The Time Mirror Part 4

"I want you to move this stick in front of that gla.s.s," 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 gla.s.s.

"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-gla.s.s 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! Gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s, 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 gla.s.s. Then took up a position behind a large gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ton on the control board of the apparatus behind which they stood. Leaned forward eagerly, peering through the gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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' gla.s.s," he explained. "It permits vision in only one direction." Then the humor went out of his voice. "We may thank G.o.d 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-gla.s.s, 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 l.u.s.t 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."