from the +highest gibbet in all France—"</p> + +<p>"Save your breath!" snapped Mark—and then nearly dropped the horse +pistol he grasped as the sound of his voice struck his ears. For he +spoke in the French of the late eighteenth century, and the voice was +not his own, but that of Jacques Rombeau!</p> + +<p>From behind him came another voice—faintly tremulous, the voice of a +woman:</p> + +<p>"Jacques, <i>mon cher</i>! We are ready! Quick!"</p> + +<p>"Right!"</p> + +<p>Then, prodding the baron's stomach with the gun barrel:</p> + +<p>"Why I don't kill you now I'll never know. <i>Le Bon Dieu</i> knows I've got +cause enough. And may He have mercy on your soul if you try to follow +us!"</p> + +<p>Turning on his heel, Mark sprang aboard the coach. From the driver's +seat came a shout and the crack of the whip. With a jerk that nearly +threw Mark to the floor, they were off!</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jacques! I was so afraid! The baron—"</p> + +<p>He turned in his seat. Looked into the lovely, appealing face of Elaine +Duchard. Her arms reached out to him. Instinctively he accepted the +embrace. He held her close, and his lips sought hers.</p> + +<p>It was strange; incredible. Even as he kissed the girl, Mark realized +it. He was two people simultaneously—Mark Carter and Jacques Rombeau. +The brain of the former had traveled back through time into the body of +the latter. In so doing, it had somehow acquired all the knowledge, the +personality, the character traits of Rombeau. Yet because the mind of +Mark Carter had been protected by Professor Duchard's insulating helmet, +he still was able to think independently—almost as if his own twentieth +century being was held apart in a special brain lobe within Jacques +Rombeau's skull!</p> + +<p>"I knew you would come, Jacques! I knew it!"</p> + +<p>A wave of sentiment choked off Mark's reply. Again he kissed the soft +hollow of that first Elaine Duchard's throat, trying the while to fight +off the awful sense of futility that swept over him as he remembered +history's verdict as to her fate.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, the coach was halting.</p> + +<p>"Whoa, there!" came the voice of the burly man on the box. And then: +"Well, Jacques, what now? We're away from the castle, but where do we +go?"</p> + +<p>Mark swung to the ground. Glanced back to where the Chateau Morriere +still loomed black and menacing on a distant ridge.</p> + +<p>"Every road and bridge is blocked," the other went on. "The peasantry's +none too peaceful in these parts, and the baron's taking no chances."</p> + +<p>Mark nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"What do you think, Baroc?" he asked. Somehow, he knew that was the +man's name.</p> + +<p>The burly one scowled.</p> + +<p>"Paris, I suppose," he grunted. "If you once get there, and into the +slums, the devil himself couldn't rout you out."</p> + +<p>"Do you think we can make it?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe." A shrug. "We could try the post road."</p> + +<p>"All right. Let's go."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They jogged on through the night, the coach swaying and bumping over the +rough track. Then lights began to sparkle ahead. Baroc pulled up.</p> + +<p>"The Golden Cock Inn," he grunted, nodding toward the lights. +"Morriere's guards will be there. We'll have to run for it, so be ready +for rough going."</p> + +<p>The next instant they were rolling again. Closer the lights came, and +closer. Now they were almost abreast them....</p> + +<p>"Halt!"</p> + +<p>A man was running toward them, waving his arms.</p> + +<p>Baroc shattered the night with a fearful oath. His long whip cracked +over the backs of the double-span of greys ahead. The horses leaped +forward.</p> + +<p>They were past the inn, driving hellbent through the pitch-blackness of +the countryside. But behind them was a tumult of shouts, a wild +disorder.</p> + +<p>Mark shot a glance through the window. Caught a glimpse of running +figures.</p> + +<p>"Jacques! Are they after us?" There was panic in Elaine's voice.</p> + +<p>A clatter of hooves answered her before Mark could open his mouth. The +girl clung to him, her face chalky with fear.</p> + +<p>"If the baron catches me again, Jacques—"</p> + +<p>"He won't catch you! I promise it, Elaine! He won't!"</p> + +<p>But the words of Adrian Vance leaped into his brain like red-hot +branding irons:</p> + +<p><i>Elaine Duchard was tortured and murdered by Baron Morriere's +retainers!</i></p> + +<p>Were these men the ones history had marked to do the awful deed?</p> + +<p>The thunder of hooves was almost upon them now. The coach rocked from +side to side. Bounced wildly from one rut to another.</p> + +<p>A hoarse bellow from Baroc:</p> + +<p>"They're coming, Jacques!"</p> + +<p>Then out of the night like the wind itself the riders came. Big men, +with fierce eyes and savage, brutal faces. Men cut from the same pattern +as their master, Baron Morriere.</p> + +<p>"Halt!"</p> + +<p>"To hell with you!"</p> + +<p>A rider surged ahead. He cut in toward the coach's horses.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you don't!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Baroc's whip lashed out. Bit into the face of the horseman. Laid the +flesh bare from eye to jaw. The man gave a shriek of agony. Pitched from +his saddle into the road. The coach leaped high as it struck his falling +body.</p> + +<p>But the others closed in. One sprang from his horse to a precarious +perch on the mounting-board. His bearded face leered in. A knife +flashed.</p> + +<p><i>Boom!</i></p> + +<p>The man fell back, dead before he hit the ground, his throat torn out by +the slug from Mark's horse pistol. The coach was blue with the acrid +stench of gunpowder smoke.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jacques! Don't let them get me! I love you so, Jacques—no matter +what happens—"</p> + +<p>Mark's arm was tight around Elaine. His face was taut and grim as they +bounced onward. He fingered the haft of a broad-bladed knife in his +belt.</p> + +<p>"They won't get you! I promise it—"</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, their enemies were rushing to the attack again. From all +sides they came. The point of a sword cut off Baroc's hoarse cry in +mid-breath. He pitched from the box.</p> + +<p>On through the night plunged the driverless coach, the horses mad with +fright. A bridge loomed ahead. They raced for it like creatures from +hell, flanks lathered, nostrils flaring.</p> + +<p>Another rider tried to spring to the coach. Mark's knife flashed out. +Drove home.</p> + +<p>Then they were onto the bridge.</p> + +<p>With a roar the coach jumped sidewise on the boards. Crashed into the +flimsy railing. Tottered for a moment above the stream. Plunged backward +into the water, dragging the horses with it.</p> + +<p>Mark felt himself hurled back into one corner. His head smashed hard +against something. Consciousness waned.</p> + +<p>But the rush of water revived him. He lurched half-erect as the river +spilled through the windows in a tidal wave.</p> + +<p>Elaine lay unconscious on the floor. He caught up her limp body. Kicked +open one door. Lunged out into the turbulent stream. Drifted with the +current, barely keeping their heads above water.</p> + +<p>From the banks came the shouts of searching men.</p> + +<p>Onward Mark and Elaine drifted. The girl's eyes still were closed. Her +body slack.</p> + +<p>All his life those endless hours were a nightmare to the man. He +remembered, vaguely, that they lay hidden under the roots of a willow +while guardsmen on the bank above them cursed the luck that had let the +pair escape. Mark's teeth were chattering and his muscles weak. Elaine's +face, beside him, was growing blue with cold. Yet still she did not +recover consciousness.</p> + +<p>Then, at last, the baron's men were clumping off, and Mark was dragging +his sweetheart out onto the bank.</p> + +<p>A voice said:</p> + +<p>"Praise God they did not find you!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mark staggered to face the man who spoke. His hand flashed to the knife +in his belt.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>The stranger was old. The hands he raised in a gesture of peace were +toil-worn.</p> + +<p>"Only a poor peasant, friend," he answered. "I welcome you because the +baron's men would not be hunting you were you not his enemies—may his +soul rot in hell!"</p> + +<p>"You will help us?"</p> + +<p>The old man nodded.</p> + +<p>"As much as I can. There is an abandoned chateau near here. You can hide +there. I shall bring you food."</p> + +<p>All but one wing of the ancient edifice to which the peasant took them +was in ruins, gutted by fire. It stood high on a hill like a blackened +skeleton.</p> + +<p>"Once those who lived here were as cruel and proud as Baron Morriere," +commented their guide. "Fire made them our equals."</p> + +<p>And the part of Mark that was Jacques Rombeau answered:</p> + +<p>"Fire will make many equals in the years to come, old man. And swords +will help, for a poor man's arm can strike as lusty a blow as any +lord's."</p> + +<p>They laid Elaine on a bed of straw high in the unburned wing. She was +conscious now, but screaming in delirium.</p> + +<p>"We've got to get a doctor!" Mark grated tensely. "If she dies—"</p> + +<p>The thought brought him up short. History said Elaine Duchard could not +die! No! She must be tormented and murdered! And already the time was +short, for Professor Duchard had asserted that she was killed two days +after her first escape. Twelve hours had passed since he and the girl +had clambered into the coach. That left thirty-six—</p> + +<p>The old peasant was shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"There is no doctor here who can be trusted," he declared. "One and all, +they would run to Baron Morriere. The nearest who would help you and +keep his mouth shut is in Paris—"</p> + +<p>For ten long seconds Mark struggled with himself.</p> + +<p>Elaine was sick. Perhaps dying. Well, why not let her die? Wouldn't it +be better than to see her perhaps back in the hands of Baron Morriere? +Was it not to kill her that he, Mark Carter, had come across a hundred +fifty years of time? Had he not sworn he would contradict history's +verdict—</p> + +<p>"Jacques! Don't let them get me! Save me! Jacques—"</p> + +<p>She was screaming in delirium again, her lovely face pale, her golden +hair water-soaked to limp stringiness. Mark knelt beside her. Chafed her +wrists. Sponged the fevered brow.</p> + +<p>"Jacques! Jacques!"</p> + +<p>"History be damned!"</p> + +<p>He shouted it aloud. Sprang erect, eyes flashing cold fire.</p> + +<p>"I won't let her die now, and I won't let the baron get her! History or +no history, she's my Elaine, and I'll save her!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He whirled on the bewildered peasant.</p> + +<p>"How far is it to Paris?"</p> + +<p>"About eleven miles."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll go there. I'll get a doctor." Even as he spoke, Mark was +pulling on his jacket. He strode toward the door, then hesitated and +came back. He gripped the old peasant's shoulders. "Stay with her, old +man, 'till I come back."</p> + +<p>"I shall stay."</p> + +<p>Mark drew the knife from his belt. Handed it to the other. When he +spoke, his voice was but a cracked whisper:</p> + +<p>"If <i>they</i> come ... use this. She would rather have it so."</p> + +<p>And the answer came back:</p> + +<p>"I promise it, friend! They shall not take her alive!"</p> + +<p>A wild trip it was, that journey to Paris. A dozen times before he was +beyond Baron Morriere's domains, Mark was certain he would be trapped.</p> + +<p>Then he was in the city and searching out the doctor's office in a vast, +ancient rookery on the Left Bank. Outside—although it was only +mid-afternoon—hovering storm clouds transformed day into night, while, +at last, he pounded on the door to which he had been directed.</p> + +<p>The door opened. A scowling, youthful man with tousled hair glared out +at him, reeling tipsily all the while.</p> + +<p>"Wha' y' want?"</p> + +<p>"I'm looking for Doctor d'Allempier."</p> + +<p>"Then why y' come here? <i>I</i> ain' no doc-tor. Me, I'm painter. Gustav +Jerbette. 'M bes' dam' pain'er—"</p> + +<p>Disgust welled within Mark's heart like the thunder that rumbled +overhead. He jerked free of the drunk's pawings.</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly, he stopped. Stopped coldly and completely, as if he +had been turned to stone. Deep within him an idea was growing. An idea +so stupendous that it made his brain reel within his skull.</p> + +<p>He whirled on the drunk.</p> + +<p>"What did you say your name was?"</p> + +<p>"'M Gustav Jerbette. 'M pain'er. Bes' dam' pain'er—"</p> + +<p>The next instant the tipsy one was reeling backward into his room under +the impetus of a powerful shove.</p> + +<p>"Hey! Wha's idea?" he burbled. "Qui' pushin'—"</p> + +<p>"Shut up, you stew-bum! I'm going to sober you up if I have to kill you! +You've got a job to do!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The doctor was a grave, bearded man. At last he rose from beside +Elaine's straw bed in the fire-gutted chateau.</p> + +<p>"How is she, doctor? Is there any hope?" Mark's voice was choked with +emotion, his face drawn and haggard with strain.</p> + +<p>Slowly, the medical man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, <i>m'sieur</i>," he said quietly. "I can offer you little +solace. Her lungs already are filling. I doubt that she can last until +morning."</p> + +<p>The other was breathing hard. His eyes were like fiery gimlets.</p> + +<p>"Isn't there anything you can do?" he begged, half-sobbing. "Can't you +at least give her something so she'll recover consciousness? I must talk +to her—"</p> + +<p>"That I can do."</p> + +<p>The physician turned back to the bed. Raised the dying girl's head from +the pallet to administer doses of several medicines.</p> + +<p>"I have done all I can," he said. "From here it is in the hands of <i>Le +Bon Dieu</i>."</p> + +<p>Dazedly, Mark thanked him. Paid him with coins from Jacques Rombeau's +wallet.</p> + +<p>The door to the room beyond opened on sagging hinges and Gustav Jerbette +stepped out. His eyes still were red-rimmed from drink, but otherwise he +appeared sober.</p> + +<p>"It's done," he said in a disgusted tone. "Lord knows it looks like +nothing in this world or the next, but it's done."</p> + +<p>Again Mark dealt out coins.</p> + +<p>The old peasant entered the room.</p> + +<p>"The baron is furious," he reported grimly. "They are searching every +hut and hovel—"</p> + +<p>The doctor shifted his feet nervously.</p> + +<p>"Since there is nothing more I can do—" he murmured.</p> + +<p>Mark seemed to shake off the strange, dream-like lassitude that gripped +him.</p> + +<p>"Of course, gentlemen. All of you have done your best. But there isn't +any need of your staying longer, imperiling your lives by the chances of +Baron Morriere's vengeance. Please leave—and my thanks go with you."</p> + +<p>Out they marched, a weird procession: painter, doctor, peasant. Only the +old man hesitated at the door.</p> + +<p>"God be with you, friend!" he whispered, and pulled the heavy portal +shut behind him.</p> + +<p>Like a man in a trance, Mark watched them go. His feet were spread +apart; fists clenched. Nor did the Sphinx at Giza look out upon the +world with a face more grey or stony or implacable than was his.</p> + +<p>"History!" he cried aloud, and his voice was half-hysterical. "Damn +history! I'll beat it yet! Those devils shan't have Elaine—"</p> + +<p>"Jacques!"</p> + +<p>It was Elaine. Wanly she looked up from the pallet where she lay. Tried +to force a smile.</p> + +<p>Mark dropped to his knees beside her.</p> + +<p>"Elaine! My darling!"</p> + +<p>The girl raised a hand that trembled. Caressed his forehead.</p> + +<p>"Poor Jacques!" she whispered. "He looks so worried; so frightened—"</p> + +<p>"And good cause he has, too!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mark whirled, every muscle taut, at that harsh voice.</p> + +<p>There, in the doorway, backed by his guardsmen, stood the Baron +Morriere!</p> + +<p>Tension hung over the silence of the room like smoke above a +battlefield.</p> + +<p>"Did you think you'd get away, you fool?" the noble gloated. "Did you +think you'd escape Raoul Morriere's vengeance?"