"How do you know? Who's traveled through time and then come back to say we can't change events?" "You do not understand--" "And I don't care!" the younger man flared. "I may fail--but I'm going to try! I'm not going to sit here, waiting for Elaine to die--" "But you would have no memory of your life in this century! Remember what Vance said--" "Right. That's the one thing that might stop me. I'm counting on you to take care of it, though. Is there anything you can do?" There was a long moment of tension-studded silence. Then: "Perhaps there is. I have been working on equipment to prevent fighter pilots 'blacking out' during power dives, and I believe there is a relationship between time travel and terrific speeds in space. It is possible that I could insulate you--" "That's all I need, then. Make me a mirror, professor, and something to insulate me--" "But you have no focal point! You might go through time to a place a thousand miles and a thousand years from where Elaine is captive--" Mark laughed harshly. "Wrong, professor! I've got the most accurate focal point in the world. Or I will have--" "The most accurate--? What do you mean?" The old man's face was bewildered. "I'll have the same focal point Elaine had, sir: Gustav Jerbette's painting, 'Elaine Duchard's Escape'." Again that laugh. "I'm going now to steal it from Adrian Vance!" The house of Adrian Vance was one befitting a professional dealer in antiquities. It set far back from the street, towering against the sky like the black bulk of a medieval castle. A high iron fence surrounded it. At this moment Mark Carter stood surveying the estate from the shelter of a nearby clump of trees. "It's like a damned fortress!" he muttered to himself. "He's taking no chances on anyone getting in." * * * * * Turning, then, he gripped a branch of the nearest tree. Swung up into it. Clambered out, cat-like, until he lay beyond the fence and above the grounds of Vance's home. The limb bowed under his weight as he proceeded until at last he was able to drop lightly to the ground. One hazard passed! "And with no worries about that fence being wired for an alarm system, either!" he told himself triumphantly. He hurried toward the house, thankful for the darkness of the night. On one side of the big building lay a terrace. French windows opened onto it. Like a wraith in the night, taking advantage of every shrub and patch of shadow, Mark crept close to the casements. They were locked. The trespasser stripped off his coat. Wrapped it around his hand, a bulky, protective wad of cloth covering the flesh. Then, as silently as possible, he pressed on one of the small panes of glass close beside the lock. Harder ... harder ... harder.... With a faint tinkle of falling glass, the pane gave way.