The switch was opened and the ray died out. Before them was a huge mound where a moment before had been a hole. "You see, Carnes," said Dr. Bird with a wan smile. "I made him bore his own hole, as I promised." "I saw it, but I don't understand. How did you do it?" "Magnetism. Rays of the cathode type are deflected from their course by a magnet. His ray proved unusually susceptible, and I drew it toward a huge electro-magnet which I improvised. When the magnet was destroyed, the ray dropped back ... to its original ... direction. That's the end ... of Saranoff. That is ... I hope ... it is." Dr. Bird's voice had grown slower and less distinct as he talked. As he said the last words, he slumped gently to the ground. Carnes sprang forward with a cry of alarm and bent over him. "What's the matter, Doctor?" he demanded anxiously, shaking the scientist. Dr. Bird rallied for a moment. "Sleep, old dear," he murmured. "Four days--no sleep. Go 'way, I'm ... going ... to ... sleep...." [Illustration: Advertisement] The Exile of Time PART TWO OF A FOUR-PART NOVEL _By Ray Cummings_ WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE [Illustration: Where nothing had been stood a cage.] [Sidenote: Young lovers of three eras are swept down the torrent of the sinister cripple Tugh's frightful vengeance.] "Let me out! Let me out!" came the cry. "What's that, Larry? Listen!" I said to my companion. We stopped in the street. We had heard a girl's scream: then her frantic, muffled words to attract our attention. Then we saw her white face at the basement window. It was on the night of June 8-9, 1950, when I was walking with my friend Larry Gregory through Patton Place in New York City. My name is George Rankin. In a small, deserted house we found the strange girl; brought her out; took her away in a taxi to an alienist for examination. We thought she might be demented--this strangely beautiful girl, in a long white satin dress with a powdered white wig, and a black beauty patch on her cheek--for she told us that the deserted house had just a few minutes before been her house; and though we assured her this was the summer of 1935, she told us her name was Mistress Mary Atwood, that her father was Major Atwood of General Washington's staff, and that she had just now come from the year 1777! We took her to my friend Dr. Alten and she told her strange story. A cage, like a room of shining metal bars, had materialized in her garden. A great mechanical monster--a thing of metal, ten feet tall and fashioned in the guise of a man--had captured her. She was whirled away into the future, in the cage; then she was released, the cage had vanished, and Larry and I had passed by the house and rescued her. * * * * *