Well, I hope you're happy. I gave you every chance, every opportunity to avert catastrophe, and you did nothing. Not a one of you lifted a finger. I warned you--I offered a reward for God's sake, out of my own pocket! And now it's too late.
He's done it. Professor Wrinkle's infernal Duplicator is complete. And it works. Heaven help us, it works.
What will happen now, you ask? What's next? I haven't the faintest bloody idea. That isn't how time travel works. Whatever it is, I doubt it will be good. As far as I can see, I've only got one choice. Only one answer, in the face of this unfortunate turn. I must try to capitalize on it.
So now I offer to you the first photocopy. Circa 1948. Only one hundred and ten years before Xerox. A trivial discrepancy, I'm sure. It appears to be a blueprint, the work of the Professor's young ward, Percy--now long dead. Except this is no mere copy. It is an exact duplicate, down to the last buzzing atom.
Buy one. Frame it. Hang it up on your wall. Let it serve as a reminder of the time you had the chance to save the world and chose to do nothing. Perhaps you'll do better next time. Hell, try to build one if you like. The design looks sound enough. Steam power is no pipe dream. But without the uncanny influence of Professor Wrinkle, I doubt it will work the way you hope it to.
For my part, I'll use the meager profits to try and mitigate some of the damage, and pray--as we all should--that the Professor doesn't decide to try the thing next on gold bullion.
Dimensions: 11 x 17