He had failed, with the loss of that irrelevant symbol, to join it to electromagnetics, but his corrected equation still described an unsuspected energy-spectrum.
The balanced internal forces of every atom, as he since had proved, included components of both kinds of energy, even though any statement of their mutual equivalence still eluded him.
And the elements of the second triad of the periodic table proved to be a key to the use of his new spectrum, a kind of imperfect philosophers' stone, as iron and nickel and cobalt had always been to the sister energies of the electromagnetic spectrum.
With rhodium and ruthenium and palladium, he unlocked the terrifying wonders of rhodomagnetics.
How had such a basic secret so long evaded all its seekers?
That question had struck him often, since, because the effects of rhodomagnetism seemed obvious to him now, visible everywhere.
But those effects weren't electromagnetic; that, he always decided, must be the simple answer.
The new spectrum obeyed laws of its own, and they must have been its sufficient cloak against minds trained to think only in terms of the other.
For rhodomagnetic energy was propagated with an infinite velocity, and its effects varied paradoxically with only the first power and not the square of the distance - stubborn facts which suggested, as Frank Ironsmith had casually remarked, that the time and space of orthodox physics, far from being fundamental entities in themselves, were merely incidental aspects of electromagnetic energy, special limits by which the other energy of the new spectrum was left unbounded.
Forester had eagerly hoped at first to investigate such philosophic implications of his discovery, but its ruthless flood had left him no tranquility for pure research.
Sending a few more problems to Ironsmith, he soon devised the artificial means to duplicate the rhodomagnetic field he had observed in the heart of that exploding sun.
With that dreadful new device, he could unbalance the rhodomagnetic component essential to the stability of all matter, and so detonate minor supernovas of his own.
The older science of iron had split the atom, sometimes usefully.
Annihilating matter entirely, his new science of palladium freed a force a thousand times mightier than fission, far too terrible to be controlled for any creative use.
His suitable reward, he thought bleakly now, had been the project itself.
Forester was still in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his lean-drawn face to arouse himself from such moody introspections, when the telephone buzzed again behind him.
Shuffling uneasily back to his bedside to answer, he heard the quiet voice of Frank Ironsmith, less casual than usual.
"Have you heard about Jane Carter - that little girl who came to see you?"
"Yes." He was beginning to want his coffee, and he had no time for trivialities.
"So what?"
"Do you know where she went?"
"How could I know?"
He had heard enough about the child. "And what does it matter?"
"I imagine it might matter a good deal, sir."
The mild voice of Ironsmith sounded more than usually insistent.
"Maybe it's none of my business. Maybe your security measures are already adequate.
But I really think you ought to find out where she went."
"Where do you think she went?"
"I don't know."
Ironsmith ignored his increasing annoyance. "She ran down around a turn of the road out of sight, and when I followed on my cycle she was gone.
That's why I thought you'd be interested."
"Really, I don't think you need to worry-" He checked himself, restraining his sarcastic intent.
Ironsmith was intelligent, after all; the child's disappearance might turn out to be really important, though he didn't see how.
"Thanks for calling," he finished awkwardly.
"I'll see about it when I get to the office."
Chapter FOUR
RUTH WAS standing in the hall door when he turned from the telephone.
Not yet dressed for the office, she was slim and youthful in a long blue robe he hadn't seen before.
Her restless, gaunt face was already made up, her lips invitingly crimson and her dark hair brushed loosely back and shining.
She was trying hard, he saw, to look attractive to him.
"Darling, aren't you ever coming to breakfast?" She had studied business diction with her other professional courses, and her throaty voice still had a careful limpid perfection.
"I put on your eggs the first time the phone rang, and now they're getting cold."
"I haven't time to eat."
He kissed her lifted lips, scarcely interrupting himself.
"All I want is a cup of coffee." Seeing the protest on her face, he added defensively, "I'll try to get something later at the cafeteria."
"That's what you always say, but you never do, and I think that's the trouble with your stomach."
Urgency began to mar the rich perfection of her voice.
"Clay, I want you to stay and eat with me this morning. I want to talk to you."
"There's nothing really wrong with my stomach," he told her, "and the office is already calling.
If it's money for anything, you don't have to ask-"