As it lay on the table now its top was partly open. The inside was brightly lighted by a small storage battery and electric globe, fastened to the side. Near the bottom of the bag was a tiny wire rack, held suspended about an inch from the bottom by transverse wires to the sides. The inside of the bag was lined with black plush. On an arm of the Doctor's chair lay two white tin boxes three or four inches square. In his hand he held an opened envelope and several letter pages. "A little more than five years ago to-night, my friends," he began slowly, "we sat in this room with that"--he indicated the ring--"under very different circumstances." After a moment, he went on: "I think I am right when I say that for five years the thought uppermost in our minds has always been that ring and what is going on within one of its atoms." "You bet," said the Very Young Man. "For five years now we have had the ring watched," continued the Doctor, "but Rogers has never returned." "You asked us here to-night because you had something special to tell us," began the Very Young Man, with a questioning look at the valise and the ring. The Doctor smiled. "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't mean to be aggravating." "Go ahead in your own way, Frank," the Big Business Man put in. "We'll wait if we have to." The Doctor glanced at the papers in his hand; he had just taken them from the envelope. "You are consumed with curiosity, naturally, to know what I have to say--why I have brought the ring here to-night. Gentlemen, you have had to restrain that curiosity less than five minutes; I have had a far greater curiosity to endure--and restrain--for over five years. "When Rogers left us on his last journey into the ring, he gave into my keeping, unknown to you, this envelope." The Doctor held it up. "He made me swear I would keep its existence secret from every living being, until the date marked upon it, at which time, in the event of his not having returned, it was to be opened. Look at it." The Doctor laid the envelope on the table. "It is inscribed, as you see, 'To be opened by Dr. Frank Adams at 8 P. M. on September 4th, 1923.' For five years, gentlemen, I kept that envelope, knowing nothing of its contents and waiting for the moment when I might, with honor, open it. The struggle has been a hard one. Many times I have almost been able to persuade myself, in justice to our friend's safety--his very life, probably--that it would be best to disregard his instructions. But I did not; I waited until the date set and then, a little more than a month ago, alone in my office, I opened the envelope." The Doctor leaned forward in his chair and shuffled the papers he held in his hand. His three friends sat tense, waiting.