"
"What!"
"It is a natural bloom," replied my acquaintance, fixing his
penetrating gaze upon me. "By a perfectly simple process
invented by the cleverest chemist of his age it had been reduced
to this gem-like state while retaining unimpaired every one of
its natural beauties, every shade of its natural colour. You are
incredulous?"
"On the contrary," I replied, "having examined it through a
magnifying glass I had already assured myself that no human hand
had fashioned it. You arouse my curiosity intensely. Such a
process, with its endless possibilities, should be worth a
fortune to the inventor."
The stranger nodded grimly and again concealed the rose in his
pocket.
"You are right," he said; "and the secret died with the man who
discovered it--in the great explosion at the Vortex Works in
1917. You recall it? The T.N.T. factory? It shook all London,
and fragments were cast into three counties."
"I recall it perfectly well."
"You remember also the death of Dr. Kreener, the chief chemist?
He died in an endeavour to save some of the workpeople."
"I remember."
"He was the inventor of the process, but it was never put upon
the market. He was a singular man, sir; as was once said of
him--'A Don Juan of science.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257