Машина часу

           Iheardthedoorofthelaboratoryslam,seatedmyselfinachair,andtookupadailypaper. Whatwashegoingtodobeforelunch-time? ThensuddenlyIwasremindedbyanadvertisementthatIhadpromisedtomeetRichardson,thepublisher,attwo. Ilookedatmywatch,andsawthatIcouldbarelysavethatengagement. IgotupandwentdownthepassagetotelltheTimeTraveller. 

           AsItookholdofthehandleofthedoorIheardanexclamation,oddlytruncatedattheend,andaclickandathud. AgustofairwhirledroundmeasIopenedthedoor,andfromwithincamethesoundofbrokenglassfallingonthefloor. TheTimeTravellerwasnotthere. Iseemedtoseeaghostly,indistinctfiguresittinginawhirlingmassofblackandbrassforamoment—afiguresotransparentthatthebenchbehindwithitssheetsofdrawingswasabsolutelydistinct; butthisphantasmvanishedasIrubbedmyeyes. TheTimeMachinehadgone. Saveforasubsidingstirofdust,thefurtherendofthelaboratorywasempty. Apaneoftheskylighthad,apparently,justbeenblownin. 

           Ifeltanunreasonableamazement. Iknewthatsomethingstrangehadhappened,andforthemomentcouldnotdistinguishwhatthestrangethingmightbe. AsIstoodstaring,thedoorintothegardenopened,andtheman-servantappeared. 

           Welookedateachother. Thenideasbegantocome. ‘HasMr.——goneoutthatway?’saidI. 

           ‘No,sir.Noonehascomeoutthisway. Iwasexpectingtofindhimhere.’