mounted on a movable platform. It displayed a number of huge lenses, and there were tiny lamps here and there in the amazing mechanism, some of them lighted.
A most intricate switchboard was not the least curious feature of this baffling machine. Farther beyond, suspended from the glass ceiling, hung what I took to be the largest arc lamp I had ever seen in my life. But although it was alight, it suffused only a dim, purple glow, contributing little to the general illumination.
Half hidden from my point of view stood a long glass table (or a table composed of the same material as the ceiling and the walls) upon which was grouped the most singular collection of instruments and appliances I had ever seen, or even imagined.
Huge glass vessels containing fluids of diverse colours, masses of twisted tubing, little points of fire, and a thing like an Egyptian harp, the strings of which seemed to be composed of streaks of light which wavered and constantly changed colour, emitting a ceaseless crackling sound...
I closed my eyes for a moment. My head was aching furiously, and my mouth so parched that it caused me constantly to cough, every cough producing excruciating pain.
Then I opened my eyes again. But the insane apartment remained. I sat up and swung my feet to the floor.
The covering had the feeling of rubber, as its appearance indicated. My new viewpoint brought other objects within focus. In a white metal rack was ranged a series of vessels resembling test tubes. The smallest was perhaps a foot high, and from this the others graduated like the pipes of an organ, creating an impression in my mind of something seen through a powerful lens.
Each tube was about half filled with some sort of thick fluid, and this, from vessel to vessel, passed through shades from deepest ruby to delicate rose pink.
I stood up.
And now I could see the whole of that fabulous room. I perceived that it was a kind of laboratory—containing not one instrument nor one system of lighting with which I was acquainted!
Other items of its equipment now became visible, and I realized that a continuous throbbing characterized the whole place. Some powerful plant was at work. This throbbing, which was more felt than heard, and the crackling of those changing rays, alone disturbed the silence.
Still doubting if I really lived, if I had been rescued from the thug, I asked myself—assuming it to be so—who was my rescuer, and to what strange sanctuary had he brought me?
No human figure was visible.
And now I observed a minor but a curious point: the rubber couch upon which I had been lying was placed in a corner. And upon the floor-covering were two black lines forming a right angle. Its ends, touching the walls, made a perfect square—in which I stood.
I looked about that cavernous place, pervaded by a sort of violent light, and I realized that certain pieces of apparatus, and certain tables, were surrounded by similar black marks upon the floor.
Apparently there was no door, nor could I find anything resembling a bell. If this were not mirage—or death—what was this place in which I found myself; and why was I there alone?
I set out to explore.
One step forward I made, and had essayed a second, when I recall uttering a loud cry.
As my foot crossed the black mark on the floor, a shock ran through my body which numbed my muscles! I dropped to my knees, looking about me—perhaps, had there been any to see, as caged animals glare from their cages.
What did it mean? That some impassable barrier hedged me in!
The shock had served a double purpose: it had frightened me intensely—this I confess without hesitation; but as I got to my feet again, I knew that also it had revived that cold, murderous rage which had governed my mind up to the moment that the Dacoit had buried his fingers in my throat.
“Where the devil am I?” I said aloud; “and what am I doing here?”
I sprang forward... and fell back as though a cunning opponent had
A most intricate switchboard was not the least curious feature of this baffling machine. Farther beyond, suspended from the glass ceiling, hung what I took to be the largest arc lamp I had ever seen in my life. But although it was alight, it suffused only a dim, purple glow, contributing little to the general illumination.
Half hidden from my point of view stood a long glass table (or a table composed of the same material as the ceiling and the walls) upon which was grouped the most singular collection of instruments and appliances I had ever seen, or even imagined.
Huge glass vessels containing fluids of diverse colours, masses of twisted tubing, little points of fire, and a thing like an Egyptian harp, the strings of which seemed to be composed of streaks of light which wavered and constantly changed colour, emitting a ceaseless crackling sound...
I closed my eyes for a moment. My head was aching furiously, and my mouth so parched that it caused me constantly to cough, every cough producing excruciating pain.
Then I opened my eyes again. But the insane apartment remained. I sat up and swung my feet to the floor.
The covering had the feeling of rubber, as its appearance indicated. My new viewpoint brought other objects within focus. In a white metal rack was ranged a series of vessels resembling test tubes. The smallest was perhaps a foot high, and from this the others graduated like the pipes of an organ, creating an impression in my mind of something seen through a powerful lens.
Each tube was about half filled with some sort of thick fluid, and this, from vessel to vessel, passed through shades from deepest ruby to delicate rose pink.
I stood up.
And now I could see the whole of that fabulous room. I perceived that it was a kind of laboratory—containing not one instrument nor one system of lighting with which I was acquainted!
Other items of its equipment now became visible, and I realized that a continuous throbbing characterized the whole place. Some powerful plant was at work. This throbbing, which was more felt than heard, and the crackling of those changing rays, alone disturbed the silence.
Still doubting if I really lived, if I had been rescued from the thug, I asked myself—assuming it to be so—who was my rescuer, and to what strange sanctuary had he brought me?
No human figure was visible.
And now I observed a minor but a curious point: the rubber couch upon which I had been lying was placed in a corner. And upon the floor-covering were two black lines forming a right angle. Its ends, touching the walls, made a perfect square—in which I stood.
I looked about that cavernous place, pervaded by a sort of violent light, and I realized that certain pieces of apparatus, and certain tables, were surrounded by similar black marks upon the floor.
Apparently there was no door, nor could I find anything resembling a bell. If this were not mirage—or death—what was this place in which I found myself; and why was I there alone?
I set out to explore.
One step forward I made, and had essayed a second, when I recall uttering a loud cry.
As my foot crossed the black mark on the floor, a shock ran through my body which numbed my muscles! I dropped to my knees, looking about me—perhaps, had there been any to see, as caged animals glare from their cages.
What did it mean? That some impassable barrier hedged me in!
The shock had served a double purpose: it had frightened me intensely—this I confess without hesitation; but as I got to my feet again, I knew that also it had revived that cold, murderous rage which had governed my mind up to the moment that the Dacoit had buried his fingers in my throat.
“Where the devil am I?” I said aloud; “and what am I doing here?”
I sprang forward... and fell back as though a cunning opponent had
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