you a special news bulletin. The Japanese forces have seized control of Shanghai. All foreigners have been warned" The voice faded. Shanghai had been taken the night Kellar, his heart-disease patient, died. Weeks ago.
Suddenly Doctor Crandon recalled reading a scientific theory. Every sound that has ever been made is still vibrating in the ether. Every radio program is still in existence in space. The noises of long-dead history might some day be captured. Could it be possible that, due to electrical and magnetic conditions caused by the storm, the radio was picking up broadcasts made weeks before?
The doctor's attention returned to the radio as a strange hum struck his ears. The hum faded into music—weird music, unlike anything he had ever heard. The music stopped. Clear, penetrating, came an announcement:
"Special news flash. The United States of Europe has declared war on the Federation of South American States. President Mary Dixon, in an official statement, has announced that refusal to grant trade"
Static. Again the sky flamed with brilliant light. A woman's voice.
"Increased meteoric interference may cause officials to stop all space traffic between Mars and Venus. The solar system will move out of the danger zone within two weeks. The Scenic Spaceways Company tonight canceled all week-end trips to planets beyond Mars and"
The future? Doctor Crandon was listening to broadcasts that were yet to be made! Time—the fourth dimension. Time—extending into space like length and breadth. The events of the future really existed somewhere, and due to some freakish law of nature, some unknown condition of cosmic forces in the air, it was possible for him to tune in on tomorrow. His discovery would rock the scientific world.
He glanced at the passengers. Were any of them using their radios? The old lady was staring into space—the couple were still talking—the middle-aged man was sleeping—the young man was reading a magazine—the girl was working on her fingernails. The secret was his—alone.
A cold paralysis gripped him. He was on the edge of the great unknown. He must listen. Stock market reports. Race results. The tide of wars. New discoveries. He could make millions, be a prophet, a great inventor. He slowly turned the dial, listened.
Suddenly the roaring motors died. A series of jolts. The plane was landing. So soon? Doctor Crandon looked at his watch. Eight-thirty. The hostess appeared, smiling. The passengers arose and prepared to leave.
It was dark outside. Doctor Crandon reached for the blind, but the hostess caught his arm.
"Wait," she said.
Still smiling, she opened the top of the radio, turned something inside, jerked a wire. A voice boomed into the earphones. Doctor Crandon stiffened as he listened to the words:
"Special news bulletin. The 8.15 New York-Chicago airliner crashed to-night shortly after leaving the airport. Seven passengers, two pilots, and a hostess were on board. All were killed instantly. Among the passengers was Doctor Edward Crandon, famous specialist. He was on his way to attend the Chicago Medical Convention"
Doctor Crandon jerked the phone from his head and followed the other passengers to the door.