</p> + +<p>Mark was breathing hard. His face was pale, his eyes over-bright. Deep +within his brain words were pounding, with the beat of a giant +sledge....</p> + +<p>"<i>I shall defeat fate!</i>" those words throbbed. "<i>I shall rewrite +history! Not as I wanted to. No. But they shall not have Elaine—</i>"</p> + +<p>His hand clashed down, then, as a cobra strikes. Down to the broad +bladed knife Jacques Rombeau carried in his belt. All his mind, all his +heart, was concentrated on this one thing: Even though lightning should +strike him this very instant, he would seize that knife. Whip it out. +Bury it to the hilt in Elaine's breast, that death—not Baron Morriere's +retainers—might claim her!</p> + +<p>But his hand clutched empty air. He stared down in shocked incredulity. +Stared down, and remembered—</p> + +<p>He had given that knife to the old peasant before he went to Paris! And +he had failed to ask it back!</p> + +<p>"Look! He reaches for his knife!" whooped the baron. "He would protect +his sweetheart!"</p> + +<p>The guardsmen behind him joined in his roar of laughter.</p> + +<p>Something came over Mark Carter in that moment. Something at once cold +and deadly, and hotly, fiercely passionate. He felt a kinship to all +earth's fighting madmen—the Malay, run amok; the Viking, gone berserk; +the Arab, charging through hell to paradise.</p> + +<p>Like a human projectile he launched himself, straight for the throat of +Baron Morriere!</p> + +<p>"Ai!"</p> + +<p>It was not a word, that sound that came from the noble's throat. No. +There was something more primitive than that about it.</p> + +<p>It was terror, incarnate.</p> + +<p>Before the man could move, Mark's fingers were clutching at him, tearing +his clothing and his flesh. Again he screamed.</p> + +<p>As one possessed, Mark jerked him from the bosom of his guardsmen. +Hurled him bodily across the room, to slam against the farthest wall +with a crash that echoed through the ancient wing.</p> + +<p>But now the guardmen's paralysis was broken. They surged forward as one +man.</p> + +<p>"Jacques! Look out!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Elaine's scream lent strength to her lover's arms. He slammed the door +in the face of the oncoming fighters. Half a dozen swords stabbed deep +into its wood, so closely were they upon him. He hurled himself at the +portal. Forced it shut by sheer desperation. Slammed home its triple +bolts.</p> + +<p>He turned, then, his breath coming in great, sobbing gasps.</p> + +<p>Baron Morriere had lurched to his feet. His right hand gripped a sword, +his left a dagger.</p> + +<p>"You'll die yet, you dog!" he snarled. "I'll spit you on my sword like a +pig above a bed of coals!"</p> + +<p>The flames of the pit showed in Mark's eyes.</p> + +<p>"And I'll see <i>you</i> in hell," he grated.</p> + +<p>With a curse of contempt, the baron charged.</p> + +<p>Mark sprang aside.</p> + +<p>Again the other rushed to the attack.</p> + +<p>Once more Mark dodged. But now desperation gleamed in his eyes. He was +unarmed, helpless. One slip, one misstep, and that cruel blade would pin +him to the wall!</p> + +<p>Another rush. Another escape. But this time the blade had come close. +Mark's shirt was ripped; his shoulder bleeding from a long scratch.</p> + +<p>Even worse: from the end of the room came the sound of splintering wood +as the guardsmen smashed in the panels of the door. A moment more and +they would be upon him!</p> + +<p>Again the deadly play of wits. And then, suddenly, Mark found himself +penned in a corner. Trapped. The baron faced him, panting, his face +alight with evil joy. And beyond the noble, on her bed of straw, Elaine +Duchard stared at her lover with horror-straught eyes.</p> + +<p>"Die, you dog!"</p> + +<p>The baron lunged. His gleaming sword stabbed for Mark's vitals. The +unarmed man's teeth clenched to the take the fatal blow.</p> + +<p>It never came!</p> + +<p>One moment the baron was charging. The next, falling.</p> + +<p>"Elaine!"</p> + +<p>For the girl's white body was sprawled across the floor. Her thin hands +still clutched the baron's ankle.</p> + +<p>The next instant her lover was at the noble's throat. His fists beat a +tattoo of mayhem on the other's face. Forced him back against a +window-sill. Beat him to a senseless, bleeding pulp.</p> + +<p>"Jacques!"</p> + +<p>He whirled. Saw the door at the far end of the room buckle and give way.</p> + +<p>With one sweep of his arms, he sent the baron's body toppling through +the window. Falling down ... down ... down, to death on the stone-slab +walk three stories below.</p> + +<p>Even as he did it, Mark was leaping toward Elaine. He caught her in his +arms and lunged for the room's second door. He made it bare inches ahead +of the guardsmen's swords.</p> + +<p>This door was lighter. Already it rattled under the blows of the baron's +men.</p> + +<p>"Let me die, Jacques!" Elaine whispered. "I know I am going. You need +not try to save me."</p> + +<p>"Don't say it!" Mark's voice was a jagged knife of command. "You can't +die now. Don't say it!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He carried her, then, to where the picture Gustav Jerbette had painted +stood. A strange picture, for that day and age, for it portrayed Mark +Carter and his fiancee, Elaine Duchard, standing side by side in front +of a building clearly identifiable as Professor Duchard's laboratory. +And the pair were dressed, not in the garb of eighteenth century France, +but in that of twentieth century America.</p> + +<p>"Shut your eyes, Elaine!"</p> + +<p>Wearily, the dying girl obeyed.</p> + +<p>With one savage jerk, Mark whipped the cover from another stand. A stand +on which stood a mirror. A mirror whose surface seemed to ripple in the +fading light. A circular mirror, full three feet in diameter. A mirror +with a garishly ornate frame.</p> + +<p>His hands trembling with feverish haste, Mark adjusted the picture to +reflect in the glass.</p> + +<p>Already the door was cracking.</p> + +<p>He snatched Elaine from where she lay. Held her half-conscious body +before the mirror.</p> + +<p>"Open your eyes, Elaine! Open your eyes and look at that girl in the +mirror! Concentrate on her, Elaine! <i>Concentrate!</i>"</p> + +<p>His own eyes were fixed on the image of his twentieth century self that +Gustav Jerbette had painted. His brain ached with the force of will he +was exerting. He felt himself falling through endless miles of space. +Falling ... falling ... falling....</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" exclaimed Professor Duchard fervently. "You both are safe!"</p> + +<p>Dazedly, Mark and Elaine looked at each other across the narrow aisle +separating their white hospital beds. Across the room, sunlight streamed +in an open window, its rays glistening on the snowy linen of a third but +empty bed.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" Mark queried in a bewildered tone. "I was in your +laboratory, professor, and Vance rushed in—"</p> + +<p>"You went through the time mirror, my boy. Back to eighteenth century +France. And Vance went with you. Apparently he came too close to the +glass in his eagerness to stop you; his eyes must have focussed on one +of the other figures from Jerbette's picture, reflected in the gap +through the space-time barrier. He fell in a coma at the same instant +you did."</p> + +<p>"But I don't remember anything!" Mark protested. "I was going to go back +through time to save Elaine, even if I had to change history to do it. +Then Vance came in, and everything went blank—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," broke in Elaine. "The same thing happened to me. I was sitting in +front of the mirror Adrian gave me. Then I saw my ancestor from the +painting, and I seemed to be falling—"</p> + +<p>Professor Duchard nodded.</p> + +<p>"Of course. Time travel apparently brings with it complete loss of +memory—"</p> + +<p>"But I was insulated against amnesia!" exclaimed Mark.</p> + +<p>"Only on the trip back, my boy. Not on your return. No doubt you +remembered the twentieth century while in the eighteenth. But your +return destroyed your memories of Bourbon France."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The younger man scowled.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't make sense," he grunted. "I'm beginning to think the whole +business is so much imagination. After all, how could I transport Elaine +back from 1780 to 1942? Or myself, for that matter—"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I have some information which will throw light on the subject," +the white-haired scientist interrupted. "Yesterday my old friend, +Strong, the historian, was passing through the city. He came here to see +me.</p> + +<p>"He told me he had run across Gustav Jerbette's unpublished memoirs in +the course of his researches. And Jerbette, in describing how he came to +paint 'Elaine Duchard's Escape,' says the figure in the time mirror on +which you concentrated—the man with the horse pistol—was the first +Elaine Duchard's lover, Jacques Rombeau.</p> + +<p>"Jerbette says Rombeau came to him with a strange assignment. First he +took him to the largest glass works in Paris and made him wait while the +craftsmen manufactured a special mirror to his order. Then Rombeau led +the way to an abandoned chateau a few miles out of Paris. Elaine Duchard +lay hidden on the top floor, desperately ill.</p> + +<p>"Jerbette's job was to paint a picture of the girl and a strange man, as +described to him by Rombeau. Both wore clothes of a different type than +any then known, and were in strange surroundings. The job done, Rombeau +dismissed the painter. Later, Jerbette says he heard that the two lovers +were surprised and murdered by Baron Morriere and his men, although the +baron himself was killed in the fight.</p> + +<p>"All this so intrigued Jerbette that he promptly painted his famous +'Elaine Duchard's Escape,' showing the lovers getting away from the +baron's chateau."</p> + +<p>Mark frowned. Shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I see how you think it ties in, Professor," he admitted, "but there are +too many loopholes."</p> + +<p>The savant smiled.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there are loopholes," he agreed, "but I do not think there are too +many.</p> + +<p>"The strange portrait Jerbette painted unfortunately never turned up +again. It, of course, would be final proof. For if we found a picture of +you—Mark Carter—and Elaine, in a twentieth century scene and wearing +modern clothes, yet painted by Gustav Jerbette, there could be no doubt +that your brain—cloaked in Jacques Rombeau's body—did the job.</p> + +<p>"However, Jerbette does leave a very accurate description of the mirror +Rombeau had made. And there is no doubt in my mind that it is the same +one Vance gave to Elaine."</p> + +<p>"But it's impossible!" Mark protested. "I couldn't have made a time +mirror with the primitive equipment of that era—"</p> + +<p>"I believe you could. Our work in discovering the formula for the one I +made gave you a sufficient understanding of the device's fundamentals to +construct a crude model."</p> + +<p>"But a terrific bolt of electricity was required, professor. And there +was no electrical equipment in those days. It's a complete anachronism."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"You think so?" The old scientist smiled. "Well, I do not wonder. You +convinced Jerbette that Jacques Rombeau was stark, raving mad."</p> + +<p>"You mean—"</p> + +<p>"What other conclusion could any sane mortal draw from the actions of a +man who insisted on defying God and the elements by exposing great +circular trays of molten glass on top of the highest tower in all Paris +during the worst electrical storm in years, until finally one of them +was struck by lightning?"</p> + +<p>Mark stared open-mouthed. Again he and the bewildered Elaine exchanged +glances. And instinctively their hands reached out across the aisle, to +join in love's tender clasp. The happiness of utter confidence and peace +glowed in their eyes.</p> + +<p>Then, still holding the girl's hand, Mark turned back to the professor. +His brows knitted with incredulity.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he exclaimed half to himself. "Could it be possible? Could I +have done such a thing?"</p> + +<p>Abruptly, he halted.</p> + +<p>"No!" he clipped decisively. "There are other angles to be considered. +Vance, for instance. You say he went with me through the time mirror—"</p> + +<p>"Yes." The savant nodded slowly. "That, Mark, is the final proof. The +evidence beyond contradiction. The thing that convinces me—"</p> + +<p>"Proof? Evidence? I don't get it."</p> + +<p>"You will recall, Mark, that Jerbette's memoirs said Baron Morriere was +killed in that final battle with Jacques Rombeau?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Of course. What's that got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>The scientist leveled a trembling finger at the window across the room, +through which the sunlight still streamed. Never had he been more +impressive. Solemn conviction gleamed in his blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Not five minutes before you and Elaine aroused from your state of +suspended animation," he said, "Adrian Vance—still in a coma—sprang +from his bed to that window and hurled himself to his death!"</p> + +<p>Horror widened the two young people's eyes. Elaine's face was pale.</p> + +<p>But understanding now was flooding through Mark. He nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"You can't change history!" he said.</p> + + +<p>THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Mirror, by Clark South + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME MIRROR *** + +***** This file should be named 32670-h.htm or 32670-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/7/32670/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/32670-h/images/cover.jpg b/32670-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9944551 --- /dev/null +++ b/32670-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/32670-h/images/illus.jpg b/32670-h/images/illus.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..de4d7a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/32670-h/images/illus.jpg diff --git a/32670.txt b/32670.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..272c4de --- /dev/null +++ b/32670.