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THE SKYLARK OF SPACE, by E.E. “Doc” Smith [Part 1]

Written in collaboration with Lee Hawking Garby.

CHAPTER I

The Occurrence of the Impossible

Petrified with astonishment, Richard Seaton stared after the copper steam-bath upon which he had been electrolyzing his solution of “X,” the unknown metal. For as soon as he had removed the beaker the heavy bath had jumped endwise from under his hand as though it were alive. It had flown with terrific speed over the table, smashing apparatus and bottles of chemicals on its way, and was even now disappearing through the open window. He seized his prism binoculars and focused them upon the flying vessel, a speck in the distance. Through the glass he saw that it did not fall to the ground, but continued on in a straight line, only its rapidly diminishing size showing the enormous velocity with which it was moving. It grew smaller and smaller, and in a few moments disappeared utterly.

The chemist turned as though in a trance. How was this? The copper bath he had used for months was gone—gone like a shot, with nothing to make it go. Nothing, that is, except an electric cell and a few drops of the unknown solution. He looked at the empty space where it had stood, at the broken glass covering his laboratory table, and again stared out of the window.

He was aroused from his stunned inaction by the entrance of his colored laboratory helper, and silently motioned him to clean up the wreckage.

“What’s happened, Doctah?” asked the dusky assistant.

“Search me, Dan. I wish I knew, myself,” responded Seaton, absently, lost in wonder at the incredible phenomenon of which he had just been a witness.

Ferdinand Scott, a chemist employed in the next room, entered breezily.

“Hello, Dicky, thought I heard a racket in here,” the newcomer remarked. Then he saw the helper busily mopping up the reeking mass of chemicals.

“Great balls of fire!” he exclaimed. “What’ve you been celebrating? Had an explosion? How, what, and why?”

“I can tell you the ‘what,’ and part of the ‘how’,” Seaton replied thoughtfully, “but as to the ‘why,’ I am completely in the dark. Here’s all I know about it,” and in a few words he related the foregoing incident. Scott’s face showed in turn interest, amazement, and pitying alarm. He took Seaton by the arm.

“Dick, old top, I never knew you to drink or dope, but this stuff sure came out of either a bottle or a needle. Did you see a pink serpent carrying it away? Take my advice, old son, if you want to stay in Uncle Sam’s service, and lay off the stuff, whatever it is. It’s bad enough to come down here so far gone that you wreck most of your apparatus and lose the rest of it, but to pull a yarn like that is going too far. The Chief will have to ask for your resignation, sure. Why don’t you take a couple of days of your leave and straighten up?”

Seaton paid no attention to him, and Scott returned to his own laboratory, shaking his head sadly.

Seaton, with his mind in a whirl, walked slowly to his desk, picked up his blackened and battered briar pipe, and sat down to study out what he had done, or what could possibly have happened, to result in such an unbelievable infraction of all the laws of mechanics and gravitation. He knew that he was sober and sane, that the thing had actually happened. But why? And how? All his scientific training told him that it was impossible. It was unthinkable that an inert mass of metal should fly off into space without any applied force. Since it had actually happened, there must have been applied an enormous and hitherto unknown force. What was that force? The reason for this unbelievable manifestation of energy was certainly somewhere in the solution, the electrolytic cell, or the steam-bath. Concentrating all the power of his highly-trained analytical mind upon the problem—deaf and blind to everything else, as was his wont when deeply interested—he sat motionless, with his forgotten pipe clenched between his teeth. Hour after hour he sat there, while most of his fellow-chemists finished the day’s work and left the building and the room slowly darkened with the coming of night.

Finally he jumped up. Crashing his hand down upon the desk, he exclaimed:

“I have liberated the intra-atomic energy of copper! Copper, ‘X,’ and electric current!

