With every pulse of time the whirr-r-r-r and the whizz-z-z-z-z of that soulless, bloodless executioner seemed to increase. The invisible avenger flew on its tireless wings with vindictive glee. The air of the room was white-hot. There was an ominous snapping and crackling in and above and around.
There was now but a tiny, shapeless mass of cosmic matter flying in and out through floor and ceiling. There was but the faint, shadowy rim of a phantom wheel.
The light was blinding. The crackling of the atmosphere was maddening.
Only a faint, misty line now marked the path of the departing soul.
During these supreme moments Bill Vanderhook stood like a statue, tense, rigid, implacable. And his wife, the erring Imogene, crumpled and unconscious, overspread the cask of wire.
The dire noises increased. They became more terrible than the ghastly exhibit; and the heat--it was stifling, consuming; and the light--it was paralyzing. What could it mean? The chemist himself was puzzled. He had not anticipated these very unusual phenomena. He did not, however, cease to press the button.
But that strange, unearthly noise, heat and glare increased. They deepened and widened until, as Bill said afterwards, it seemed like a legion of devils had come to escort the doomed to his final abode in chaos.
Now, everywhere, above, below, and roundabout, there was a twisting, grinding roar, like that within the cylinder of a cyclone. All in an instant--to the man at the lever--his house, the world, the universe, seemed to have been swallowed up.
An explosion, long, loud and terrific, shook the Vanderhook habitation, from the foundation stones to the mansard roof.
And after this was silence, thick, oppressive, damp, dead and awesome.
A tiny, black, glistening, motionless monster stood between a man and a woman. There were now but two people in the laboratory--the Honorable William K. Vanderhook and his beautiful wife. The one was flushed with victory, the other was pallid with perplexity and fear.
In another instant our hero was eagerly bending over the instrument of his revenge. In one hand he held a tiny spoon, in the other a small vial upon which was a freshly printed label.
It was with infinite care that he scraped the spoon along the rim of the now stilled and silent cylinder. It was with unmeasured caution and infinite pride that he scraped up three great drops of clear, shining water and transferred them to the yawning mouth of the vial.