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3176 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Mirror, by Clark South + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Time Mirror + +Author: Clark South + +Release Date: June 3, 2010 [EBook #32670] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME MIRROR *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + The TIME MIRROR + + By CLARK SOUTH + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories December +1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: Here was a strange mirror indeed! It reflected an image all +right, but not an image from the same era in history!] + + +Pale moonlight spilled through the window and over the wedding gifts +that crowded the little room. + +"And this mirror, darling?" Mark Carter asked. "Who sent it?" + +A sudden flicker of worry flashed across Elaine Duchard's lovely face. +She bit her lower lip nervously. Pretended to inspect a great silver +punchbowl that stood on a nearby table. + +"Who did you say sent the mirror?" her sweetheart repeated. + +Still another moment of taut hesitation. At last: + +"It's from Adrian Vance, Mark." + +"Adrian Vance!" + +Mark spat the name as if it were an epithet. + +"Sshhh! Not so loud!" A pause. "He's an old friend, dear. I can't forbid +him to send us a present. After all he's just trying to be polite." + +The man's brown eyes were smouldering. "Those were fine company manners +he showed off the night you told him you were going to marry me instead +of him!" + +Then, savagely: + +"I should have knocked out a mouthful of that damned antique dealer's +teeth right then! Of all the gall--threatening you; saying you'd regret +turning him down--" + +Again the girl silenced him. + +"Adrian always expected to marry me," she reminded. "My refusal broke +him up terribly. He was disappointed. Angry. So he said a lot of things +he didn't really mean. Now he's trying to make up for it." + +"I still don't like that damned Vance! He's just the kind of snake who'd +figure out a way to get revenge. Something hideous--" + +Elaine laid her hand gently across her fiance's mouth. + +"You're acting jealous, Mark, and there's no need to," she said softly. +"You won. Remember? I'm marrying you tomorrow!" + +Mark's hands stole around her slim, supple waist and drew her to him. +Her thinly-clad body was warm and fragrant in his arms. + +"I guess I keep forgetting," he said huskily. "Part of me still can't +quite seem to believe it's true. That we're going to be together +always." + +The girl's ripe lips curved in a little smile. Slender fingers caressed +her sweetheart's tanned cheek. + +"You can believe it now, Mark," she whispered. "I'm yours. All yours. +Forever." + +And then, ever so gently, she drew his head down. Their lips met. Clung +with young love's ardor. + +At last Mark straightened. He drew a deep breath. + +"You'd better go to bed now, dear," he advised. "Tomorrow's going to be +a hard day." + +Another pause. Then a wry smile crossed his lips. + +"Besides, your father might not understand why you're wandering around +the house with me in the middle of the night, even though we are going +to be married tomorrow. That outfit you're wearing is subject to a lot +of misinterpretation." + + * * * * * + +Elaine matched his smile with one of her own. She smoothed the +diaphanous, curve-revealing negligee that displayed her charms to such +advantage. + +"Oh, he'd understand, all right," she retorted. "Only I'm afraid he'd +understand a lot of things that aren't true." She gave vent to a +dolorous sigh that the merriment sparkling in her blue eyes denied. +"Father's all French, you know. He's quick to understand situations +where young ladies appear _en deshabille_." + +They turned to go. But again the Vance mirror caught Mark's eye. + +"Strange-looking affair, isn't it?" he commented. + +Elaine nodded. Drawing a comb from some place of concealment about her, +she seated herself on a bench before the glass. + +A unique creation, that mirror. Circular and fully three feet in +diameter, it now stood propped on top of a boudoir table. At first +glance its surface somehow gave an impression of queer, concentric waves +rippling through it. Yet the reflections it threw back were true; +perfect. + +The frame was just as paradoxical. It looked as if it once had been +garishly ornate. Now, however, age had transmuted gaudiness to an +indefinable antique charm. + +"Isn't it lovely?" breathed Elaine. She drew the comb through her hair. +Watched the mirror and the moonlight transform its golden beauty to a +rippling cascade of silver. Mark stared, fascinated, over her shoulder. + +"The moonlight's beautiful tonight, Mark!" the girl murmured. "It makes +my hair dance in the glass like the waves of the sea." Her voice faded +to nothingness. Her eyes were half-closed. + +"Your hair is always beautiful, Elaine," her lover whispered, "and it's +no lovelier than all the rest of you, every inch." A moment's +hesitation. "But we've got to get to bed, darling. There'll be so much +running around tomorrow--" + +"_Mark!_" + +Shock was in that sudden exclamation. Shock, and a little lilt of panic. +It burst from Elaine's half-parted lips like the _thunk_ of a bullet +slamming into a hardwood board. + +The man jerked to attention. Caught the girl's smooth shoulders in his +big hands. + +"Elaine! What is it?" + +"Look! The mirror!" + +"The mirror?" Mark Carter's puzzled brown eyes sought the gleaming +surface of the glass. "What--?" + +"The reflection! Look!" + +Mark stared. Went suddenly tense in stark amazement, eyes wide. + + * * * * * + +For there, gazing back at him out of the mirror, was a new Elaine. An +Elaine who stood beside a great black coach, the like of which had never +rolled American highways. + +[Illustration: There in the mirror was an image that was NOT a +reflection!] + +This woman's face was Elaine's. Yet there the resemblance ended. The +filmy negligee of his own fiancee was replaced by the rich warmth of a +scarlet satin gown and endless yards of white lace ruffles. The creamy +skin of his own Elaine's bare arms came back as covered with long white +gloves to above the elbows. A perky little hat, of scarlet satin to +match the dress, and topped with a huge aigrette plume, rode proudly +upon the elaborate coiffure of golden hair. + +Nor was it only in superficials that the reflection differed. + +The other woman had a character all her own, too. It showed in the tilt +of her head, the way she stood, the expression on her lovely face. + +But most of all it showed in her eyes. + +Proud eyes, they were, and intelligent. They looked into Mark's own +brown orbs calmly and without flinching. And they were not the eyes of +his sweetheart. No. There was an indefinable _something_ lurking deep in +their cool blue depths that differentiated the reflection from Elaine. +That made the woman in the glass another personality. Similar in many +ways, yes. Fundamentally the same kind of person, yes. + +But not Elaine. + +Still Mark stared, mouth agape. + +A feeling was growing within him. A strange conviction that he +recognized this other Elaine. + +"I've seen her before, some place!" he muttered half-aloud. + +And then Elaine was speaking again. + +"What is it, Mark? What's happened? Why does that mirror reflect back +another woman?" The girl's voice carried a little quaver of +bewilderment; of fear, almost. Her whole body trembled as if a chill +were running through her. + +Her voice jerked Mark from his paralysis. He turned sharply. His eyes +probed into every corner of the moonlit room, seeking vainly for some +clue to account for this impossible phenomenon-- + +"Mark, I'm afraid!" + +Even in the dim light of the little chamber the man could see the color +drain from his sweetheart's face as she spoke. + +"I've got the most awful feeling down inside of me, Mark. As if that +woman was in another world, and as if she was pulling me away from you +and into it. My thoughts--they're not mine; they're hers! My mind's +draining out of me. Don't let me go, Mark. Don't let me! I love you, +Mark--" + +"Light! That's what we need!" Mark exploded into action. Sprang toward +the wall switch. "Hold on, Elaine. Three hundred watts will drive that +damned ghost away--" + +"... I'm falling! I'm falling! Oh, Mark, I love you so! Mark, help me! +_Help!_" + + * * * * * + +The girl's voice rose in a scream of wild terror. It tore at Mark's +eardrums. Echoed through the stillness of the sleep-bound house like a +banshee's wail. + +The man's hand knocked up the switch. Flooded the room with light. Even +as he did so he was whirling. Springing back to Elaine's side. And +barely in time, for her backbone seemed to have turned to water. Her +limp body was slipping to the floor in a nerveless heap, her muscles +slack and unresponding. By a miracle of balance, Mark's hands caught her +in time to break the force of her fall. He lifted her, unresisting, in +his arms. Her ashen lips still were moving in the faintest of whispers-- + +"_... je t'aime, mon cher, je t'aime...._" + +Her voice trailed off. A great sigh shook her. She lay unconscious in +his arms. + +Mark's brain was spinning like a top within his skull. He was breathing +hard, and he was trembling, as if he had just run a long way. + +"... I love you, my dear, I love you...." + +That was what she had said. + +_But why had she spoken in French?_ + +Even as he hesitated in an agony of indecision, the door burst open. The +frail, white-haired figure of Professor Duchard, Elaine's father, +stumbled into the room. His eyes were sleep-fogged, and spindly, +pajama-clad legs showed below the dressing gown he had thrown about his +thin shoulders. + +"What is it? What has happened?" he mumbled. Even in his dazed state, he +pronounced every syllable. There were no slurrings nor contractions in +Professor Duchard's punctilious vocabulary. + +"Elaine's fainted." + +"Then carry her to her room. I shall get smelling salts from the +medicine cabinet." + +Turning, the professor scurried away. Mark followed, Elaine's soft body +still limp and yielding in his arms. Ascending the stairs to her room, +he laid her tenderly on the bed. Even as he did so, the girl's father +hurried to his side, a dark green bottle in his hand. The old man was +more fully awake now, and he looked down at his daughter with keen, +intelligent eyes. Although outwardly he appeared calm, there was a +little flicker of worry deep within those sharp blue optics. + +"This should revive her!" he announced, waving the bottle. Pulling out +the glass stopper, he held the container close under the girl's nose. + +Elaine drew a little breath. The fumes swirled into her nostrils. She +choked. Jerked spasmodically. + +And slumped back, still unconscious! + +Again the professor applied the carbonate of ammonium. + +Again the results were the same. + +The old man straightened. + +"I do not like this," he clipped. "You had better tell me just what +happened." + +Mark shifted nervously under the scrutiny of the sharp blue eyes. + +"Start at the beginning," the professor commanded. "I want to know from +exactly what this 'fainting spell' resulted." + + * * * * * + +The younger man nodded slowly. + +"It all began after you went to bed," he explained. "I said good-night +to Elaine, then decided to step outside and have a smoke before I turned +in myself. + +"When I got upstairs, Elaine opened her door. She already was +undressed--had on the negligee she's wearing now. She said she wasn't +sleepy, and that she'd decided to come back down for another look at the +presents. So I came along...." + +Carefully, yet concisely, Mark outlined the events which had preceded +the girl's collapse. When he had finished, Professor Duchard looked even +more worried than before. + +"I do not like what you tell me," he informed the younger man. "I +believe this is a case for a doctor. A good one. I have a friend who is +a neurologist. I shall call him." + +He disappeared toward the telephone. + +Not once in the half-hour preceding the specialist's arrival did the +girl stir. She lay upon the big double bed like a lovely corpse, +unmoving save for the slight rise and fall of her breasts as she +breathed. + +The neurologist examined her with keen interest. + +"A remarkable case!" he declared. "Her pulse and respiration have slowed +to the point where they are scarcely apparent." + +Professor Duchard nodded slowly. + +"But what does it mean?" exploded Mark, beside him, his handsome young +face pale and haggard. "Why can't you revive her?" + +The doctor frowned, pinched his chin thoughtfully. + +"A remarkable case!" he repeated slowly. "To be frank about it, I can't +find the slightest clue as to what's wrong. She seems in a perfect state +of health. Organically I can detect no possible cause for this coma. Yet +she doesn't respond to any resuscitatory measures." + +"But there must be something--" + +The specialist shot Mark a disapproving glance. Without a word he opened +his bag, taking from it a smaller case of instruments. He selected a +long, slender dissecting needle. Plunged its point into a bottle of +disinfectant. + +"Watch me!" he commanded. + +Turning to the bed, he plunged the needle an eighth of an inch into the +unconscious girl's breast! + +Mark's eyes went wide with horror. He started forward. Found himself +halted by Professor Duchard's hand. + +"You asked a question, Mark!" the white-haired scientist rapped. "The +doctor merely is giving you his answer. Look at her!" + +Elaine had not stirred! If anything, she lay even more still than +before, not a muscle so much as quivering. Her eyes were closed, her +face calm, her golden hair halo-like about her head. + +The neurologist bared her thigh. Again plunged in the needle. + +She did not move. + +A dozen times the physician pricked her, moving over the white surface +of her body from one nerve center to another. At last he straightened. + + * * * * * + +"You see?" he demanded grimly. "Anaesthesia is complete. She feels +nothing." + +Mark's eyes were horror-stricken. He was breathing hard. + +"What does it mean, doctor?" he choked. "What's happened to her?" + +The medical man motioned him closer. + +"Touch her!" he ordered. + +Half-afraid, Mark bent forward. He rested his trembling fingers against +the girl's breast. The next instant he jerked back, his face gray with +shock. + +"My God!" he gasped. "She's dead! Her body's getting cold! She's dead!" +His face twisted in a grimace of emotional agony. + +"No!" contradicted the neurologist. + +"What!" + +"No," repeated the other. "She's not dead, young man." + +"Then what--" + +"The closest I can come to it in language you'd understand is to say +that she's falling into a state of suspended animation," the doctor +answered. "Her bodily functions are slowing down. I believe this will +continue--that eventually her muscles will tighten into catalepsy." + +"What will happen eventually?" Professor Duchard broke in. + +The neurologist shrugged. "I don't know, professor. My hope is that she +simply will continue to lie in a coma. But there is always the +possibility that the thread of life will break. That she will die +without recovering consciousness--" + +"You can't let her!" cried Mark hysterically, unable to restrain himself +longer. "She musn't die! She musn't! You've got to do something, doctor! +There must be a way--" + +"--if it can be found!" interrupted Professor Duchard. He again gripped +the younger man's arm. "Do not let yourself go to pieces, my boy. That +will not help. + +"Because you, yourself, are a man of action, you want our friend, here, +to prescribe for Elaine with the same speed and certainty that you would +go after a hot news story. Only that is not the way of science, Mark. We +must be patient and hope for the best, content in the knowledge that +everything possible is being done for Elaine." + +He turned to the neurologist. + +"What do you recommend, doctor?" + +"There's only one thing to do, Professor Duchard. We must place the girl +in a hospital, where she can be taken care of properly and kept under +observation." + +The aged scientist nodded. "Yes. I thought that would be your +suggestion." + +"If you'll excuse me," the doctor continued, "I shall use your telephone +to make the necessary arrangements." + +He left the room. + + * * * * * + +Beside the bed, Mark Carter still stared dumbly down at the girl he +loved. The girl who tomorrow--no, today, for it was nearly morning +now--was to have become his wife. He tried to speak, but his throat was +too twisted and thick with pain for words to come. His broad shoulders +were slumped. His brown eyes blurred with tears. A queer, strained sound +of awful grief tore itself from somewhere deep within his chest, like +the moan of an animal in torment. + +A hand touched his shoulder. + +"Come, Mark. We can do no more good here." + +Mute, stumbling, broken, Mark allowed Professor Duchard to lead him from +the room. Down the hall. Into the old man's study. + +"Sit down, my boy, and pull yourself together." + +Mark dropped into the cool, fragrant depths of a timeworn leather chair. +The professor relaxed in another. + +"I want you to tell me your story again," Elaine's father said. "Think +back carefully. Give me every detail." + +Slowly, spiritlessly, Mark forced himself to concentrate on the +happenings of the evening. His voice a dull monotone, he again recounted +his story. + +"This woman," probed Professor Duchard, his bright blue eyes stabbing +into the other's brown orbs. "Tell me about her. What did she look +like?" + +Mark shrugged. + +"She was only a reflection in a mirror, professor. It was Elaine. +Probably the lighting gave me the illusion of someone else." + +"Cease thinking of her as a reflection!" the savant retorted, his voice +suddenly sharp. "You are a newspaperman by trade. You have been trained +to observe closely. I want you to use those powers now. Think of this +woman as a person. Describe her to to me as if she were one--" + +"She looked like Elaine," said Mark, racking his brain for details. "She +looked just like her. Only different, the way two identical twins are +different. You know what I mean, professor? The way a person's +individual personality sticks out of him in spite of his appearance--" + +"Yes. I quite understand." + +"Well, that was the way it was with this woman. She was Elaine, but she +wasn't. There was something about her that didn't belong to Elaine." His +brows knitted. "It seemed as if I'd seen her before, somewhere. Just +like I'd known her, but couldn't remember just when or where." + +A pause. + +"It was her clothing