which I mean, of course, the
state of three dimensions? It would be a terrific responsibility.
Remember what tremendous powers we are capable of wielding by simply--it
is so very simple now--simply transferring our personalities to the
higher plane. What if we were to do wrong? We might involve the whole
world in some unspeakable catastrophe."

"And which do _you_ consider to be the greatest catastrophe, or, perhaps
I ought rather to say the greatest evil, that has ever afflicted the
world, Dad?" she asked, with just a suspicion of a smile in her eyes,
though her lips were perfectly serious.

"Oh, war, of course!" he replied, with his usual emphasis when he got on
to that topic. "What was I saying only just now about personal intrigues
and ambitions that make war? What have I always thought about war? It is
the most appalling curse----"

"Then, Dad," she interrupted in her sweetest tones, "do you think that,
supposing we possess these wonderful powers, they could be better used
than in preventing any war which may possibly arise out of this
disappearance of Prince Zastrow, and so convincing those who are wicked
enough to plunge the human race into blood and misery that henceforth
all wars of aggression and ambition will be impossible?"

"Yes, you are right as usual, Niti," he exclaimed, getting up. "Now you
go and think about it all, and give me your advice in the morning. I
want to get away now and work out an intelligible solution of those
three problems--if I can make it so--for the benefit of Van Huysman and
the rest of my respected critics. When I've done that, we'll be off to
the Continent or somewhere----"

"And see what we can make of the Zastrow Mystery, perhaps!" said
Nitocris. "Good-night, Dad. I want to do some thinking, too."

He went to his study and set to work upon a development of the
demonstrations with which he had astounded not only London, but the
whole civilised world.

But it was no good to-night. The ideas would not come. Over and over
again he picked up the threads of his arguments, only to drop them
again. At last, in something like wondering despair, he muttered:

"Confound the thing! I almost had it last night, and now I seem as far
away from it as ever. What on earth can be the matter with me?"

He put his elbows on the table, took his head between his hands, and
stared down at the pages covered with angles and circles, chords and
curves, and wildernesses of symbols, which were sca