Part 2 (1/2)

”You need not worry any more,” I sought to rea.s.sure her. ”I fancy Mr.

Croft is able to take care of himself.”

And, oddly enough, I found myself believing my own words as I went down the steps and turned toward my own home to get what sleep I could--since, to tell the truth, I felt utterly exhausted after my efforts to call Jason Croft back from--the planet of a distant sun.

2. A COUNTRY IN THE CLOUDS

And yet when I woke in the morning and went about my duties at the asylum, I confess the events of the night before seemed rather unreal.

I began to half fancy myself the victim of some sort of hoax. I did not doubt that Croft had been up to some psychic experiment when his old servant, Mrs. Goss, had become alarmed and brought me into the situation. But--I felt inclined to believe that after I had waked him from his self-induced trance he had deliberately turned the conversation into a channel which would give me a mental jolt before he had calmly gone back to sleep.

I knew something of the occult, of course, but I was hardly ready to credit the rather lurid statement he had made. Before noon I was smiling at myself, and determining to keep my appointment with him for the afternoon, and show him from the start that I was not so complete a fool as I had seemed.

Hence it was with a resolve not to be swept off my feet by any unusual fabrication of his devising that I approached his house at about three o'clock and turned in from the street to his porch.

He sat there, in a wicker chair, smoking an excellent cigar. No doubt but he had recovered completely from the state in which I had beheld him first. He rose as I mounted the steps and put out a hand. ”Ah, Dr.

Murray,” he greeted me with a smile. ”I have been waiting your coming.

Let me offer you a chair and a smoke while we talk.”

We shook hands, and then I sat down and lighted the mate of the cigar Croft held between his strong, even teeth. Then, as I threw away the match, I looked straight into his eyes. And, believe me or not, it was as though the man read my thoughts.

He shook his head. ”I really told you the truth, Murray, you know,” he said.

”About--Palos?” I smiled.

He nodded. ”Yes, I was really there, and--I went back after we had our talk.”

”Rather quick work,” I remarked, and puffed out some smoke. ”Have you figured out how long it takes even light to reach the earth from that distant star, Mr. Croft?”

”Light?” He half-knit his brows, then suddenly laughed without sound.

”Oh, I see--you refer to the equation of time?”

”Well, yes. The distance is considerable, as you must admit.”

He shook his head. ”How long does it take you to think of Palos--of Sirius?” he asked.

”Not long,” I replied.

He leaned back in his seat. ”Murray,” he went on, staring straight before him, ”time is but the measure of consciousness. Outside the atmospheric envelopes of the planets--outside the limit of, well--say--human thought--time ceases to exist. And--if between the planets there is no time beyond the depths of their surrounding atmosphere--how long will it take to go from here to there?”

I stared. His statement was startling, at least.

”You mean that time is a mental conception?” I managed at last.

”Time is a mental measure of a span of eternity,” he said slowly.

”Past planetary atmospheres, eternity alone exists. In eternity there is no time. Hence, I cannot use what _is not_, either in going to or returning from that planet I have named. You admit you can think instantly of Palos. I allege that I can _think_ myself, carry my astral consciousness instantly to Palos. Do you see?”