that made us notice her, though. She wore a red +satin dress with more white ruffles than I ever saw before. She had a +red hat, too, with a big plume. Her hair was done in a different style +than I've ever seen. All fixed up. And she wore gloves that reached to +above her elbow." + +He searched his weary mind for more details. Gave it up in despair, + +"I don't know, professor. I can't remember any more. She was just like a +picture of one of the women attending a Louis XVI ball in France--" + + * * * * * + +A sudden light sprang into his brown eyes. He stopped short in +mid-sentence. + +"That's it!" he cried. "I've got it! I know where I saw her before!" + +Professor Duchard leaned forward, blue eyes flashing. + +"Where?" he demanded. "Hurry, man! Out with it!" + +"You've got a picture of her!" Mark exclaimed excitedly. "Right here, in +this study!" He half-rose from the leather chair. Peered into the corner +behind him. + +"It's gone!" + +The professor's face was suddenly pale. + +"That picture called 'Elaine Duchard's Escape'? The Jerbette? Is that +the one you mean?" + +"That's it. That's the one. Where is it?" + +"It is gone," the savant answered grimly. "A genuine painting by Gustav +Jerbette is worth a great deal of money. And I am not a wealthy man. +When Adrian Vance offered to buy it--" + +"Adrian Vance! That snake! He's the one who gave Elaine the mirror--" + +The white-haired scientist was on his feet, his eyes suddenly very +bright and cold. The veins stood out at his temples. + +"I want to see that mirror!" he rapped. "This is the first time you have +mentioned that it was he who sent it. Come on!" + +Together they hurried down the stairs to the little room where the +wedding gifts were on display. Mark started across toward the mirror. +The professor's hand shot out. Caught the younger man's arm. + +"Stand back!" he cried in a terrible voice. "Do not go near that mirror. +Above all, do not pass in front of it!" + +Mark stared at the savant open-mouthed. His earlier black despair was +gone, now, replaced by sudden, inexplicable hope. + +"Why not? What's wrong?" + +The other licked dry lips. + +"Nothing, I hope. The chances are a thousand to one that I am wrong. +Yet an idea came to me, my boy. An incredible idea, and a horrible one. +And if it is right"--he shook his head slowly--"may God have mercy on +Elaine!" + +Carefully, then, they approached the mirror. The professor studied it +through narrowed eyes from a vantage-point far to one side. At last he +turned to Mark. + +"Do you notice any defects or flaws in the surface of that glass?" he +demanded. + +His daughter's fiance nodded. + +"The whole thing's out of kilter, professor." + +"How would you describe it? What do you mean by 'out of kilter'?" + + * * * * * + +Mark considered for a moment. Then: + +"The impression I get is that this mirror was _poured_ into a circular +form, instead of being cut to shape. And that while it was still molten, +something struck it in the center, so that little ripples formed in the +glass, all the way from the center to the outer edge." + +It was the scientist's turn to nod. + +"Precisely my own view." + +Moving away, he selected a candlestick and candle from among the gifts +on display. He handed it to Mark. + +"I want you to move this stick in front of that glass," he instructed. +"However, you must be careful to stand well to one side, so that you, +yourself, will not be reflected." + +"What's the angle, professor? What do you expect to find? What's wrong +with this mirror?" + +The elder man shook his head, moved to a point where he could watch the +surface of the glass. + +"I do not know what to expect," he said. "I may be completely on the +wrong track." + +But his flashing eyes denied the words. + +Seething with curiosity and excitement though he was, Mark carefully +carried out his instructions. He moved the candlestick back and forth +and up and down until it had been reflected from every inch of the +mirror. And the farther he progressed, the more excited Elaine's father +became. + +"The reflection is perfect!" the old man cried. "It is true! Nowhere is +there a single sign of distortion!" + +"Yes. Of course it's true." Mark was a little bewildered. "Why shouldn't +it be? Isn't every looking-glass supposed to throw back a reasonably +exact image?" + +"Of course, of course!" The scientist was impatient. "But can you not +see the difference?" + +"The difference? What difference?" + +"Mark: this is not an ordinary mirror. That is what I mean! It denies +every law of optics! Glass as full of waves and ripples as this +apparently is should return hideously distorted reflections. Yet it does +not do so!" + +"But what--" + +"We shall see. Come on! Bring the mirror to my laboratory." + +Hesitating only long enough to throw a tablecloth across the face of the +glass, the old man hurried out. Mark strode along in his wake, the heavy +mirror in his arms. Together, they left the house and followed the +bricked path to the little laboratory structure located at the far end +of the lot. + +"Set it down here, in this rack," the professor instructed, indicating +an easel-like arrangement in one corner. He himself wheeled a strange +electrical apparatus into position in front of the glass. Then took up a +position behind a large glass screen, and motioned Mark to join him. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"You shall see!" + + * * * * * + +The white-haired savant threw a switch. The laboratory's lights went +out. He pressed a button on the control board of the apparatus behind +which they stood. Leaned forward eagerly, peering through the glass +screen at the mirror. Manipulated dials and levers. + +An inexplicable excitement gripped Mark. He had a sudden, unshakable +conviction that he and the professor were on the verge of incredible +discoveries. Discoveries that would lead him to an explanation of the +strange coma that held Elaine in its grim sway. + +His brown eyes fastened on the mirror. The next instant they went wide +with astonishment. + +The glass screen behind which he and the professor were standing was +clearly reflected. + +But it was merely an opaque surface! Neither he nor the scientist could +be seen behind it! + +As if reading his mind, Professor Duchard gave vent to a little laugh. + +"'One-way' glass," he explained. "It permits vision in only one +direction." Then the humor went out of his voice. "We may thank God that +science developed it before we are through." + +Again he leaned forward, his eyes on the mirror. + +An instant later he leveled a quivering forefinger. + +"_Look!_" + +There, in the semi-darkness where stood the looking-glass, a weird +figure was beginning to glow! + +Tension flooded through Mark's veins. His fingers knotted into fists. +His eyes strained to catch the thing which grew upon the mirror's +surface. + +Slowly, like some wizard's evil phantasmagoria, the glowing lines came +together. Took form. Painted a figure-- + +_The figure of the woman in the mirror!_ + +"That's her!" he cried excitedly. "That's the woman we saw reflected +instead of Elaine!" + +Professor Duchard snapped off the machine beside him. He turned on the +lights. Swung around to face his daughter's fiance. His face was grey. +Grim lines of worry etched deep into the flesh. + +"So that is it!" he said. "That is what he has done to her!" + +There was fear in his voice ... living, breathing fear. That and +despair. The despair of utter hopelessness. His shoulders sagged with +it. The sparkle had gone out of his eyes. + +Mark gripped the old man's arm. Blood lust flamed in his own brown orbs. +Every muscle was taut. The cords in his neck stood out like knotted +ropes. + +"What is it?" he demanded savagely. "Is it Vance? What has he done to +her?" + +Wearily, the scientist pulled his arm away and gestured the other to a +seat. + +"I shall tell you," he said. "You will not believe me, but I shall tell +you." + +"Yes. Go on. I'll decide for myself whether I'll believe you or not." + +The professor stared into Mark's eyes. + +"How much do you know about time?" he demanded. + + * * * * * + +"Time?" + +"Yes. And time travel." + +The younger man shrugged. + +"Practically nothing," he admitted. "Oh, I've read a few stories, of +course. But that's all. I don't know what the theory of it all is, if +that's what you mean." + +"I thought so." Professor Duchard sighed. "That being the case, there is +little use in my wasting energy trying to give you any real +understanding of it. + +"However, I can tell you this: time is not the immutable thing most +people presume it to be. Actually, it is only another dimension. As a +research physicist, I have for many years been convinced of this." + +"You mean that time travel really is possible? That men can be +transported into the future or the past--" + +The other held up a restraining hand. + +"Yes. Time travel _is_ possible, if men could break through into that +other dimension." A pause. "Yet up until tonight, I never believed that +man had found a way to pass that barrier." + +"But professor! Think what you're saying! You're telling me that I could +go back and murder my own grandfather. That I could prevent myself from +being born--" + +Again the elder man sighed. + +"I was afraid of this," he said. "I knew you could not understand." He +hesitated. Then: "At any rate, take my word for it that time travel is +possible. Also, I assure you that there are any number of perfectly +sound theoretical and practical reasons why you never could hope to +murder your grandparents." + +The other brushed the words aside. + +"What about Elaine? What's all this got to do with her?" + +"Everything. You see, my boy, it is _not_ possible for us to transport +our material bodies across time. They cannot bridge the gap. They must +remain in the period in which they are born--" + +"But Elaine--" + +Never had Mark seen the white-haired savant so solemn. His aged face was +drawn with worry. Yet there was terrifying self-confidence in his words. + +"Elaine," he said quietly, "at this moment is trapped in time!" + + * * * * * + +There was a moment of stunned silence, then. Mark's brain was spinning. +He stared at Professor Duchard through narrowed eyes, half-convinced +that the man was mad. And yet-- + +"I am not insane," the scientist declared, as if answering an unspoken +question. "Believe me, my boy, I am not." + +"Go on." + +"That mirror which Adrian Vance sent to my daughter actually is a crude +time machine. A device for transporting a human soul to another period. +Who devised it I cannot say. I believe it is old, and that Vance came +upon it only by chance." + +"But it isn't a machine. It's just a mirror--" + +"Yet it is the gate through which a mind may be reflected into past or +future. All that is needed is a focal point. A person to receive that +mind. In this case, Adrian Vance made the focal point one of my +ancestors, the first Elaine Duchard." + +"The first Elaine Duchard!" + +"Yes. She was the woman in the picture. And the woman whose image we now +find imprinted in that devil's mirror." + +"But how--" + +"You remember how Adrian Vance swore vengeance when Elaine refused to +marry him." The aged savant's voice choked with anger. "This must be +what he planned. He bought the picture Gustav Jerbette painted of my +ancestor. Then, by some process, imprinted her portrait in the center of +this mirror, whose secret he somehow discovered. Apparently the picture +does not show except at a certain angle. Perhaps only my daughter's +coloring or facial configuration would ordinarily bring it out." He +shrugged. "That I do not know." + +Mark nodded slowly. He was breathing hard, his eyes dark with anger. + +"At any rate," the other continued, "Elaine tonight looked into the +mirror. By some accident--an accident Vance had counted on taking place +eventually, of course--, she happened to get exactly the right angle. +She saw her ancestor. Her mind flashed back through time, into that +other Elaine Duchard's brain--" + +And then, all at once, the old man's iron will cracked. + +"She is trapped!" he cried in a voice like the wail of a north wind +through the pines. "She is trapped in the body of that first Elaine +Duchard, while her own lies here, a useless, unconscious husk! She will +die, as our ancestor died--" + +"What do you mean? How did the first Elaine Duchard die?" Mark was on +his feet, fists clenched. + +Professor Duchard sat slumped forward, his face buried in his hands, +white hair awry. + +"She was a tragic figure," he mumbled. "You saw her picture. You know +how beautiful she was. + +"She came from a minor family of the French nobility, but she loved a +young Jacobin--a man such as those who, a few years later, overthrew the +monarchy and founded the French republic. + +"She had another suitor, however. A Baron Morriere. When he learned that +she was going to marry another, he kidnapped her the night before her +wedding. Her lover was present at the time, and was nearly killed trying +to protect her. Later he returned to help her escape from the Chateau +Morriere. They succeeded in getting away. + +"But the baron's guards tracked them down and murdered them both two +days later. And Gustav Jerbette gained his first renown--he was then but +a young student--when he immortalized them by painting his famous +picture, 'Elaine Duchard's Escape'." + +"And now Elaine--" + + * * * * * + +The old man straightened wearily. + +"Our Elaine will die," he said. "Her mind will be wiped out when the +Morriere pikes stab through my ancestor's body." + +"There must be some way of calling her back--" + +"If there is, I do not know it." He shook his head. "No. There is +nothing we can do." + +"We can try!" + +Mark's voice rang out like the clang of a great iron bell, echoing with +grim resolve. His tanned jaw jutted hard with determination. His eyes +flashed brown fire. + +Elaine's father let his hands fall in a hopeless gesture. + +"What is there to try, my boy? Elaine's mind is gone, back a hundred and +fifty years into the past. Her body lies unconscious in a hospital. What +can we do?" + +A savage, humorless smile played over the other's lips. + +"Earlier this evening you said I was a man of action," he told the +savant tautly. "You said I knew how to handle things I knew about. Well, +I think it's time for action. Real action!" + +"But what action can we take? What can--" + +"Who's responsible for what's happened to Elaine?" + +"Responsible? Adrian Vance is responsible, of course. There is too much +evidence for it to be coincidence--" + +"Right!" Mark's eyes were black with rage. "That snake planned this. He +said he'd get revenge. This"--he gestured toward the mirror--"is his way +of doing it!" + +"All this is rather obvious," the scientist commented wearily. "But the +fact that Vance is guilty of this atrocity does us no good. Nor does it +help Elaine--" + +"But it will!" + +"It will? How?" + +The younger man hunched forward tensely. + +"We're going to catch that devil and strangle an answer out of him!" he +grated. "We're going to make him tell us how to bring Elaine safely back +to 1942!" + +"And if he does not know how? If he cannot help us?" + +"That'll be too bad. Because then we'll just keep on strangling him." He +laughed harshly. "Oh, yes. Vance may win. We may not be able to save +Elaine. But"--and his face was terrible to see--"Vance certainly won't +live long enough to gloat much!" + +A spark of hope sprang into Professor Duchard's blue eyes. + +"I wish I could believe you--" + +"Forget it. We've got more important things to do than wishing. Look out +that window!" + + * * * * * + +The white-haired scientist turned to the casement toward which the other +pointed. Saw dawn reddening the eastern sky. + +"It's morning already," Mark went on determinedly. "In a few hours more, +we can start things rolling by having you call up Vance." + +"Call up Vance? What would I say?" + +The devil's bitter mirth played in the other's eyes. But it was a mirth +spiked with menace. + +"Simple. Just don't let on anything's wrong. Pretend that the wedding's +to come off as scheduled. Then tell him that things are in a mess. All +the excitement's got you tied in a knot. Because he's such a close +friend of Elaine's, you thought maybe he'd be willing to lend a hand." + +The spark of hope in the professor's eyes brightened to a glowing coal. + +"I wonder...." he mused. "It might work--" + +"Of course it'll work. It's got to. It's the only chance we have...." + +It was nine fifteen precisely when Adrian