“I’m sure a fool for luck!” he continued as a new thought struck him. “Suppose it had been liberated all at once? Probably blown the whole world off its hinges. But it wasn’t: it was given off slowly and in a straight line. Wonder why? Talk about power! Infinite! Believe me, I’ll show this whole Bureau of Chemistry something to make their eyes stick out, tomorrow. If they won’t let me go ahead and develop it, I’ll resign, hunt up some more ‘X’, and do it myself. That bath is on its way to the moon right now, and there’s no reason why I can’t follow it. Martin’s such a fanatic on exploration, he’ll fall all over himself to build us any kind of a craft we’ll need…we’ll explore the whole solar system! Great Cat, what a chance! A fool for luck is right!”

He came to himself with a start. He switched on the lights and saw that it was ten o’clock. Simultaneously he recalled that he was to have had dinner with his fiancée at her home, their first dinner since their engagement. Cursing himself for an idiot he hastily left the building, and soon his motorcycle was tearing up Connecticut Avenue toward his sweetheart’s home.

CHAPTER II

Steel Becomes Interested

Dr. Marc DuQuesne was in his laboratory, engaged in a research upon certain of the rare metals, particularly in regard to their electrochemical properties. He was a striking figure. Well over six feet tall, unusually broad-shouldered even for his height, he was plainly a man of enormous physical strength. His thick, slightly wavy hair was black. His eyes, only a trifle lighter in shade, were surmounted by heavy black eyebrows which grew together above his aquiline nose.

Scott strolled into the room, finding DuQuesne leaning over a delicate electrical instrument, his forbidding but handsome face strangely illuminated by the ghastly glare of his mercury-vapor arcs.

“Hello, Blackie,” Scott began. “I thought it was Seaton in here at first. A fellow has to see your faces to tell you two apart. Speaking of Seaton, d’you think that he’s quite right?”

“I should say, off-hand, that he was a little out of control last night and this morning,” replied DuQuesne, manipulating connections with his long, muscular fingers. “I don’t think that he’s insane, and I don’t believe that he dopes—probably overwork and nervous strain. He’ll be all right in a day or two.”

“I think he’s a plain nut, myself. That sure was a wild yarn he sprung on us, wasn’t it? His imagination was hitting on all twelve, that’s sure. He seems to believe it himself, though, in spite of making a flat failure of his demonstration to us this morning. He saved that waste solution he was working on—what was left of that carboy of platinum residues after he had recovered all the values, you know—and got them to put it up at auction this noon. He resigned from the Bureau, and he and M. Reynolds Crane, that millionaire friend of his, bid it in for ten cents.”

“M. Reynolds Crane?” DuQuesne concealed a start of surprise. “Where does he come in on this?”

“Oh, they’re always together in everything. They’ve been thicker than Damon and Pythias for a long time. They play tennis together—they’re doubles champions of the District, you know—and all kinds of things. Wherever you find one of them you’ll usually find the other. Anyway, after they got the solution Crane took Seaton in his car, and somebody said they went out to Crane’s house. Probably trying to humor him. Well, ta-ta; I’ve got a week’s work to do yet today.”

As Scott left DuQuesne dropped his work and went to his desk, with a new expression, half of chagrin, half of admiration, on his face. Picking up his telephone, he called a number.

“Brookings?” he asked, cautiously. “This is DuQuesne. I must see you immediately. There’s something big started that may as well belong to us.… No, can’t say anything over the telephone.… Yes, I’ll be right out.”

He left the laboratory and soon was in the private office of the head of the Washington or “diplomatic” branch, as it was known in certain circles, of the great World Steel Corporation. Offices and laboratories were maintained in the city, ostensibly for research work, but in reality to be near the center of political activity.

“How do you do, Doctor DuQuesne?” Brookings said as he seated his visitor. “You seem excited.”

“Not excited, but in a hurry,” DuQuesne replied. “The biggest thing in history has just broken, and we’ve got to work fast if we get in on it. Have you any doubts that I always know what I am talking about?”

“No,” answered the other in surprise. “Not the slightest. You are widely known as an able man. In fact, you have helped this company several times in various deal—er, in various ways.”

