PAGE 6
The Invisible Ray
by
Mr. Haswell, who caught the words eagerly, brightened visibly, and the doctor passed out. Kennedy resumed his description of the supposed wireless picture apparatus which was to revolutionise the newspaper, the theatre, and daily life in general. The old man did not seem enthusiastic and turned to his daughter with some remark.
“Just at present,” commented the daughter, with an air of finality, “the only thing my father is much interested in is a way in which to recover his sight without an operation. He has just had a rather unpleasant experience with one inventor. I think it will be some time before he cares to embark in any other such schemes.
Kennedy and I excused ourselves with appropriate remarks of disappointment. From his preoccupied manner it was impossible for me to guess whether Craig had accomplished his purpose or not.
“Let us drop in on Dr. Burnham since we are over here,” he said when we had reached the street. “I have some questions to ask him.”
The former physician of Mr. Haswell lived not very far from the house we had just left. He appeared a little surprised to see us so soon, but very interested in what had taken place.
“Who is this Dr. Scott?” asked Craig when we were seated in the comfortable leather chairs of the old-fashioned consulting-room.
“Really, I know no more about him than you do,” replied Burnham. I thought I detected a little of professional jealousy in his tone, though he went on frankly enough, “I have made inquiries and I can find out nothing except that he is supposed to be a graduate of some Western medical school and came to this city only a short time ago. He has hired a small office in a new building devoted entirely to doctors and they tell me that he is an eye and ear specialist, though I cannot see that he has any practice. Beyond that I know nothing about him.”
“Your friend Prescott interests me, too,” remarked Kennedy, changing the subject quickly.
“Oh, he is no friend of mine,” returned the doctor, fumbling in a drawer of his desk. “But I think I have one of his cards here which he gave me when we were introduced some time ago at Mr. Haswell’s. I should think it would be worth while to see him. Although he has no use for me because I have neither money nor influence, still you might take this card. Tell him you are from the university, that I have interested you in him, that you know a trustee with money to invest – anything you like that is plausible. When are you going to see him?”
“The first thing in the morning,” replied Kennedy. “After I have seen him I shall drop in for another chat with you. Will you be here?”
The doctor promised, and we took our departure.
Prescott’s laboratory, which we found the next day from the address on the card, proved to be situated in one of the streets near the waterfront under the bridge approach, where the factories and warehouses clustered thickly. It was with a great deal of anticipation of seeing something happen that we threaded our way through the maze of streets with the cobweb structure of the bridge carrying its endless succession of cars arching high over our heads. We had nearly reached the place when Kennedy paused and pulled out two pairs of glasses, those huge round tortoiseshell affairs.
“You needn’t mind these, Walter,” he explained. “They are only plain glass, that is, not ground. You can see through them as well as through air. We must be careful not to excite suspicion. Perhaps a disguise might have been better, but I think this will=20do. There they add at least a decade to your age. If you could see yourself you wouldn’t speak to your reflection. You look as scholarly as a Chinese mandarin. Remember, let me do the talking and do just as I do.”