Vance rang the doorbell. He +stepped back. Polished the nails of his right hand on the grey suede +glove which still garbed the left. + +The door swung open. + +"Good morning, professor." + +"Good morning, Adrian." The savant stepped aside. "Please come in." + +Not by the slightest vocal tremor or change of expression did the old +man hint of his secret--that if necessary Adrian Vance would never leave +this place alive! + +"It is kind of you to come," he told the antiquarian as he led the way +toward the back of the dwelling. "I never knew that a wedding could +cause so much turmoil." He chuckled softly. "Of course, I have had +little experience in such matters, my wife being dead and Elaine an only +child. And my own nuptials were celebrated a good many years ago." + +Every word, every inflection, was perfect. No actor could have matched +that sinister soliloquy. + +Vance smoothed the sleek black hair that at once crowned and +characterized him. + +"It's a great privilege to be allowed to assist in any way at Elaine's +wedding," he observed unctuously. "Anything which I can do to help make +this a happier occasion for her is a pleasure." + +Blue fire flared in the scientist's eyes. He looked away quickly. + +A moment later his composure was regained. + +"There are some things in the laboratory I wish to bring to the house," +he announced. "If you will come this way--" He opened the back door. Led +the antique dealer down the brick walk to the laboratory. + +Together, they stepped inside. + +The door swung shut. In the silence its jarring slam echoed like a shot +fired in a tomb. + +Vance cleared his throat. + +"So this is your laboratory, professor--" + + * * * * * + +Mark Carter stepped out of the shadows. His tanned face looked as if it +had been carved from the rock of ages. His eyes were pools of sudden +death. + +He spoke: + +"Elaine's gone, Vance. Through the mirror. We want her back." + +Just that. Nothing more. But suddenly Vance was shaking. + +"What are you talking about? I don't know what you mean." + +Professor Duchard said: + +"You are lying. I have examined the mirror. I tested with black light. +It showed the picture of the first Elaine Duchard." + +"You're mad," said Vance. "You don't make sense." + +"I fear I make too much sense, Adrian Vance. I wish I could disbelieve +my own mind. But I cannot. I know that you have found a way to pass the +barrier between space and time. I know that you have projected Elaine's +mind into the past, leaving her body behind in a state of suspended +animation." + +"And we want her back, Vance," Mark broke in. "We want her back right +now!" + +He was moving forward, a juggernaut of menace, clenched fists +half-raised. + +"Keep away from me!" the antiquarian shrilled. His greasy face was +paste-colored with terror. "Keep away! Don't touch me!" + +The other caught his shoulders. Shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. + +"Tell us!" he thundered. "Tell us how to bring her back!" + +"I don't know what you're talking about! There wasn't anything wrong +with the mirror I sent Elaine!" + +"Tell us--" + +The professor caught Mark's arm. + +"Stop!" he begged. "Do not hurt him. There is a better way." + +"A better way? What do you mean?" + +The scientist turned to Vance. + +"I am sure you are telling the truth," he said. "I feel certain the +mirror is harmless." His tone was silky. A thin smile rippled across his +aged face. + +He was like a cat playing with a mouse. + +"Only our friend, young Mr. Carter, remains to be convinced," he went +on. "However, we shall have no difficulty in proving him wrong." + +Adrian Vance stared at the professor in terrified fascination. His lips +moved, but no words came. + +The savant hurried across to an ancient desk which stood in one corner. +Rummaged through it. Came back with a big sheet of heavy paper. + +"Over there," said the professor--gesturing toward the spot where the +mirror still stood upon the easel, again shrouded by the tablecloth--"is +the glass that has caused all the trouble." + +He smiled sympathetically at Vance. + +"All so unnecessary, too, Adrian!" + +"Unnecessary?" + +"Of course. We shall demonstrate to Mark right now that it is not a +means of time travel." + +"Demonstrate?" Vance was shaking again. "How?" + + * * * * * + +Again the professor smiled. + +"Oh, very simply. I have here"--he held up the heavy paper--"a +lithographed portrait of the late General George A. Custer. You will +recall he was killed by Indians at the battle of Little Big +Horn--popularly known as Custer's last stand." + +Vance's teeth suddenly were chattering. + +"We shall hang this picture on your chest, Adrian," Professor Duchard +went on. "Then we shall stand you in front of that mirror and give you a +chance to concentrate on the reflection." He chuckled softly. "Of +course, since the mirror has nothing to do with time travel, you need +have no fear of your mind leaving your body and going back to that of +General Custer, and death in a Sioux massacre--" + +Without warning, Vance erupted into action. + +As if by magic, the panic fled his face. His features contorted with +hate. His eyes suddenly were glistening pinpoints of jet. + +And even faster moved his sinuous body. He snaked free of Mark's +restraining grasp. Sprang back like a wounded tiger. His right hand +darted under his coat to his left armpit like a Gila monster streaking +for cover. + +Mark Carter's lips twisted in a snarl of rage. He lunged after the +antiquarian, big fists balled and deadly. + +"Look out!" + +It was Professor Duchard, his voice a shrill warning blast. + +Mark's eyes shifted. He caught the sudden spearing movement of Vance's +right hand. Lashed out in savage fury to meet the new threat. + +The antiquarian shrank back. The other's fist drove by him. Missed him +by a hair. + +And then his right hand was back in view. Back, and gripping the butt of +a long-barreled Smith & Wesson Magnum. His teeth were bared, in a +grimace of hideous triumph. + +Like a rattlesnake striking, he slashed out with the heavy gun. Brought +it down at his adversary's head in a vicious blow. + +Mark still reeled, off balance, from his own missed blow. But he saw the +gun descending. Threw up his arm to ward it off. + +The barrel caught him at the juncture of shoulder and collar bones. Sent +screaming pain stabbing to the farthest reaches of his brain. Paralyzed +his whole side. He staggered drunkenly. + +Again that triumphant leer contorted Vance's hatchet face. Once more he +whipped the pistol barrel down. + +And this time his aim was true. This time the heavy gun slammed home +square at the base of the other's brain. + +The universe was exploding inside Mark's skull. A crimson universe, with +planets that burst into bloody flame. His control centers went numb. The +life vanished from his muscles. He felt himself falling ... falling ... +falling.... + + * * * * * + +As if in some macabre nightmare, he heard Adrian Vance laugh. Saw the +antiquarian step back and bring the gun in his hand to bear on Professor +Duchard. + +"So you're going to force me to bring Elaine back to the twentieth +century!" the rejected suitor mocked. "So you think you still have a +chance to save her from death at the hands of Baron Morriere's +retainers!" + +The old man's eyes were like blue steel as he met the antiquarian's +gaze. + +"You devil!" he said. "You admit it! You have killed her!" + +Vance nodded, his narrow face sinister. + +"Of course I admit it. Why shouldn't I? What is there you can do about +it? Or do you think the police are going to hold me on a charge of +subjecting your daughter to involuntary time travel by sending her a +mirror?" He laughed harshly, smoothed his sleek black hair. Then +continued: + +"Yes, professor. Go to the police. Tell them all about my hideous +crimes." Again he laughed. "See how long it takes them to put you under +psychiatric observation." + +The aged scientist's lips quivered with passion and despair. + +"Why do you stay?" he cried. "You have won. Why do you mock us? Go away! +Let us alone!" + +"Oh, no." The other shook his head. "I don't want to leave just yet, +professor. There are still some things I have to tell you. Things I +learned while making preparations for Elaine's little trip." + +He paused to gloat. + +"How thoroughly have you investigated the case of that first Elaine +Duchard, in whose body your daughter now resides, Professor Duchard?" he +demanded. + +The white-haired savant did not even answer. He leaned weakly against a +laboratory bench, a broken man. + +"Did you know, for instance," Adrian Vance continued, "that Baron +Morriere's men tortured Elaine Duchard before they murdered her?" + +"You fiend! Not even a savage would do a thing like that!" + +Vance chuckled evilly. + +"You exaggerate," he sneered. "Besides, Elaine's sweetheart, here"--he +prodded the still-prone Mark with his foot--"no doubt will protect her." + +His face darkened. + +"And if you did not want harm to befall her, why did you let her reject +me when I asked to marry her? I gave her her chance. When she didn't +take it, what else could she expect but my revenge?" + +"Go away. Please go away." + + * * * * * + +On the floor, Mark stirred uneasily. His brain was clear now, though his +head throbbed like a jungle tom-tom under the beat of a mad witch +doctor. Slowly, he tried his muscles. Tensed them. Relaxed them. Tested +them for complete control. + +Vance said: + +"In case you still have any notions of rescuing your daughter from the +far reaches of time, professor, forget them now. It's impossible to call +a person back. In the first place, a time mirror would be needed--and +the only one in existence, the one I bought from a French sorcerer who +once studied under Eliphas Levi, now stands on that easel in the +corner." + +Sobs racked the other's frail form. He still leaned against the bench, +his face buried in his hands. + +But on the floor, Mark Carter's jaw grew hard. He readied himself for a +savage leap. + +"Furthermore," their captor went on, "your precious Elaine remembers +nothing of her life in this century. For all practical purposes she has +become the first Elaine Duchard. I know this, because I tried out the +mirror by sending one of my clerks three months into the past. He was +possessed by a strange amnesia that left his mind a perfect blank so far +as what had happened in those three months was concerned!" + +The antiquarian paused, savoring the full effect of his words on +Elaine's father with evil glee. His black eyes were shining with hell's +own fire. + +And in that tense, silent second, Mark Carter struck. + +He came off the floor like a tiger springing, and the roar of a jungle +beast was in his throat. His arms shot out to embrace Adrian Vance's +legs and pull him down. His fingers hungered for the feel of his +enemy's throat. + +He was still in the air when the other moved. Like lightning, Vance +leaped aside. Away from Mark's clutching hands. He landed, tense and +poised, the gun in his fist sighted on young Carter's chest, a grin of +triumph splitting his oily face. + +"Did you think I was asleep, you fool?" he crowed. "Did you think I +wasn't watching you every second out of the corner of my eye? I've been +ready to kill you from the moment your eyelids first fluttered!" + +Mute, his face still livid with hate, Mark staggered to his feet. + +"Come on!" Vance challenged. "If you think you can jump me before I pull +the trigger, come ahead! I'll be glad to take my chances before a jury +when you're dead!" + +Elaine's fiance glared helplessly. His fists clenched and relaxed again +and again. + +"You win," he said at last, his face grey beneath its tan. "Go on. Get +out. You've got us licked." + +But the antiquarian shook his head. + +"Not quite yet," he answered. "I've still got one job to do." + +Then, so fast the eye could hardly follow, his gun-hand came up. + +_Bang--bang--bang!_ + + * * * * * + +Three shots he fired. Three shots, straight toward the easel in the +corner. Dead center into the mirror that stood upon it. + +There was a wild tinkling of falling glass. The tablecloth slipped away. +Revealed the shattered remnants of the time mirror. + +"I'm taking no chances!" cried Vance. "Professor Duchard's reputation as +a research physicist is too high." And then, mockingly: "However, I +doubt that even he can make any good use of that mirror now!" + +With that final sally, he backed away and out the door, the Magnum in +his hand still grim and unwavering as he covered Mark and the old +scientist. + +Curtly: + +"I wouldn't come out too soon if I were you." + +The door slammed shut. + +Mark started forward. But the professor caught his arm. + +"It is useless," the savant said. "To follow him would bring death and +would avail nothing, my boy. He has won." + +Like men in a daze, then, they stared into each other's eyes. They saw +only dull hopelessness. The last spark was gone out. + +Slowly, Mark walked over to the corner where stood the shattered mirror. +Looked blankly down at its fragments. Bending, he picked up a splinter. +Inspected it idly. + +The next instant he whirled about. + +"Professor Duchard!" he rapped. "How did this devil's looking-glass +work?" + +The scientist looked up dispiritedly, shrugged. + +"I could not make you understand. It is a complicated matter of +space-time theory--" + +The other strode back to him. Gripped his shoulder. + +"I don't care about the details. Just try to give me a simplified +version of the principle." + +Professor Duchard gazed into the younger man's eyes. Caught the fierce +light within them--the gleam of spirit that marks those who will not be +downed for long, no matter what the odds. The ray of struggle that only +death could take away. + +For a long moment, then, the old man sat buried in thought. At last he +looked up again. Broke the silence. + +"Have you ever seen the physical experiment in which a wave of sound is +used to break a glass?" + +"No. But I've heard of it. I know what you're talking about." + +"Very well, then. Imagine, if you can, that the barrier between space +and time is that glass. It is apparently impenetrable." + +"I see." Elaine's fiance nodded eagerly. + +"Then try to conceive of a terrific wave of energy being concentrated +against it, just as the sound wave is concentrated on the glass. But +this time, the wave must be so manipulated as to strike the barrier as a +pebble strikes and breaks a window. Otherwise it would be too weak to +break through. Or, if it was strong enough, it would break down the +entire space-time relationship." + + * * * * * + +Again Mark nodded, this time more slowly. + +"You mean that the wave of energy really must be like a sword, stabbing +one small hole through the barrier?" + +"Exactly." A pause. "The time mirror represented just such a hole +through the barrier. What appeared to us to be waves in the glass +actually were frozen ripples in the space-time continuum--just as if you +had dropped a stone in water, and the hole and ripples had frozen." + +"Then when you looked into the mirror--" + +"Your mind went out through that gap in the barrier. Ordinarily, of +course, you would not even know that this was happening. But if your +mind was concentrated on something in the past or future--as Elaine's +was upon the picture of her ancestor--, you were automatically hurtled +through time to that period." + +The younger man frowned. + +"Then why didn't my mind go, too, when Elaine's did? We both were +looking into the mirror." + +"But from different angles," the professor reminded him. "Remember, the +actual break in the continuum was relatively small. Elaine, seated +before the mirror, must have been directly in front of the gap, so she +was sucked through. You, on the other hand--" + +"Yes. I was standing up. Off center. So I didn't go." Mark nodded. "I +see." + +"And now," said the scientist, "the mirror is broken. Our last chance of +saving Elaine is gone." + +"No!" + +"What?" The professor peered up at the other incredulously. "What do you +mean, Mark?" + +Brown eyes narrowed with excitement, Elaine's sweetheart held out the +splinter of glass he had picked up. He shook it in front of the savant's +face. + +"Professor, every piece of glass that went to make up that mirror is +laying over there on the floor." + +"I am sorry, my boy." The elder man frowned. "I do not understand." + +"Professor, if you break your glasses, all you have to do to get a new +pair is to take the pieces to an optician. He'll figure the formula of +the lens from the fragments and make you a new set." + +"You mean--" + +"I mean that we can put the pieces of that mirror together as if it was +a jigsaw puzzle. From it, you can figure out some kind of a formula. +Then, by experimenting, you can find what kind of energy bolt it takes +to blast through the barrier!" + + * * * * * + +Something of the man's intensity, his enthusiasm, communicated itself to +the professor. His blue eyes came alight. + +"It is conceivable!" he declared. "Not likely. But conceivable." He +gripped the fragment of glass which Mark held. "Yes! We shall try it! If +it works, we can--" + +He stopped short. His face fell. + +"We can what?" he finished. "Another time mirror will not help us bring +Elaine back--" + +His companion interrupted fiercely: + +"How do we know? There's always a chance we'll think of something, isn't +there? And it's a cinch we won't accomplish anything just sitting here." + +"But--" + +"The least we can do is try!" + +They worked like madmen in the hours that followed, heedless of the +wedding guests who came and went from the house in bewildered knots. +Unmindful of gashed fingers, Mark fitted the slivers of mirror together, +while Professor Duchard tested and analyzed and figured at his side. + +And then-- + +"I have it!" shouted the savant triumphantly. "I have the formula!" + +"Then we can construct another mirror?" + +Some of the old man's elation dropped away. He shook his head. + +"Not yet. We know only the _effect_ we want. But how to achieve it--" He +shrugged. + +Experiments. More experiments. Hours of experiments, with Mark and the +professor hovering over an electric crucible bubbling with molten glass. + +Hours of failure. + +At last the old scientist straightened, his face haggard with weariness. + +"It is no use," he said sadly. "I have exhausted my knowledge, and to no +avail." + +He turned away, shoulders sagging. Stumbled toward the door. + +The next instant Mark's voice rose in a scream. + +"_Look out!