“Say it. Brookings. ‘Deals’ is the right word. This one is going to be the biggest ever. The beauty of it is that it should be easy—one simple burglary and an equally simple killing—and won’t mean wholesale murder, as did that.…”

“Oh, no, Doctor, not murder. Unavoidable accidents.”

“Why not call things by their right names and save breath, as long as we’re alone? I’m not squeamish. But to get down to business. You know Seaton, of our division, of course. He has been recovering the various rare metals from all the residues that have accumulated in the Bureau for years. After separating out all the known metals he had something left, and thought it was a new element, a metal. In one of his attempts to get it into the metallic state, a little of its solution fizzed out and over a copper steam bath or tank, which instantly flew out of the window like a bullet. It went clear out of sight, out of range of his binoculars, just that quick.” He snapped his fingers under Brookings’ nose. “Now that discovery means such power as the world never dreamed of. In fact, if Seaton hadn’t had all the luck in the world right with him yesterday, he would have blown half of North America off the map. Chemists have known for years that all matter contains enormous stores of intra-atomic energy, but have always considered it ‘bound’—that is, incapable of liberation. Seaton has liberated it.”

“And that means?”

“That with the process worked out, the Corporation could furnish power to the entire world, at very little expense.”

* * * *

A look of scornful unbelief passed over Brookings’ face.

“Sneer if you like,” DuQuesne continued evenly. “Your ignorance doesn’t change the fact in any particular. Do you know what intra-atomic energy is?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t, exactly.”

“Well, it’s the force that exists between the ultimate component parts of matter, if you can understand that. A child ought to. Call in your chief chemist and ask him what would happen if somebody would liberate the intra-atomic energy of one hundred pounds of copper.”

“Pardon me, Doctor. I didn’t presume to doubt you. I will call him in.”

He telephoned a request and soon a man in white appeared. In response to the question he thought for a moment, then smiled slowly.

“If it were done instantaneously it would probably blow the entire world into a vapor, and might force it clear out of its orbit. If it could be controlled it would furnish millions of horsepower for a long time. But it can’t be done. The energy is bound. Its liberation is an impossibility, in the same class with perpetual motion. Is that all, Mr. Brookings?”

As the chemist left, Brookings turned again to his visitor, with an apologetic air.

“I don’t know anything about these things myself, but Chambers, also an able man, says that it is impossible.”

“As far as he knows, he is right. I should have said the same thing this morning. But I do know about these things—they’re my business—and I tell you that Seaton has done it.”

“This is getting interesting. Did you see it done?”

“No. It was rumored around the Bureau last night that Seaton was going insane, that he had wrecked a lot of his apparatus and couldn’t explain what had happened. This morning he called a lot of us into his laboratory, told us what I have just told you, and poured some of his solution on a copper wire. Nothing happened, and he acted as though he didn’t know what to make of it. The foolish way he acted and the apparent impossibility of the whole thing, made everybody think him crazy. I thought so until I learned this afternoon that Mr. Reynolds Crane is backing him. Then I knew that he had told us just enough of the truth to let him get away clean with the solution.”

“But suppose the man is crazy?” asked Brookings. “He probably is a monomaniac, really insane on that one thing, from studying it so much.”

“Seaton? Yes, he’s crazy—like a fox. You never heard of any insanity in Crane’s family, though, did you? You know that he never invests a cent in anything more risky than Government bonds. You can bet your last dollar that Seaton showed him the real goods.” Then, as a look of conviction appeared upon the other’s face, he continued:

“Don’t you understand that the solution was Government property, and he had to do something to make everybody think it worthless, so that he could get title to it? That faked demonstration that failed was certainly a bold stroke—so bold that it was foolhardy. But it worked. It fooled even me, and I am not usually asleep. The only reason he got away with it, is, that he has always been such an open-faced talker, always telling everything he knew.

“He certainly played the fox,” he continued, with undisguised admiration. “Heretofore he has never kept any of his discoveries secret or tried to make any money out of them, though some of them were worth millions. He published them as soon as he found them, and somebody else got the money. Having that reputation, he worked it to make us think him a nut. He certainly is clever. I take off my hat to him—he’s a wonder!”

