I started to walk across what had once been its site.
“This，” I said to myself， “should be where the step wentup to the door.” Barely were the words out of my mouthwhen I stubbed my toe on some obstacle， pitched forward，and butted my head into something that FELT very muchlike a door. I reached out my hand. It was a door. I foundthe knob and turned it. And at once， as the door swunginward on its hinges， the whole interior of the laboratoryimpinged upon my vision. Greeting Lloyd， I closed thedoor and backed up the path a few paces. I could seenothing of the building. Returning and opening the door，at once all the furniture and every detail of the interiorwere visible. It was indeed startling， the sudden transitionfrom void to light and form and color.
“What do you think of it， eh？” Lloyd asked， wringing myhand. “I slapped a couple of coats of absolute black on theoutside yesterday afternoon to see how it worked. How’syour head？ you bumped it pretty solidly， I imagine.”
“Never mind that，” he interrupted my congratulations.
“I’ve something better for you to do.”
While he talked he began to strip， and when he stoodnaked before me he thrust a pot and brush into my handand said， “Here， give me a coat of this.”
It was an oily， shellac-like stuff， which spread quickly andeasily over the skin and dried immediately.
“Merely preliminary and precautionary，” he explainedwhen I had finished； “but now for the real stuff.”
I picked up another pot he indicated， and glancedinside， but could see nothing.
“It’s empty，” I said.
“Stick your finger in it.”
I obeyed， and was aware of a sensation of cool moistness.
On withdrawing my hand I glanced at the forefinger， theone I had immersed， but it had disappeared. I moved andknew from the alternate tension and relaxation of themuscles that I moved it， but it defied my sense of sight.
To all appearances I had been shorn of a finger； nor couldI get any visual impression of it till I extended it under theskylight and saw its shadow plainly blotted on the floor.
Lloyd chuckled. “Now spread it on， and keep your eyesopen.”
I dipped the brush into the seemingly empty pot， andgave him a long stroke across his chest. With the passageof the brush the living flesh disappeared from beneath. Icovered his right leg， and he was a one-legged man defyingall laws of gravitation. And so， stroke by stroke， memberby member， I painted Lloyd Inwood into nothingness.
It was a creepy experience， and I was glad when naughtremained in sight but his burning black eyes， poisedapparently unsupported in mid-air.
“I have a refined and harmless solution for them，” hesaid. “A fine spray with an air-brush， and presto！ I am not.”
This deftly accomplished， he said， “Now I shall moveabout， and do you tell me what sensations you experience.”
“In the first place， I cannot see you，” I said， and I couldhear his gleeful laugh from the midst of the emptiness. “Ofcourse，” I continued， “you cannot escape your shadow， butthat was to be expected. When you pass between my eyeand an object， the object disappears， but so unusual andincomprehensible is its disappearance that it seems to meas though my eyes had blurred. When you move rapidly， Iexperience a bewildering succession of blurs. The blurringsensation makes my eyes ache and my brain tired.”
“Have you any other warnings of my presence？” heasked.
“No， and yes，” I answered. “When you are near me I havefeelings similar to those produced by dank warehouses，gloomy crypts， and deep mines. And as sailors feel the loomof the land on dark nights， so I think I feel the loom of yourbody. But it is all very vague and intangible.”
Long we talked that last morning in his laboratory； andwhen I turned to go， he put his unseen hand in mine withnervous grip， and said， “Now I shall conquer the world！”
And I could not dare to tell him of Paul Tichlorne’s equalsuccess.
At home I found a note from Paul， asking me to comeup immediately， and it was high noon when I camespinning up the driveway on my wheel. Paul called mefrom the tennis court， and I dismounted and went over.
