His gesture waved away that part of the subject. He rose to his feet. "I have particularized even more than I intended, Rob. Let me say now, only that the pellets in this little vial contain a chemical which acts upon the human organism in the way I have pictured. It alters the fundamental vibration upon which this substance--these bones, this flesh we call a body--this substance of my being, is built. "Just a moment more, Rob, then you shall question me all you like. So much for the transmutation of organic substance. Inorganic substance--that table, my shirt, that glass of water--theoretically all of them could be transmuted as well. I have not, however, practically been able to accomplish that. But I have--invented, if you like, an inorganic substance which I can transmute. It is nameless; it is this." He was coatless, and now he stripped off his white linen shirt. Like a bathing suit, he had on a low-cut, tight-fitting garment. It seemed a fabric thin as silk, yet I guessed that it was metallic, or akin to metal. A dull putty-color, but where the light struck it there was a gleam, a glow as of iridescence. "This substance," he added, "I can--take with me." He indicated the wires, the battery if such it were. "By momentarily charging it, Rob, with the current I have stored here. It is not electrical--though related to it of course--everything is--our very bodies themselves--a mere form of what we call electricity." He was disrobing; the gleaming garment fitted him from shoulder to thigh. About his waist was a belt with pouches; in the pouches small objects all of this same putty-colored substance. I burst out, "This is all very well. But how--how will you get back?" "The effect will wear off," he answered. "The tendency of all matter, Rob, is to return to its original state. I conceive also that in the case of the human organism, the mind--the will--to some extent may control it. Indeed I am not altogether sure but that the mind, properly developed, might control the entire transmutation. Perhaps in this secondary state, it can. I am leaving that to chance, to experimentation." I said, "How long will you be gone?" He considered that gravely. "Literally, Rob, there is no answer to that--but I know what you mean, of course. I may undergo a mental experience that will seem a day, a week, a month--measured by our present standards. But to you, sitting here waiting for me--" He shrugged. "By that clock there, an hour perhaps. Or five hours--I hope no more." My mind was groping with all that he had said. I was confused. There was so much that I no more than vaguely half understood; so much that seemed just beyond the grasp of my comprehension. I seemed to have a thousand questions I would ask, yet scarce could I frame one of them intelligently. I said finally: "You say you may be gone what will seem a day, yet by our clock here it will be only a few hours. This--This other state of existence then moves through time faster?"