“And what is your idea? Where do we come in?”

“You come in by getting that solution away from Seaton and Crane, and furnishing the money to develop the stuff and to build, under my direction, such a power-plant as the world never saw before.”

“Why get that particular solution? Couldn’t we buy up some platinum wastes and refine them?”

“Not a chance,” replied the scientist. “We have refined platinum residues for years, and never found anything like that before. It is my idea that the stuff, whatever it is, was present in some particular lot of platinum in considerable quantities as an impurity. Seaton hasn’t all of it there is in the world, of course, but the chance of finding any more of it without knowing exactly what it is or how it reacts is extremely slight. Besides, we must have exclusive control. How could we make any money out of it if Crane operates a rival company and is satisfied with ten percent profit? No, we must get all of that solution. Seaton and Crane, or Seaton, at least, must be killed, for if he is left alive he can find more of the stuff and break our monopoly. I want to borrow your strong-arm squad tonight, to go and attend to it.”

After a few moments’ thought, his face set and expressionless, Brookings said:

“No, Doctor. I do not think that the Corporation would care to go into a matter of this kind. It is too flagrant a violation of law, and we can afford to buy it from Seaton after he proves its worth.”

“Bah!” snorted DuQuesne. “Don’t try that on me, Brookings. You think you can steal it yourself, and develop it without letting me in on it? You can’t do it. Do you think I am fool enough to tell you all about it, with facts, figures, and names, if you could get away with it without me? Hardly! You can steal the solution, but that’s all you can do. Your chemist or the expert you hire will begin experimenting without Seaton’s lucky start, which I have already mentioned, but about which I haven’t gone into any detail. He will have no information whatever, and the first attempt to do anything with the stuff will blow him and all the country around him for miles into an impalpable powder. You will lose your chemist, your solution, and all hope of getting the process. There are only two men in the United States, or in the world, for that matter, with brains enough and information enough to work it out. One is Richard B. Seaton, the other is Marc C. DuQuesne. Seaton certainly won’t handle it for you. Money can’t buy him and Crane, and you know it. You must come to me. If you don’t believe that now, you will very shortly, after you try it alone.”

Brookings, caught in his duplicity and half-convinced of the truth of DuQuesne’s statements, still temporized.

“You’re modest, aren’t you, Doctor?” he asked, smiling.

“Modest? No,” said the other calmly. “Modesty never got anybody anything but praise, and I prefer something more substantial. However, I never exaggerate or make over-statements, as you should know. What I have said is merely a statement of fact. Also, let me remind you that I am in a hurry. The difficulty of getting hold of that solution is growing greater every minute, and my price is getting higher every second.”

“What is your price at the present second?”

“Ten thousand dollars per month during the experimental work; five million dollars in cash upon the successful operation of the first power unit, which shall be of not less than ten thousand horsepower; and ten percent of the profits.”

“Oh, come, Doctor, let’s be reasonable. You can’t mean any such figures as those.”

“I never say anything I don’t mean. I have done a lot of dirty work with you people before, and never got much of anything out of it. You were always too strong for me; that is, I couldn’t force you without exposing my own crookedness, but now I’ve got you right where I want you. That’s my price; take it or leave it. If you don’t take it now, the first two of those figures will be doubled when you do come to me. I won’t go to anybody else, though others would be glad to get it on my terms, because I have a reputation to maintain and you are the only ones who know that I am crooked. I know that my reputation is safe as long as I work with you, because I know enough about you to send all you big fellows, clear down to Perkins, away for life. I also know that that knowledge will not shorten my days, as I am too valuable a man for you to kill, as you did.…”

“Please, Doctor, don’t use such language.…”

“Why not?” interrupted DuQuesne, in his cold, level voice. “It’s all true. What do a few lives amount to, as long as they’re not yours and mine? As I said, I can trust you, more or less. You can trust me, because you know that I can’t send you up without going with you. Therefore, I am going to let you go ahead without me as far as you can—it won’t be far. Do you want me to come in now or later?”

