very morning, as it seemed to him? The difference stared him in the face.
There was still an emblem above the southern arch. That morning it had been the ominous, sword-crossed Red Bell. Now it was a shield with the city colors, pale yellow and blue; above it glowed a huge 'Welcome' and the letters 'A. A. M. W.' beneath it the one word 'TRUTH.'
'Associated Advertising Men of the World,' he muttered half aloud, 'and their convention was here-I mean is here. Yes, we're back in our own century again.'
Half a block farther they all walked, in the silence of prisoners too suddenly released to believe their own good fortune. Then Trenmore abruptly halted. Bertram and Miss Skidoo coming up, they all stood grouped in the friendly shadow of an awning.
'Viola,' exclaimed Trenmore, 'tell me the facts and don't spare me! Was that thing you said to the policemen back there-was it really so?'
Her eyes opened wide. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean that if I've been crazy, dreaming-'
'Then we've all been dreaming together,' broke in Drayton soberly. 'I was never more astounded in my life than when that gorgeous temple suddenly dissolved, melted, and reformed as the old familiar public buildings. It's lucky for us that there were only a few people passing through at the time. We must have dropped into the scene like figures in one of these faked movie reels. It's a wonder no one noticed!'
'An' me,' put in Bertram. 'I've been talkin' my head off tryin' to explain to the kid here how she's got back about two hundred years before she was born. I know it by that 'Welcoming Advertising Men' thing over the city hall entrance. 'Truth.' it says under it. Gee, it's mighty hard to make some folks believe the truth!'
'Miss Skidoo!' ejaculated Terence. Again he brushed his eyes with his hand, staring blankly at that bewildered but defiant young lady.
'Yes,' she retorted sharply, 'and you can't kid me, neither! Sump'n certainly happened, but it couldn't be what Bert said. Why, I know this place where we're standing like it was my own kitchen!'
There she stood, certainly, green hat, silk sweater, and all. The yellow button, insignia of the enslaved Numbers of a future age, glared like a nightmare eye from her lapel. Yet how, granting that all the rest was so-that they had actually lived through some forty-eight hours in a century yet unborn-how had she survived the oblivion which had swallowed her fellow citizens? Servants, Superlatives, police, Numbers, and all had dissolved and vanished. But No. 23000 had made the two-century jump unscathed. Could it be that future, past, and present were all one, as he had once read in some book, tossed aside after ten minutes of incredulous attention?
'Let's get home,' exclaimed Trenmore abruptly. 'I feel my reason is slipping. And let's walk, for it's not far and 'tis agreeable to be loose in a sane world again. At least,' Terry corrected himself after a moment's sober reflection, 'a comparatively sane world. Yes, let's be moving, friends, for I'm thinking we need a good meal and a night's sleep to save our own sanity!'
CHAPTER 21: THE LAST OF THE GRAY DUST
AT ten-thirty, five tired and hungry people ascended the steps of No. 17 Walnut Street and rang the bell. It was not immediately answered. Then Drayton noticed that the door was not latched. They all entered and became aware that in the library on the right something unusual was going on. A gurgling, choking noise was punctuated by several thumps, followed by the crash of furniture violently overthrown.
Trenmore was first at the door. He flung it open and rushed inside. The room seemed empty. As the noises continued, however, Trenmore passed around the big reading table and stooping over plucked his man, Martin, from the prostrate body of an unknown antagonist. He did it with the air of one who separates his bull pup from the mangled corpse of the neighbor's Pomeranian. With a sad, disgusted face Terry glanced from the pugnacious one to the figure on the floor.
'Ah now, boy,' he demanded, 'are you not ashamed to be choking a man old enough to be your own grand- dad?' Then he dropped Martin, with an exclamation. 'Sure, 'tis my old friend the little collector man!'
'Mr. Trenmore,' began Martin in excited self-defense, 'he come in here and he-'
'Never mind what he did till I count what's left of the pieces, my boy. I take back what I said, though. Be he alive or dead, the old rascal's got no more than was coming to him.'
Kneeling down, while the rest gathered in an interested group, he put his hand to the man's heart. He was an elderly, smooth-shaven, gray-haired person, with sharp, clean-cut features. The forehead was high and sloping, the mouth thin and tight-pressed even in unconsciousness. He was well dressed, and a gold pince-nez lay on the floor near by, miraculously unbroken.
'He's all right,' announced Trenmore. 'Martin, a drop of liquor now and we'll have the old scoundrel up and able for an explanation.'
His prophecy proved correct. Five minutes later the gray-haired collector sat in an armchair, shaken but able to talk and be talked to.
'And now,' said Trenmore, 'I'll ask you, Martin, to tell your share in this, and then you'll go out and you'll get everything in the house that is eatable and you'll set it out in the dining room, for it's starved to death we are, every one of us.'
'Yes, Mr. Trenmore, I'll tend to it. This old man broke in on me about half an hour ago. He asked for you, Sir. I told him you'd been out since this morning-'
'This morning!' The exclamation broke from three pairs of lips simultaneously. Martin stared.
'Never mind,' said Terry hastily. 'And then?'
'He wanted to know where you were. I said I didn't know, as you didn't say anything to me. And then we got talking and-I'm sorry, sir-but I let out that it seemed mighty queer, your going that way. And then he asked me questions about where I'd last seen you and all that. I told him about finding this gray stuff-it's wrapped up in that newspaper on the table, sir-and not knowing what it was or whether you wanted it kept or thrown out.
'And then-honest, I don't know how he did it, but he got me to show it to him. I brought it in here. And then he said I'd never see you again, and would I sell him the stuff. I said no, of course. Then he pulled a gun on me- here it is-and I jumped on him-and then you came in. I didn't want to hurt the old guy, but he got me wild and-'
'That's all right, Martin. You did very well, but don't ever be doing any of it again. Now hurry up that supper. What's coming next would likely strain your poor brain. Get along with you.'
Reluctantly, Martin vanished kitchenward. The rest of the company pulled up chairs and made themselves comfortable. For a time they found the captive of Martin's prowess inclined to an attitude of silent defiance. Upon Terry's threat, however, to turn him over to the police on charges of housebreaking, he expressed a willingness to listen to reason. Bertram's presence had a very chastening effect. He knew the burglar for one of the men he had hired to steal the Cerberus, and realized that should his former accomplice go on the stand, his testimony, together with the attack on Martin, would mean penitentiary stripes for himself.
'By the way,' Drayton broke in, picking up the newspaper package which contained the Dust of Purgatory and weighing it in his hand, 'did you ever ask Bertram, Terry, if he knew what had become of the vial this was in?'
The burglar started and flushed. 'Say, I done a mean trick then. I didn't mean to keep the thing, but you left it laying on your bureau that day at the Belleclaire, Mr. Trenmore, and I-well, I took it along. I give it to Skidoo here for a keepsake. I didn't have anything else pretty to give her. But she's a straight girl and I shouldn't've done it. Skidoo, have you got that bottle I give you for bath salts?'
'Sure.' No. 23000 promptly produced it from her sweater pocket. 'Why, Bert, wasn't it yours?'
Bertram admitted that it was not. With a reproachful glance for Bertram, she extended the Cerberus vial to Trenmore. Trenmore reached for it and took it in his hand. In the flash of an eye the space before him was empty. Miss Skidoo had vanished more abruptly than he had himself disappeared, upon his first experience with the dust!
With a startled yell, Terence leaped to his feet and flung the Cerberus across the room. His feelings were shared by all present, save the old collector, who put up a thin, protesting hand.
'Now, don't-I beg of you, don't become excited! Mr. Trenmore, my nerves are not in shape to stand this sort
