I could
have cried aloud in exultation when my scrutiny disclosed the almost
invisible incrustation of particles of carbonized electrons which
are thrown off by these Martian torches.
It was evident that for countless ages radium torches had been
applied to this pinhole, and for what purpose there could be but
a single answer--the mechanism of the lock was actuated by light
rays; and I, John Carter, Prince of Helium, held the combination
in my hand--scratched by the hand of my enemy upon his own torch
case.
In a cylindrical bracelet of gold about my wrist was my Barsoomian
chronometer--a delicate instrument that records the tals and xats
and zodes of Martian time, presenting them to view beneath a strong
crystal much after the manner of an earthly odometer.
Timing my operations carefully, I held the torch to the small aperture
in the door, regulating the intensity of the light by means of the
thumb-lever upon the side of the case.
For fifty tals I let three units of light shine full in the pinhole,
then one unit for one xat, and for twenty-five tals nine units.
Those last twenty-five tals were the longest twenty-five seconds
of my life. Would the lock click at the end of those seemingly
interminable intervals of time?
Twenty-three! Twenty-four! Twenty-five!
I shut off the light with a snap. For seven tals I waited--there
had been no appreciable effect upon the lock's mechanism.
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