Олди Генри Лайон. The prophet

"Arise, oh prophet, hark and see,
Perform that will o'mine!
And wandering through lands and seas
Burn hearts by verbal fire."
A. S. Pushkin

Antisthenes took the test-tube and examined the fluid against the
light. The elixir was dark-golden, thick, resembling old Tokay. Was this
the one or not? Hope, Antishpenus' eternal companion, cried yes, it was!
But scepticism -- the invariable burden of a scientist -- demanded a
trial. Antishpenus came up to the old table, corroded by acids and
charred in some places, took a flask with reagent. At that very moment
came a demanding knock on the door. He knew that would happen, sooner or
later, but... oh no, not now! Too much pain. The knock was getting more
and more persistent.
Antisthenes came to with a startle. The door would stand no longer
than two minutes. He should act. Feverishly he grabbed a pile of tattered
papers with formulae, figures and designs, and tossed them into the
fireplace. Then the papers from the drawer went flying into the fire.
What else? The apparatus! Antisthenes grasped the poker and, his eyes
closed, swung and struck the entanglement of coil pipes, filters, boiling
retorts, and copper wires. Something hissed letting out clouds of smoke.
The upper lock on the door went off, the bar hardly holding on.
Antisthenes struck once more, then again... It seemed to him he was
breaking his own ribs. Well, that was all. Perhaps, he still had time to
escape? Antisthenes darted for the window when his look fell on the test-