The GADGET HAD A GHOST
A Novelet by
MURRAY LEINSTER
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories June 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I
This was Istanbul, and the sounds of the city—motor-cars and clumpingdonkeys, the nasal cries of peddlers and the distant roar of ajet-plane somewhere over the city—came muted through the windows ofCoghlan's flat. It was already late dusk, and Coghlan had just gottenback from the American College, where he taught physics. He relaxedin his chair and waited. He was to meet Laurie later, at the HotelPetra on the improbably-named Grande Rue de Petra, and hadn't too muchtime to spare; but he was intrigued by the unexpected guests he hadfound waiting for him when he arrived. Duval, the Frenchman, haggardand frantic with impatience; Lieutenant Ghalil, calm and patient andimpressive in the uniform of the Istanbul Police Department. Ghalil hadintroduced himself with perfect courtesy and explained that he had comewith M. Duval to ask for information which only Mr. Coghlan, of theAmerican College, could possibly give.
They were now in Coghlan's sitting-room. They held the iced drinkswhich were formal hospitality. Coghlan waited.
"I am afraid," said Lieutenant Ghalil, wryly, "that you will think usmad, Mr. Coghlan."
Duval drained his glass and said bitterly, "Surely I am mad! It cannotbe otherwise!"
Coghlan raised sandy eyebrows at them. The Turkish lieutenant of policeshrugged. "I think that what we wish to ask, Mr. Coghlan, is: Have you,by any chance, been visiting the thirteenth century?"
Coghlan smiled politely. Duval made an impatient gesture. "Pardon, M.Coghlan! I apologize for our seeming insanity. But that is truly aserious question!"
This time Coghlan grinned. "Then the answer's 'No.' Not lately. Youevidently are aware that I teach physics at the College. My courseturns out graduates who can make electrons jump through hoops, youmight say, and the better students can snoop into the private livesof neutrons. But fourth-dimension stuff—you refer to time-travel Ibelieve—is out of my line."
Lieutenant Ghalil sighed. He began to unwrap the bulky parcel thatsat on his lap. A book appeared. It was large, more than four inchesthick, and its pages were sheepskin. Its cover was heavy, ancientleather—so old that it was friable—and inset in it were deeply-carvedivory medallions. Coghlan recognized the style. They were Byzantineivory-carvings, somewhat battered, done in the manner of the daysbefore Byzantium became successively Constantinople and Stamboul andIstanbul.
"An early copy," observed Ghalil, "of a book called the Alexiad, bythe Princess Anna Commena, from the thirteenth century I mentioned.Will you be so good as to look, Mr. Coghlan?"
He opened the volume very carefully and handed it to Coghlan. Thethick, yellowed pages were covered with those graceless Greekcharacters which—without capitals or divisions between words or anypunctuation or paragraphing—were the text of books when they