“I’m afraid we can’t do business on any such terms as that,” said Brookings, shaking his head. “We can undoubtedly buy the power rights from Seaton for what you ask.”

“You don’t fool me for a second, Brookings. Go ahead and steal the solution, but take my advice and give your chemist only a little of it. A very little of that stuff will go a long way, and you will want to have some left when you have to call me in. Make him experiment with extremely small quantities. I would suggest that he work in the woods at least a hundred miles from his nearest neighbor, though it matters nothing to me how many people you kill. That’s the only pointer I will give you—I’m giving it merely to keep you from blowing up the whole country,” he concluded with a grim smile. “Good-bye.”

* * * *

As the door closed behind the cynical scientist, Brookings took a small gold instrument, very like a watch, from his pocket. He touched a button and held the machine close to his lips.

“Perkins,” he said softly, “M. Reynolds Crane has in his house a bottle of solution.”

“Yes, sir. Can you describe it?”

“Not exactly. It is greenish yellow in color, and I gather that it is in a small bottle, as there isn’t much of the stuff in the world. I don’t know what it smells or tastes like, and I wouldn’t advise experimenting with it, as it seems to be a violent explosive and is probably poisonous. Any bottle of solution of that color kept in a particularly safe place would probably be the one. Let me caution you that this is the biggest thing you have ever been in, and it must not fail. Any effort to purchase it would be useless, however large a figure were named. But if the bottle were only partly emptied and filled up with water, I don’t believe anyone would notice the difference, at least for some time, do you?”

“Probably not, sir. Good-bye.”

Next morning, shortly after the office opened, Perkins, whose principal characteristic was that of absolute noiselessness, glided smoothly into Brookings’ office. Taking a small bottle about half full of a greenish-yellow liquid from his pocket, he furtively placed it under some papers upon his superior’s desk.

“A man found this last night, sir, and thought it might belong to you. He said this was a little less than half of it, but that you could have the rest of it any time you want it.”

“Thank you, Perkins, he was right. It is ours. Here’s a letter which just came,” handing him an envelope, which rustled as Perkins folded it into a small compass and thrust it into his vest pocket. “Good morning.”

As Perkins slid out, Brookings spoke into his telephone, and soon Chambers, his chief chemist, appeared.

“Doctor Chambers,” Brookings began, showing him the bottle, “I have here a solution which in some way is capable of liberating the intra-atomic energy of matter, about which I asked you yesterday. It works on copper. I would like to have you work out the process for us, if you will.”

“What about the man who discovered the process?” asked Chambers, as he touched the bottle gingerly.

“He is not available. Surely what one chemist can do, others can? You will not have to work alone. You can hire the biggest men in the line to help you—expense is no object.”

“No, it wouldn’t be, if such a process could be worked out. Let me see, whom can we get? Doctor Seaton is probably the best man in the country for such a research, but I don’t think that we can get him. I tried to get him to work on the iridium-osmium problem, but he refused.”

“We might make an offer big enough to get him.”

“No. Don’t mention it to him,” with a significant look. “He’s to know nothing about it.”

“Well, then, how about DuQuesne, who was in here yesterday? He’s probably next to Seaton.”

“I took it up with him yesterday. We can’t get him, his figures are entirely out of reason. Aren’t there any other men in the country who know anything? You are a good man, why don’t you tackle it yourself?”

“Because I don’t know anything about that particular line of research, and I want to keep on living awhile longer,” the chemist replied bluntly. “There are other good men whom I can get, however. Van Schravendyck, of our own laboratory, is nearly as good as either Seaton or DuQuesne. He has done a lot of work on radio-activity and that sort of thing, and I think he would like to work on it.”

“All right. Please get it started without delay. Give him about a quarter of the solution and have the rest put in the vault. Be sure that his laboratory is set up far enough away from everything else to avoid trouble in case of an explosion, and caution him not to work on too much copper at once. I gather that an ounce or so will be plenty.”

