"They are, alas, indestructible," he heard the voice continue, with its
even, metallic ring.

"Indestructible," Laidlaw repeated mechanically, hardly knowing what he
was saying.

Again a silence of several minutes passed, during which, with a creeping
cold about his heart, he stood and stared into the eyes of the man he
had known and loved so long--aye, and worshipped, too; the man who had
first opened his own eyes when they were blind, and had led him to the
gates of knowledge, and no little distance along the difficult path
beyond; the man who, in another direction, had passed on the strength of
his faith into the hearts of thousands by his books.

"I may see them?" he asked at last, in a low voice he hardly recognized
as his own. "You will let me know--their message?"

Professor Ebor kept his eyes fixedly upon his assistant's face as he
answered, with a smile that was more like the grin of death than a
living human smile.

"When I am gone," he whispered; "when I have passed away. Then you
shall find them and read the translation I have made. And then, too, in
your turn, you must try, with the latest resources of science at your
disposal to aid you, to compass their utter destruction." He paused
a moment, and his face grew pale as the face of a corpse. "Until
that time," he added presently, without looking up, "I must ask
you not to refer to the subject again--and to keep my confidence
meanwhile--_ab--so--lute--ly_."