The Case of Summerfield | Page 5

I am fully prepared,
by actual experiment, to demonstrate beyond all doubt the truth of all I claim.
For the first time I noticed that he carried a small portmanteau in his hand; this he placed
upon the table, unlocked it, and took out two or three small volumes, a pamphlet or two,
and a small, square, wide-mouthed vial, hermetically sealed.
I watched him with profound curiosity, and took note of his slightest movements. Having
arranged his books to suit him, and placed the vial in a conspicuous position, he drew up
his chair very closely to my own, and uttered in a half-hissing tone: "I demand one
million dollars for the contents of that bottle; and you must raise it for me in the city of
San Francisco within one month, or scenes too terrible even for the imagination to
conceive, will surely be witnessed by every living human being on the face of the globe."
The tone, the manner, and the absurd extravagance of the demand, excited a faint smile
upon my lips, which he observed, but disdained to notice.
My mind was fully made up that I had a maniac to deal with, and I prepared to act
accordingly. But I ascertained at once that my inmost thoughts were read by the
remarkable man before me, and seemed to be anticipated by him in advance of their
expression.
"Perhaps," said I, "Mr. Summerfield, you would oblige me by informing me fully of the
grounds of your claim, and the nature of your discovery."

"That is the object of my visit," he replied. "I claim to have discovered the key which
unlocks the constituent gases of water, and frees each from the embrace of the other, at a
single touch."
"You mean to assert," I rejoined, "that you can make water burn itself up?"
"Nothing more nor less," he responded, "except this: to insist upon the consequences of
the secret, if my demand be not at once complied with."
Then, without pausing for a moment to allow me to make a suggestion, as I once or twice
attempted to do, he proceeded in a clear and deliberate manner, in these words: "I need
not inform you, sir, that when this earth was created, it consisted almost wholly of vapor,
which, by condensation, finally became water. The oceans now occupy more than
two-thirds of the entire surface of the globe. The continents are mere islands in the midst
of the seas. They are everywhere oceanbound, and the hyperborean north is hemmed in
by open polar seas. Such is my first proposition. My second embraces the constituent
elements of water. What is that thing which we call water? Chemistry, that royal queen of
all the sciences, answers readily: 'Water is but the combination of two gases, oxygen and
hydrogen, and in the proportion of eight to one.' In other words, in order to form water,
take eight parts of oxygen and one of hydrogen, mix them together, and the result or
product is water. You smile, sir, because, as you very properly think, these are the
elementary principles of science, and are familiar to the minds of every schoolboy twelve
years of age. Yes! but what next? Suppose you take these same gases and mix them in
any other proportion, I care not what, and the instantaneous result is heat, flame,
combustion of the intensest description. The famous Drummond Light, that a few years
ago astonished Europe what is that but the ignited flame of a mixture of oxygen and
hydrogen projected against a small piece of lime? What was harmless as water, becomes
the most destructive of all known objects when decomposed and mixed in any other
proportion.
"Now, suppose I fling the contents of this small vial into the Pacific Ocean, what would
be the result? Dare you contemplate it for an instant? I do not assert that the entire surface
of the sea would instantaneously bubble up into insufferable flames; no, but from the
nucleus of a circle, of which this vial would be the center, lurid radii of flames would
gradually shoot outward, until the blazing circumference would roll in vast billows of fire,
upon the uttermost shores. Not all the dripping clouds of the deluge could extinguish it.
Not all the tears of saints and angels could for an instant check its progress. On and
onward it would sweep, with the steady gait of destiny, until the continents would melt
with fervent heat, the atmosphere glare with the ominous conflagration, and all living
creatures, in land and sea and air, perish in one universal catastrophe."
Then suddenly starting to his feet, he drew himself up to his full height, and murmured
solemnly, "I feel like a God! and I recognize my fellow-men but as pygmies that