"I fear I make too much sense, Adrian Vance. I wish I could disbelieve my own mind. But I cannot. I know that you have found a way to pass the barrier between space and time. I know that you have projected Elaine's mind into the past, leaving her body behind in a state of suspended animation." "And we want her back, Vance," Mark broke in. "We want her back right now!" He was moving forward, a juggernaut of menace, clenched fists half-raised. "Keep away from me!" the antiquarian shrilled. His greasy face was paste-colored with terror. "Keep away! Don't touch me!" The other caught his shoulders. Shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. "Tell us!" he thundered. "Tell us how to bring her back!" "I don't know what you're talking about! There wasn't anything wrong with the mirror I sent Elaine!" "Tell us--" The professor caught Mark's arm. "Stop!" he begged. "Do not hurt him. There is a better way." "A better way? What do you mean?" The scientist turned to Vance. "I am sure you are telling the truth," he said. "I feel certain the mirror is harmless." His tone was silky. A thin smile rippled across his aged face. He was like a cat playing with a mouse. "Only our friend, young Mr. Carter, remains to be convinced," he went on. "However, we shall have no difficulty in proving him wrong." Adrian Vance stared at the professor in terrified fascination. His lips moved, but no words came. The savant hurried across to an ancient desk which stood in one corner. Rummaged through it. Came back with a big sheet of heavy paper. "Over there," said the professor--gesturing toward the spot where the mirror still stood upon the easel, again shrouded by the tablecloth--"is the glass that has caused all the trouble." He smiled sympathetically at Vance. "All so unnecessary, too, Adrian!" "Unnecessary?" "Of course. We shall demonstrate to Mark right now that it is not a means of time travel." "Demonstrate?" Vance was shaking again. "How?" * * * * * Again the professor smiled. "Oh, very simply. I have here"--he held up the heavy paper--"a lithographed portrait of the late General George A. Custer. You will recall he was killed by Indians at the battle of Little Big Horn--popularly known as Custer's last stand." Vance's teeth suddenly were chattering. "We shall hang this picture on your chest, Adrian," Professor Duchard went on. "Then we shall stand you in front of that mirror and give you a chance to concentrate on the reflection." He chuckled softly. "Of course, since the mirror has nothing to do with time travel, you need have no fear of your mind leaving your body and going back to that of General Custer, and death in a Sioux massacre--" Without warning, Vance erupted into action. As if by magic, the panic fled his face. His features contorted with hate. His eyes suddenly were glistening pinpoints of jet.