_" + +Instinctively, without so much as a backward glance, the old man lunged +forward. Even as he did so, he felt something jerk at his ankle. His leg +came out from under him. He pitched to the floor. + +_Crash!_ + +The crucible was falling, jerked from its place atop the lab bench! The +electric cable which supplied its current was twisted about the +professor's ankle, somehow unconsciously caught by his foot as he +worked. + +Molten glass burst out of the pot in a white-hot wave. Slopped over the +composition floor in a steaming river. Engulfed table legs and radiator +pipes alike. + +And then, like a writhing snake, the high tension line from which the +crucible cable stemmed was whipping down, torn loose by the jar of the +professor's leap! + +Down it came! Struck the floor once. Lashed against the glass-engulfed +radiator pipes, bare wires flashing. + +A ball of purple fire exploded at the contact point, while the cable +jerked and twisted like a living thing. The laboratory was suddenly +permeated with ozone's peculiar odor. + +"Look out!" cried Mark again. + + * * * * * + +But already Professor Duchard had jerked his foot free of the crucible +line. He shrank back under the long bench, away from the writhing cable. + +An instant later the current went dead. The crackling ball of purple +fire evaporated into thin air. + +Mark sprang across the room to where the scientist lay. He pulled him to +his feet. + +"Are you all right, professor? Are you hurt?" + +"Yes, yes, my boy. It was a narrow escape, but your warning saved me. I +am all right." + +The savant leaned against the bench, trying to still the reflexive +trembling of his body. His face was pale. He ran his tongue over lips +suddenly gone dry as he stared down at the broken high tension line, and +thought of what would have happened had it touched him in its spasm. + +And then, suddenly, his blue eyes went wide with stark amazement. + +"Mark!" he gasped. + +"What's wrong, professor? What is it?" + +"That glass on the floor! Look at it!" + +The other stared uncomprehendingly. + +"The waves, Mark! See the waves!" + +A startled exclamation burst from the younger man's lips. He dropped to +his knees. Scrutinized the puddle of glass. + +But the scientist pulled him erect again. + +"My instruments!" he ordered in a voice that trembled. "Quick! I must +make tests--" + +For half an hour he worked. And when at last he straightened, complete +confidence gleamed deep in his eyes. + +"Is it--" + +Professor Duchard nodded. + +"It is. That was the secret, my boy. The secret we sought but could not +find. The time mirror is merely a special glass which has been subjected +to a terrific electrical discharge, then silvered. That piece on the +floor is worthless, of course; too many elements were uncontrolled. + +"But knowing the formula as we do; knowing exactly what we are searching +for and how to prepare it, I would stake my reputation that we can +duplicate the mirror Adrian Vance sent to Elaine." + +Mark's eyes were gleaming. His jaw hard. + +"Then do it!" he commanded. + +"But what good would it do? We cannot bring Elaine back--" + +"Maybe not." The other's tanned face was grim. "But we can send me back +to where she is." + +"Send you back!" + +"Yes." A pause. "You see, I've been thinking about the things you've +told me, Professor Duchard. About time travel, and how it works. + +"You say we can't save Elaine. Well, that's probably true. Maybe she's +got to die in France, back in the days before the revolution." + +A tremor of emotion passed over him as he said it. He swallowed hard. +Then: + +"But if she must die, she can at least die easily. Cleanly. Quickly, +with a knife through her heart. She doesn't have to go the way Adrian +Vance wants her to--tortured by a bunch of drunken scum, then cut to +pieces without a chance to fight back." + + * * * * * + +There was pain in the professor's face, too, when he answered. + +"I wish it were as easy as that, Mark." + +Mark's voice was fierce. + +"What's wrong with it? What's to stop me?" + +The other sighed. Brushed back white hair with a sweep of one frail +hand. + +"You cannot change history, my boy," he said sadly. "A study of +cosmology would show you that such things are immutable. You can go +backward or forward through time and participate in them, but you cannot +change them." + +"How do you know? Who's traveled through time and then come back to say +we can't change events?" + +"You do not understand--" + +"And I don't care!" the younger man flared. "I may fail--but I'm going +to try! I'm not going to sit here, waiting for Elaine to die--" + +"But you would have no memory of your life in this century! Remember +what Vance said--" + +"Right. That's the one thing that might stop me. I'm counting on you to +take care of it, though. Is there anything you can do?" + +There was a long moment of tension-studded silence. Then: + +"Perhaps there is. I have been working on equipment to prevent fighter +pilots 'blacking out' during power dives, and I believe there is a +relationship between time travel and terrific speeds in space. It is +possible that I could insulate you--" + +"That's all I need, then. Make me a mirror, professor, and something to +insulate me--" + +"But you have no focal point! You might go through time to a place a +thousand miles and a thousand years from where Elaine is captive--" + +Mark laughed harshly. + +"Wrong, professor! I've got the most accurate focal point in the world. +Or I will have--" + +"The most accurate--? What do you mean?" The old man's face was +bewildered. + +"I'll have the same focal point Elaine had, sir: Gustav Jerbette's +painting, 'Elaine Duchard's Escape'." Again that laugh. "I'm going now +to steal it from Adrian Vance!" + +The house of Adrian Vance was one befitting a professional dealer in +antiquities. It set far back from the street, towering against the sky +like the black bulk of a medieval castle. A high iron fence surrounded +it. + +At this moment Mark Carter stood surveying the estate from the shelter +of a nearby clump of trees. + +"It's like a damned fortress!" he muttered to himself. "He's taking no +chances on anyone getting in." + + * * * * * + +Turning, then, he gripped a branch of the nearest tree. Swung up into +it. Clambered out, cat-like, until he lay beyond the fence and above the +grounds of Vance's home. + +The limb bowed under his weight as he proceeded until at last he was +able to drop lightly to the ground. + +One hazard passed! + +"And with no worries about that fence being wired for an alarm system, +either!" he told himself triumphantly. + +He hurried toward the house, thankful for the darkness of the night. + +On one side of the big building lay a terrace. French windows opened +onto it. + +Like a wraith in the night, taking advantage of every shrub and patch of +shadow, Mark crept close to the casements. + +They were locked. + +The trespasser stripped off his coat. Wrapped it around his hand, a +bulky, protective wad of cloth covering the flesh. Then, as silently as +possible, he pressed on one of the small panes of glass close beside the +lock. Harder ... harder ... harder.... + +With a faint tinkle of falling glass, the pane gave way. + +Tense seconds crawled by on leaden feet. Mark's mouth was dry, his +throat cottony. He stood taut, his back to the wall, waiting fearfully +for some sign that Vance had been aroused. + +At last he relaxed again. Reached through the broken pane and unlocked +the big window. Swung it open, ever so gently, and stepped inside, +fading swiftly into the thick blackness of the nearest corner. + +Once Mark had interviewed a burglar as a feature assignment. He +remembered the man's words now. + +"Gettin' in ain't the hard part," the second-story worker had explained. +"It's gettin' out that's tough. The first thing you gotta do on a job is +to line up an exit." + +Now, as his eyes grew accustomed to the blackness, Mark searched for a +means of escape. There was a window at the far end of the room. He +approached it with swift, silent strides. Opened it wide. + +The slightest of creakings caught his ear. Instantly he was on the +alert, every muscle tense. + +The sound was not repeated. He relaxed. + +Where would the picture be? + +A large canvas hung above the fireplace. He tiptoed over to it. + +The lovely face of the first Elaine Duchard looked down at him! + +With trembling fingers he whipped a knife from his pocket. Looked about +for a chair to stand on-- + +"It ain't smart to work a room without fixin' the door first," the +burglar had said. "You feel lots better if you know nobody ain't gonna +stumble in on you unexpected." + +Ten seconds later Mark had wedged a straight-back chair under the knob +of the only door leading into the rest of the house. + +Turning, he hurried back to the Jerbette painting. With swift, deft +slashes he cut it from its frame. Started to roll it up. + +"Ah! A visitor!" + + * * * * * + +The trespasser whirled as if he had been stabbed. He stumbled from the +chair on which he stood. As he did so, the brilliant beam of a five-cell +flashlight hit him square in the face like a physical blow. It blinded +him. Left him helpless. + +"No doubt this is just a social call. Too bad that the police will call +it breaking and entering with larcenous intent!" + +It was the oily, mocking voice of Adrian Vance, and it came from the +French window through which Mark had entered. + +"Try to lie out of it!" Vance gloated. "Just try to explain that picture +in your hands!" + +"I don't have to explain, Vance. You know why I'm here." + +The wail of a siren sounded in the distance. + +"Oh, of course I know." The other was laughing softly, greasily. "But +will the police understand, Carter? That siren you hear--it's coming +here, you know; I called the station before I came down to grab you." + +Mark's heart jumped like a wounded stag. He looked around wildly. Was +this to be the end of it all? Was he to lie in jail while Elaine went to +her death, back there in Bourbon France? + +His captor was speaking again: + +"I didn't dream I could have this much luck! To see that slut Elaine +dead--that was the height of my ambition. But now--to have you sent to +the penitentiary for burglary--" + +The words ended in a roar of laughter. It died, and Vance went on, his +tone grim and deadly: + +"It's time you dropped that picture, Carter. Drop it--and put your hands +up!" + +The picture! The one link between 1942 and 1780! + +"Drop it!" + +Slowly, Mark's hands relaxed. He let the picture fall to the floor. + +"Now--raise your hands and walk over to the corner. Stand with your face +to the wall!" + +Mark moved like one paralyzed. His hands came up as if they were +weighted with lead. His brown eyes were fixed on the shadowy finger back +of the flashlight, and impotent rage and hatred seethed within them. + +Yet what could he do? Jump Vance? Try to wrest the inevitable gun from +the antiquarian's hand? + +Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. No. It was impossible. His +slug-riddled body would pitch lifeless to the floor before he could take +two steps forward. + +Nor was it mere fear of death that made him halt. That he would have +faced, and gladly. + +But what actually held him back was that such a suicidal attempt would +avail him nothing. It would bring him no nearer his real goal than +before: Elaine still would meet that awful doom which history had +recorded as her fate! + +"Turn around, damn you! Get over to the corner! Put your face to the +wall!" + +Ever so slowly, Mark turned. His brain was pounding with frantic effort +as he strove to find some flaw in the awful wall of circumstance that +rose about him. + + * * * * * + +And then he saw the curtain! + +It was just an ordinary curtain, buff-colored and a trifle stiff with +starch. + +But it hung in front of the window he had opened as an emergency exit +when he came in. At the moment, it swayed ever so slightly in the ripple +of draft. + +Most important of all, that window was set in the wall against which +Adrian Vance had directed that he stand. The corner Vance had indicated +was a step to the right of where Mark now stood; the window, a step to +the left. And a grand piano half-sheltered it from the antiquarian's +line of fire! + +"Hurry up! Get into that corner!" + +Instinctively, the captive tensed to leap. + +But the picture! What about it? He must have it! Without that painting, +the time mirror Professor Duchard was constructing would be useless! + +Then, suddenly, a grim smile played across Mark's lips. There was an +angle! There was one wild chance by which he might escape alive and take +Jerbette's masterpiece with him! + +"Hurry up, or I'll shoot!" + +Like a stone from a sling, Mark hurled himself toward the window in a +headlong dive. The blackness of the outer night engulfed him. + +In the room behind, Vance's Magnum roared a cannonade of death. +Copper-jacketed slugs splintered the sill at the fleeing man's heels. + +Mark landed on one shoulder in a somersaulting roll. The next instant he +was on his feet and sprinting for the shadows at the corner of the +house. + +Flashlight in hand, Vance sprang to the open window. + +On Mark ran, and on. Around the house as fast as he could go. Then the +smooth plateau of the terrace loomed before him, with its wide-open +French window. + +He slowed, silenced his pounding footsteps. + +On the other side of the big room, still peering out the window through +which Mark had hurled himself, stood Vance. His sleek form was +silhouetted behind the flashlight's beam. + +Like a wraith in the night, the other slipped inside. He crossed the +room on tiptoe. His hand darted down to snatch the rolled picture from +where it still lay on the floor. + + * * * * * + +And then Vance turned. His flashlight caught Mark. + +But this time it was the antiquarian who was surprised. He jerked back. +Already his adversary was leaping for the cover of a heavy mahogany +table. Vance snapped a shot at him. Tried again to place him with the +light. + +Mark's hand came down on a porcelain vase. He hurled it at Vance with +all his might. + +Vainly, his enemy tried to dodge. But too late. The vase _thunk'd_ home +against his left shoulder. The flashlight fell to the floor. + +Like a thunderbolt, Elaine's fiance lunged forward. His left hand +slashed down; pinioned the arm that held the Magnum. His right fist came +up with express-train speed. Smashed home on the point of Vance's jaw. +The antiquarian's body jerked spasmodically. Went limp. Sagged to the +floor. + +But now the sound