* *

It was only by chance that Jim had failed to be involved in the
hideous catastrophe that had stamped the old farmhouse with the name
of "Vanishing Place" whenever the natives spoke of it.

"Two Killed in Laboratory Explosion!" was the heading in the next
morning's paper which gave Jim his first intimation of the accident.
He had been to Columbia overnight to look up a new publication that
contained an article on the hydrogen spectrum.

It was only a long paragraph, and the names of Parrish and Tode meant
nothing to the man who had written it. But Jim had taken train to
Hempstead, taxied to the flying fields, and essayed his first plane
ride to Peconic Bay, in the charge of a pilot.

A group of natives, three newspaper men and a Suffolk County policeman
were near the spot where the farmhouse had been--near the spot, not on
it.

For where the farmhouse had been was a great pool of stagnant water,
black as ink, covering an expanse of perhaps three-quarters of an
acre.

"No, sir, there was no explosion," said the officer. "At least, none
of these fellows heard anything. Just a--you tell the Professor, Mr.
Lumm."

"It was about half-past eight last night, Mr. Dent," said Andrew Lumm,
who kept the village store a mile away. "Ground seemed to rock.
Earthquake, I says to myself, holdin' on to the door. But it wasn't no
earthquake. Too gentle for that. Nothin' broke, not even a plate. Then
I says to Mrs. Lumm, 'They're gone, poor fellers, and I allus knowed
it would be that way. It's lucky young Mr. Dent went out last night on
the 7.15.'

"We hurried here, but there wasn't no sign of the place, jest a hole
on the ground with a sort of sticky mud in it. Water's been fillin' in
since then, but I guess it's reached its level now. They jest blowed
themselves to bits, Mr. Dent."

"Tell him about the vi'let light, Andy," put in one of the
bystanders.

"Yeah, like a pillar of vi'let fire that were, Mr. Dent. We seed it
through the trees, but by the time we got here it was 'most gone.
Gosh, that throwed a scare into some of us!"

"It was Mr. Tode's soul a-burnin'," squeaked Granpop Dawes. "I allus
said that feller'd come to no good end."

The group shook their heads and remained silent. It was clear that, if
they did not share Granpop Dawes's opinion, at least they considered
it not without the bounds of plausibility. Lucius Tode had created a
bad impression among the natives.

* * *