of harsh voices and running feet came to Mark's ears. + +Clutching the Jerbette painting in one hand, he ducked back out the +window. Even in the gloom he could see black figures converging on the +house. A sedan stood in the driveway, its spotlight sweeping the house. + +"The police!" + +Cold sweat stood out on Mark's forehead as he gasped the exclamation. +But he did not hesitate. Keeping to the shadows, he headed for the +still-open gate through which the car had come. + +The iron fence loomed close. He ran along it in a half-crouch. + +"Hey, you! Stick 'em up or we shoot!" + +For the barest fraction of a second Mark halted in mid-stride. The +spotlight was swinging toward him. + +But the gate was only a dozen yards away. He made for it in a mad rush. +Bullets sang about him. Slugs ricocheted from the iron spikes. But on he +went. Lunged through the opening and into the shadowy fastnesses across +the street. + +The return to Professor Duchard's laboratory was a nightmare of mad +dashes and narrow escapes. Squad cars seemed everywhere. Police always +on his heels. + +And then-- + +He was slipping through the door, alive and unharmed, with the picture +clasped under his arm! + +The professor jerked about from the task of hanging a new and bigger +time mirror on the easel. It still was shrouded with a heavy cloth. + +"It's ready?" + +The scientist nodded. + +"Yes. I got special co-operation from an old friend who is manager of a +glass works." He paused. "And you?" + +Mark waved the Jerbette. + +"I got the picture," he clipped, "but we're going to have to work fast. +The police probably are on their way here now. Vance caught me in the +act of stealing the painting." He still was panting from the exertion of +his race here. + +"Then clip it to this frame quickly!" The professor indicated an +arrangement like an oversize drawing board. He hurried to assist the +younger man. In a moment their work was done. + +There, at last, was "Elaine Duchard's Escape." Mark for the first time +studied it carefully. + + * * * * * + +Four people were shown. The central figure was that of the first Elaine +Duchard. She was in the act of entering a carriage, her lovely face +alive with panic. Beside her a young man--his face in the shadows--held +a horse pistol on another man. This second man's features were twisted +with hate; Mark thought he never had seen such malevolent eyes. + +"Baron Morriere" the professor explained. "The younger man is Jacques +Rombeau, Elaine Duchard's lover." + +Mark nodded. Turned to scrutinize a third man, unidentifiable, who was +clambering to the driver's seat of the coach. + +The next instant the laboratory was re-echoing with the sound of heavy +blows upon the door. + +"Open up!" roared a muffled voice. "It's the law!" + +"The police!" Mark's face went pale. + +Professor Duchard darted to the bench which lined one wall. Seized a +strange-looking helmet which stood there. Rushed with it to Mark. + +"The insulator-helmet!" he explained hastily, his blue eyes feverish +with excitement. "Strap it on! Quickly!" + +"Open up!" the alien voice roared again. "We want in!" + +And then the angry accents of Adrian Vance: + +"Break it down, officer! Don't let them get away!" + +Mark hauled the frame on which the painting was stretched to a position +in front of the mirror. Whirled back. Gripped his companion's hand. + +"Will it work, professor? Will the mirror take me back through time?" + +"That I cannot tell you, my boy. But it should. You know the formula I +worked out. You understand the process by which it was constructed." A +second's pause. "Actually, I believe it should work far better than the +previous time mirror. The one Vance gave Elaine was very old, very +crude. This one is the product of modern science, modern workmanship. It +creates a tremendously larger rift in the space-time continuum--" + +A shot rang out. + +At the other end of the laboratory, the outside door burst open, lock +shattered. Uniformed police rushed in, Adrian Vance at their head. + +"Mark! Quickly! I shall hold them!" + +With a savage jerk, Elaine's fiance ripped aside the cloth that veiled +the new time mirror. The reflection of Jerbette's painting sprang across +its silver surface. + +Mark's jaw went hard with tension. He glued his eyes to the figure of +Jacques Rombeau, Elaine Duchard's lover. + +Behind him, Adrian Vance charged down the laboratory, struggling to +shake off the frail, tenacious figure of Professor Duchard. He brought +up his heavy Magnum. + +But Mark paid him no heed. Already his brain was spinning, his senses +reeling. Yet still he concentrated on the lithe, tense figure of Jacques +Rombeau holding the fuming Baron Morriere at bay. And through his mind +the words kept ringing: + +"I shall take over the brain of Jacques Rombeau! I shall save Elaine +from her fate! + +"_I shall change history!_" + + * * * * * + +"You dog!" said Baron Morriere in a voice that trembled with passion. +"I'll see you drawn and quartered for this! You'll swing from the +highest gibbet in all France--" + +"Save your breath!" snapped Mark--and then nearly dropped the horse +pistol he grasped as the sound of his voice struck his ears. For he +spoke in the French of the late eighteenth century, and the voice was +not his own, but that of Jacques Rombeau! + +From behind him came another voice--faintly tremulous, the voice of a +woman: + +"Jacques, _mon cher_! We are ready! Quick!" + +"Right!" + +Then, prodding the baron's stomach with the gun barrel: + +"Why I don't kill you now I'll never know. _Le Bon Dieu_ knows I've got +cause enough. And may He have mercy on your soul if you try to follow +us!" + +Turning on his heel, Mark sprang aboard the coach. From the driver's +seat came a shout and the crack of the whip. With a jerk that nearly +threw Mark to the floor, they were off! + +"Oh, Jacques! I was so afraid! The baron--" + +He turned in his seat. Looked into the lovely, appealing face of Elaine +Duchard. Her arms reached out to him. Instinctively he accepted the +embrace. He held her close, and his lips sought hers. + +It was strange; incredible. Even as he kissed the girl, Mark realized +it. He was two people simultaneously--Mark Carter and Jacques Rombeau. +The brain of the former had traveled back through time into the body of +the latter. In so doing, it had somehow acquired all the knowledge, the +personality, the character traits of Rombeau. Yet because the mind of +Mark Carter had been protected by Professor Duchard's insulating helmet, +he still was able to think independently--almost as if his own twentieth +century being was held apart in a special brain lobe within Jacques +Rombeau's skull! + +"I knew you would come, Jacques! I knew it!" + +A wave of sentiment choked off Mark's reply. Again he kissed the soft +hollow of that first Elaine Duchard's throat, trying the while to fight +off the awful sense of futility that swept over him as he remembered +history's verdict as to her fate. + +Then, suddenly, the coach was halting. + +"Whoa, there!" came the voice of the burly man on the box. And then: +"Well, Jacques, what now? We're away from the castle, but where do we +go?" + +Mark swung to the ground. Glanced back to where the Chateau Morriere +still loomed black and menacing on a distant ridge. + +"Every road and bridge is blocked," the other went on. "The peasantry's +none too peaceful in these parts, and the baron's taking no chances." + +Mark nodded slowly. + +"What do you think, Baroc?" he asked. Somehow, he knew that was the +man's name. + +The burly one scowled. + +"Paris, I suppose," he grunted. "If you once get there, and into the +slums, the devil himself couldn't rout you out." + +"Do you think we can make it?" + +"Maybe." A shrug. "We could try the post road." + +"All right. Let's go." + + * * * * * + +They jogged on through the night, the coach swaying and bumping over the +rough track. Then lights began to sparkle ahead. Baroc pulled up. + +"The Golden Cock Inn," he grunted, nodding toward the lights. +"Morriere's guards will be there. We'll have to run for it, so be ready +for rough going." + +The next instant they were rolling again. Closer the lights came, and +closer. Now they were almost abreast them.... + +"Halt!" + +A man was running toward them, waving his arms. + +Baroc shattered the night with a fearful oath. His long whip cracked +over the backs of the double-span of greys ahead. The horses leaped +forward. + +They were past the inn, driving hellbent through the pitch-blackness of +the countryside. But behind them was a tumult of shouts, a wild +disorder. + +Mark shot a glance through the window. Caught a glimpse of running +figures. + +"Jacques! Are they after us?" There was panic in Elaine's voice. + +A clatter of hooves answered her before Mark could open his mouth. The +girl clung to him, her face chalky with fear. + +"If the baron catches me again, Jacques--" + +"He won't catch you! I promise it, Elaine! He won't!" + +But the words of Adrian Vance leaped into his brain like red-hot +branding irons: + +_Elaine Duchard was tortured and murdered by Baron Morriere's +retainers!_ + +Were these men the ones history had marked to do the awful deed? + +The thunder of hooves was almost upon them now. The coach rocked from +side to side. Bounced wildly from one rut to another. + +A hoarse bellow from Baroc: + +"They're coming, Jacques!" + +Then out of the night like the wind itself the riders came. Big men, +with fierce eyes and savage, brutal faces. Men cut from the same pattern +as their master, Baron Morriere. + +"Halt!" + +"To hell with you!" + +A rider surged ahead. He cut in toward the coach's horses. + +"Oh, no, you don't!" + + * * * * * + +Baroc's whip lashed out. Bit into the face of the horseman. Laid the +flesh bare from eye to jaw. The man gave a shriek of agony. Pitched from +his saddle into the road. The coach leaped high as it struck his falling +body. + +But the others closed in. One sprang from his horse to a precarious +perch on the mounting-board. His bearded face leered in. A knife +flashed. + +_Boom!_ + +The man fell back, dead before he hit the ground, his throat torn out by +the slug from Mark's horse pistol. The coach was blue with the acrid +stench of gunpowder smoke. + +"Oh, Jacques! Don't let them get me! I love you so, Jacques--no matter +what happens--" + +Mark's arm was tight around Elaine. His face was taut and grim as they +bounced onward. He fingered the haft of a broad-bladed knife in his +belt. + +"They won't get you! I promise it--" + +Then, suddenly, their enemies were rushing to the attack again. From all +sides they came. The point of a sword cut off Baroc's hoarse cry in +mid-breath. He pitched from the box. + +On through the night plunged the driverless coach, the horses mad with +fright. A bridge loomed ahead. They raced for it like creatures from +hell, flanks lathered, nostrils flaring. + +Another rider tried to spring to the coach. Mark's knife flashed out. +Drove home. + +Then they were onto the bridge. + +With a roar the coach jumped sidewise on the boards. Crashed into the +flimsy railing. Tottered for a moment above the stream. Plunged backward +into the water, dragging the horses with it. + +Mark felt himself hurled back into one corner. His head smashed hard +against something. Consciousness waned. + +But the rush of water revived him. He lurched half-erect as the river +spilled through the windows in a tidal wave. + +Elaine lay unconscious on the floor. He caught up her limp body. Kicked +open one door. Lunged out into the turbulent stream. Drifted with the +current, barely keeping their heads above water. + +From the banks came the shouts of searching men. + +Onward Mark and Elaine drifted. The girl's eyes still were closed. Her +body slack. + +All his life those endless hours were a nightmare to the man. He +remembered, vaguely, that they lay hidden under the roots of a willow +while guardsmen on the bank above them cursed the luck that had let the +pair escape. Mark's teeth were chattering and his muscles weak. Elaine's +face, beside him, was growing blue with cold. Yet still she did not +recover consciousness. + +Then, at last, the baron's men were clumping off, and Mark was dragging +his sweetheart out onto the bank. + +A voice said: + +"Praise God they did not find you!" + + * * * * * + +Mark staggered to face the man who spoke. His hand flashed to the knife +in his belt. + +"Who are you?" he demanded. + +The stranger was old. The hands he raised in a gesture of peace were +toil-worn. + +"Only a poor peasant, friend," he answered. "I welcome you because the +baron's men would not be hunting you were you not his enemies--may his +soul rot in hell!" + +"You will help us?" + +The old man nodded. + +"As much as I can. There is an abandoned chateau near here. You can hide +there. I shall bring you food." + +All but one wing of the ancient edifice to which the peasant took them +was in ruins, gutted by fire. It stood high on a hill like a blackened +skeleton. + +"Once those who lived here were as cruel and proud as Baron Morriere," +commented their guide. "Fire made them our equals." + +And the part of Mark that was Jacques Rombeau answered: + +"Fire will make many equals in the years to come, old man. And swords +will help, for a poor man's arm can strike as lusty a blow as any +lord's." + +They laid Elaine on a bed of straw high in the unburned wing. She was +conscious now, but screaming in delirium. + +"We've got to get a doctor!" Mark grated tensely. "If she dies--" + +The thought brought him up short. History said Elaine Duchard could not +die! No! She must be tormented and murdered! And already the time was +short, for Professor Duchard had asserted that she was killed two days +after her first escape. Twelve hours had passed since he and the girl +had clambered into the coach. That left thirty-six-- + +The old peasant was shaking his head. + +"There is no doctor here who can be trusted," he declared. "One and all, +they would run to Baron Morriere. The nearest who would help you and +keep his mouth shut is in Paris--" + +For ten long seconds Mark struggled with himself. + +Elaine was sick. Perhaps dying. Well, why not let her die? Wouldn't it +be better than to see her perhaps back in the hands of Baron Morriere? +Was it not to kill her that he, Mark Carter, had come across a hundred +fifty years of time? Had he not sworn he would contradict history's +verdict-- + +"Jacques! Don't let them get me! Save me! Jacques--" + +She was screaming in delirium again, her lovely face pale, her golden +hair water-soaked to limp stringiness. Mark knelt beside her. Chafed her +wrists. Sponged the fevered brow. + +"Jacques! Jacques!" + +"History be damned!" + +He shouted it aloud. Sprang erect, eyes flashing cold fire. + +"I won't let her die now, and I won't let the baron get her! History or +no history, she's my Elaine, and I'll save her!" + + * * * * * + +He whirled on the bewildered peasant. + +"How far is it to Paris?" + +"About eleven miles." + +"Then I'll go there. I'll get a doctor." Even as he spoke, Mark was +pulling on his jacket. He strode toward the door, then hesitated and +came back. He gripped the old peasant's shoulders. "Stay with her, old +man, 'till I come back." + +"I shall stay." + +Mark drew the knife from his belt. Handed it to the other. When he +spoke, his voice was but a cracked whisper: + +"If _they_ come ... use this. She would rather have it so." + +And the answer came back: + +"I promise it, friend! They shall not take her alive!" + +A wild trip it was, that journey to Paris. A dozen times before he was +beyond Baron Morriere's domains, Mark was certain he would be trapped. + +Then he was in the city and searching out the doctor's office in a vast, +ancient rookery on the Left Bank. Outside--although it was only +mid-afternoon--hovering storm clouds transformed day into night, while, +at last, he pounded on the door to which he had been directed. + +The door opened. A scowling, youthful man with tousled hair glared out +at him, reeling tipsily all the while. + +"Wha' y' want?" + +"I'm looking for Doctor d'Allempier." + +"Then why y' come here? _I_ ain' no doc-tor. Me, I'm painter. Gustav +Jerbette. 'M bes' dam' pain'er--" + +Disgust welled within Mark's heart like the thunder that rumbled +overhead. He jerked free of the drunk's pawings. + +And then, suddenly, he stopped. Stopped coldly and completely, as if he +had been turned to stone. Deep within him an idea was growing. An idea +so stupendous that it made his brain reel within his skull. + +He whirled on the drunk. + +"What did you say your name was?" + +"'M Gustav Jerbette. 'M pain'er. Bes' dam' pain'er--" + +The next instant the tipsy one was reeling backward into his room under +the impetus of a powerful shove. + +"Hey! Wha's idea?" he burbled. "Qui' pushin'--" + +"Shut up, you stew-bum! I'm going to sober you up if I have to kill you! +You've got a job to do!" + + * * * * * + +The doctor was a grave, bearded man. At last he rose from beside +Elaine's straw bed in the fire-gutted chateau. + +"How is she, doctor? Is there any hope?" Mark's voice was choked with +emotion, his face drawn and haggard with strain. + +Slowly, the medical man shook his head. + +"I am sorry, _m'sieur_," he said quietly. "I can offer you little +solace. Her lungs already are filling. I doubt that she can last until +morning." + +The other was breathing hard. His eyes were like fiery gimlets. + +"Isn't there anything you can do?" he begged, half-sobbing. "Can't you +at least give her something so she'll recover consciousness? I must talk +to her--" + +"That I can do." + +The physician turned back to the bed. Raised the dying girl's head from +the pallet to administer doses of several medicines. + +"I have done all I can," he said. "From here it is in the hands of _Le +Bon Dieu_." + +Dazedly, Mark thanked him. Paid him with coins from Jacques Rombeau's +wallet. + +The door to the room beyond opened on sagging hinges and Gustav Jerbette +stepped out. His eyes still were red-rimmed from drink, but otherwise he +appeared sober. + +"It's done," he said in a disgusted tone. "Lord knows it looks like +nothing in this world or the next, but it's done." + +Again Mark dealt out coins. + +The old peasant entered the room. + +"The baron is furious," he reported grimly. "They are searching every +hut and hovel--" + +The doctor shifted his feet nervously. + +"Since there is nothing more I can do--" he murmured. + +Mark seemed to shake off the strange, dream-like lassitude that gripped +him. + +"Of course, gentlemen. All of you have done your best. But there isn't +any need of your staying longer, imperiling your lives by the chances of +Baron Morriere's vengeance. Please leave--and my thanks go with you." + +Out they marched, a weird procession: painter, doctor, peasant. Only the +old man hesitated at the door. + +"God be with you, friend!" he whispered, and pulled the heavy portal +shut behind him. + +Like a man in a trance, Mark watched them go. His feet were spread +apart; fists clenched. Nor did the Sphinx at Giza look out upon the +world with a face more grey or stony or implacable than was his. + +"History!" he cried aloud, and his voice was half-hysterical. "Damn +history! I'll beat it yet! Those devils shan't have Elaine--" + +"Jacques!" + +It was Elaine. Wanly she looked up from the pallet where she lay. Tried +to force a smile. + +Mark dropped to his knees beside her. + +"Elaine! My darling!" + +The girl raised a hand that trembled. Caressed his forehead. + +"Poor Jacques!" she whispered. "He looks so worried; so frightened--" + +"And good cause he has, too!" + + * * * * * + +Mark whirled, every muscle taut, at that harsh voice. + +There, in the doorway, backed by his guardsmen, stood the Baron +Morriere! + +Tension hung over the silence of the room like smoke above a +battlefield. + +"Did you think you'd get away, you fool?" the noble gloated. "Did you +think you'd escape Raoul Morriere's vengeance?" + +Mark was breathing hard. His face was pale, his eyes over-bright. Deep +within his brain words were pounding, with the beat of a giant +sledge.... + +"_I shall defeat fate!_" those words throbbed. "_I shall rewrite +history! Not as I wanted to. No. But they shall not have Elaine--_" + +His hand clashed down, then, as a cobra strikes. Down to the broad +bladed knife Jacques Rombeau carried in his belt. All his mind, all his +heart, was concentrated on this one thing: Even though lightning should +strike him this very instant, he would seize that knife. Whip it out. +Bury it to the hilt in Elaine's breast, that death--not Baron Morriere's +retainers--might claim her! + +But his hand clutched empty air. He stared down in shocked incredulity. +Stared down, and remembered-- + +He had given that knife to the old peasant before he went to Paris! And +he had failed to ask it back! + +"Look! He reaches for his knife!" whooped the baron. "He would protect +his sweetheart!" + +The guardsmen behind him joined in his roar of laughter. + +Something came over Mark Carter in that moment. Something at once cold +and deadly, and hotly, fiercely passionate. He felt a kinship to all +earth's fighting madmen--the Malay, run amok; the Viking, gone berserk; +the Arab, charging through hell to paradise. + +Like a human projectile he launched himself, straight for the throat of +Baron Morriere! + +"Ai!" + +It was not a word, that sound that came from the noble's throat. No. +There was something more primitive than that about it. + +It was terror, incarnate. + +Before the man could move, Mark's fingers were clutching at him, tearing +his clothing and his flesh. Again he screamed. + +As one possessed, Mark jerked him from the bosom of his guardsmen. +Hurled him bodily across the room, to slam against the farthest wall +with a crash that echoed through the ancient wing. + +But now the guardmen's paralysis was broken. They surged forward as one +man. + +"Jacques! Look out!" + + * * * * * + +Elaine's scream lent strength to her lover's arms. He slammed the door +in the face of the oncoming fighters. Half a dozen swords stabbed deep +into its wood, so closely were they upon him. He hurled himself at the +portal. Forced it shut by sheer desperation. Slammed home its triple +bolts. + +He turned, then, his breath coming in great, sobbing gasps. + +Baron Morriere had lurched to his feet. His right hand gripped a sword, +his left a dagger. + +"You'll die yet, you dog!" he snarled. "I'll spit you on my sword like a +pig above a bed of coals!" + +The flames of the pit showed in Mark's eyes. + +"And I'll see _you_ in hell," he grated. + +With a curse of contempt, the baron charged. + +Mark sprang aside. + +Again the other rushed to the attack. + +Once more Mark dodged. But now desperation gleamed in his eyes. He was +unarmed, helpless. One slip, one misstep, and that cruel blade would pin +him to the wall! + +Another rush. Another escape. But this time the blade had come close. +Mark's shirt was ripped; his shoulder bleeding from a long scratch. + +Even worse: from the end of the room came the sound of splintering wood +as the guardsmen smashed in the panels of the door. A moment more and +they would be upon him! + +Again the deadly play of wits. And then, suddenly, Mark found himself +penned in a corner. Trapped. The baron faced him, panting, his face +alight with evil joy. And beyond the noble, on her bed of straw, Elaine +Duchard stared at her lover with horror-straught eyes. + +"Die, you dog!" + +The baron lunged. His gleaming sword stabbed for Mark's vitals. The +unarmed man's teeth clenched to the take the fatal blow. + +It never came! + +One moment the baron was charging. The next, falling. + +"Elaine!" + +For the girl's white body was sprawled across the floor. Her thin hands +still clutched the baron's ankle. + +The next instant her lover was at the noble's throat. His fists beat a +tattoo of mayhem on the other's face. Forced him back against a +window-sill. Beat him to a senseless, bleeding pulp. + +"Jacques!" + +He whirled. Saw the door at the far end of the room buckle and give way. + +With one sweep of his arms, he sent the baron's body toppling through +the window. Falling down ... down ... down, to death on the stone-slab +walk three stories below. + +Even as he did it, Mark was leaping toward Elaine. He caught her in his +arms and lunged for the room's second door. He made it bare inches ahead +of the guardsmen's swords. + +This door was lighter. Already it rattled under the blows of the baron's +men. + +"Let me die, Jacques!" Elaine whispered. "I know I am going. You need +not try to save me." + +"Don't say it!" Mark's voice was a jagged knife of command. "You can't +die now. Don't say it!" + + * * * * * + +He carried her, then, to where the picture Gustav Jerbette had painted +stood. A strange picture, for that day and age, for it portrayed Mark +Carter and his fiancee, Elaine Duchard, standing side by side in front +of a building clearly identifiable as Professor Duchard's laboratory. +And the pair were dressed, not in the garb of eighteenth century France, +but in that of twentieth century America. + +"Shut your eyes, Elaine!" + +Wearily, the dying girl obeyed. + +With one savage jerk, Mark whipped the cover from another stand. A stand +on which stood a mirror. A mirror whose surface seemed to ripple in the +fading light. A circular mirror, full three feet in diameter. A mirror +with a garishly ornate frame. + +His hands trembling with feverish haste, Mark adjusted the picture to +reflect in the glass. + +Already the door was cracking. + +He snatched Elaine from where she lay. Held her half-conscious body +before the mirror. + +"Open your eyes, Elaine! Open your eyes and look at that girl in the +mirror! Concentrate on her, Elaine! _Concentrate!_" + +His own eyes were fixed on the image of his twentieth century self that +Gustav Jerbette had painted. His brain ached with the force of will he +was exerting. He felt himself falling through endless miles of space. +Falling ... falling ... falling.... + +"Thank God!" exclaimed Professor Duchard fervently. "You both are safe!" + +Dazedly, Mark and Elaine looked at each other across the narrow aisle +separating their white hospital beds. Across the room, sunlight streamed +in an open window, its rays glistening on the snowy linen of a third but +empty bed. + +"What happened?" Mark queried in a bewildered tone. "I was in your +laboratory, professor, and Vance rushed in--" + +"You went through the time mirror, my boy. Back to eighteenth century +France. And Vance went with you. Apparently he came too close to the +glass in his eagerness to stop you; his eyes must have focussed on one +of the other figures from Jerbette's picture, reflected in the gap +through the space-time barrier. He fell in a coma at the same instant +you did." + +"But I don't remember anything!" Mark protested. "I was going to go back +through time to save Elaine, even if I had to change history to do it. +Then Vance came in, and everything went blank--" + +"Yes," broke in Elaine. "The same thing happened to me. I was sitting in +front of the mirror Adrian gave me. Then I saw my ancestor from the +painting, and I seemed to be falling--" + +Professor Duchard nodded. + +"Of course. Time travel apparently brings with it complete loss of +memory--" + +"But I was insulated against amnesia!" exclaimed Mark. + +"Only on the trip back, my boy. Not on your return. No doubt you +remembered the twentieth century while in the eighteenth. But your +return destroyed your memories of Bourbon France." + + * * * * * + +The younger man scowled. + +"It doesn't make sense," he grunted. "I'm beginning to think the whole +business is so much imagination. After all, how could I transport Elaine +back from 1780 to 1942? Or myself, for that matter--" + +"Perhaps I have some information which will throw light on the subject," +the white-haired scientist interrupted. "Yesterday my old friend, +Strong, the historian, was passing through the city. He came here to see +me. + +"He told me he had run across Gustav Jerbette's unpublished memoirs in +the course of his researches. And Jerbette, in describing how he came to +paint 'Elaine Duchard's Escape,' says the figure in the time mirror on +which you concentrated--the man with the horse pistol--was the first +Elaine Duchard's lover, Jacques Rombeau. + +"Jerbette says Rombeau came to him with a strange assignment. First he +took him to the largest glass works in Paris and made him wait while the +craftsmen manufactured a special mirror to his order. Then Rombeau led +the way to an abandoned chateau a few miles out of Paris. Elaine Duchard +lay hidden on the top floor, desperately ill. + +"Jerbette's job was to paint a picture of the girl and a strange man, as +described to him by Rombeau. Both wore clothes of a different type than +any then known, and were in strange surroundings. The job done, Rombeau +dismissed the painter. Later, Jerbette says he heard that the two lovers +were surprised and murdered by Baron Morriere and his men, although the +baron himself was killed in the fight. + +"All this so intrigued Jerbette that he promptly painted his famous +'Elaine Duchard's Escape,' showing the lovers getting away from the +baron's chateau." + +Mark frowned. Shook his head. + +"I see how you think it ties in, Professor," he admitted, "but there are +too many loopholes." + +The savant smiled. + +"Yes, there are loopholes," he agreed, "but I do not think there are too +many. + +"The strange portrait Jerbette painted unfortunately never turned up +again. It, of course, would be final proof. For if we found a picture of +you--Mark Carter--and Elaine, in a twentieth century scene and wearing +modern clothes, yet painted by Gustav Jerbette, there could be no doubt +that your brain--cloaked in Jacques Rombeau's body--did the job. + +"However, Jerbette does leave a very accurate description of the mirror +Rombeau had made. And there is no doubt in my mind that it is the same +one Vance gave to Elaine." + +"But it's impossible!" Mark protested. "I couldn't have made a time +mirror with the primitive equipment of that era--" + +"I believe you could. Our work in discovering the formula for the one I +made gave you a sufficient understanding of the device's fundamentals to +construct a crude model." + +"But a terrific bolt of electricity was required, professor. And there +was no electrical equipment in those days. It's a complete anachronism." + + * * * * * + +"You think so?" The old scientist smiled. "Well, I do not wonder. You +convinced Jerbette that Jacques Rombeau was stark, raving mad." + +"You mean--" + +"What other conclusion could any sane mortal draw from the actions of a +man who insisted on defying God and the elements by exposing great +circular trays of molten glass on top of the highest tower in all Paris +during the worst electrical storm in years, until finally one of them +was struck by lightning?" + +Mark stared open-mouthed. Again he and the bewildered Elaine exchanged +glances. And instinctively their hands reached out across the aisle, to +join in love's tender clasp. The happiness of utter confidence and peace +glowed in their eyes. + +Then, still holding the girl's hand, Mark turned back to the professor. +His brows knitted with incredulity. + +"My God!" he exclaimed half to himself. "Could it be possible? Could I +have done such a thing?" + +Abruptly, he halted. + +"No!" he clipped decisively. "There are other angles to be considered. +Vance, for instance. You say he went with me through the time mirror--" + +"Yes." The savant nodded slowly. "That, Mark, is the final proof. The +evidence beyond contradiction. The thing that convinces me--" + +"Proof? Evidence? I don't get it." + +"You will recall, Mark, that Jerbette's memoirs said Baron Morriere was +killed in that final battle with Jacques Rombeau?" + +"Yes. Of course. What's that got to do with it?" + +The scientist leveled a trembling finger at the window across the room, +through which the sunlight still streamed. Never had he been more +impressive. Solemn conviction gleamed in his blue eyes. + +"Not five minutes before you and Elaine aroused from your state of +suspended animation," he said, "Adrian Vance--still in a coma--sprang +from his bed to that window and hurled himself to his death!" + +Horror widened the two young people's eyes. Elaine's face was pale. + +But understanding now was flooding through Mark. He nodded slowly. + +"You can't change history!" he said. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Mirror, by Clark South + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME MIRROR *** + +***** This file should be named 32670.txt or 32670.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/7/32670/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/32670.zip b/32670.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cac8c51 --- /dev/null +++ b/32670.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3fd991c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #32670 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32670) |