* * * *

The chemist went back to his laboratory and sought his first assistant.

“Van,” he began, “Mr. Brookings has been listening to some lunatic who claims to have solved the mystery of liberating intra-atomic energy.”

“That’s old stuff,” the assistant said, laughing. “That and perpetual motion are always with us. What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell him anything—he told me. Yesterday, you know, he asked me what would happen if it could be liberated, and I answered truthfully that lots of things would happen, and volunteered the information that it was impossible. Just now he called me in, gave me this bottle of solution, saying that it contained the answer to the puzzle, and wanted me to work it out. I told him that it was out of my line and that I was afraid of it—which I would be if I thought there was anything in it—but that it was more or less in your line, and he said to put you on it right away. He also said that expense was no object; to set up an independent laboratory a hundred miles off in the woods, to be safe in case of an explosion; and to caution you not to use too much copper at once—that an ounce or so would be plenty!”

“An ounce! Ten thousand tons of nitroglycerin! I’ll say an ounce would be plenty, if the stuff is any good at all, which of course it isn’t. Queer, isn’t it, how the old man would fall for anything like that? How did he explain the failure of the discoverer to develop it himself?”

“He said the discoverer is not available,” answered Chambers with a laugh. “I’ll bet he isn’t available—he’s back in St. Elizabeth’s again by this time, where he came from. I suggested that we get either Seaton or DuQuesne of Rare Metals to help us on it, and he said that they had both refused to touch it, or words to that effect. If those two turned down a chance to work on a thing as big as this would be, there probably is nothing in this particular solution that is worth a rap. But what Brookings says goes, around here, so it’s you for the woods. And don’t take any chances, either—it is conceivable that something might happen.”

“Sure it might, but it won’t. We’ll set up that lab near a good trout stream, and I’ll have a large and juicy vacation. I’ll work on the stuff a little, too—enough to make a good report, at least. I’ll analyze it, find out what is in it, deposit it on some copper, shoot an electrolytic current through it, and make a lot of wise motions generally, and have a darn good time besides.”

CHAPTER III

Seaton Solves the Problem of Power

“Well, Mart,” said Seaton briskly, “now that the Seaton-Crane Company, Engineers, is organized to your satisfaction, let’s hop to it. I suppose I’d better beat it downtown and hunt up a place to work?”

“Why not work here?”

“Your house? You don’t want this kind of experimenting going on around here, do you? Suppose a chunk of the stuff gets away from me and tears the side out of the house?”

“This house is the logical place to work. I already have a complete machine shop and testing laboratory out in the hangar, and we can easily fit up a chemical laboratory for you up in the tower room. You can have open windows on four sides there, and if you should accidentally take out the wall there will be little damage done. We will be alone here, with the few neighbors so thoroughly accustomed to my mechanical experiments that they are no longer curious.”

“Fine. There’s another good thing, too. Your man Shiro. He’s been with you in so many tight pinches in all the unknown corners of the world on your hunting trips and explorations that we can trust him, and he’ll probably come in handy.”

“Yes, we can trust him implicitly. As you know, he is really my friend instead of my man.”

During the next few days, while workmen were installing a complete chemical laboratory in the tower room, Seaton busied himself in purchasing the equipment necessary for the peculiar problem before him. His list was long and varied, ranging from a mighty transformer, capable of delivering thousands of kilovolts down to a potentiometer, so sensitive that it would register the difference of potential set up by two men in shaking hands.

From daylight until dark Seaton worked in the laboratory, either alone or superintending and assisting the men at work there. Every night when Crane went to bed he saw Seaton in his room in a haze of smoke, poring over blueprints or, surrounded by abstruse works upon the calculus and sub-atomic phenomena, making interminable calculations.

Less than two miles away lived Dorothy Vaneman, who had promised to be his wife. He had seen her but once since “the impossible” had happened, since his prosaic copper steam-bath had taken flight under his hand and pointed the way to a great adventure. In a car his friend was to build, moved by this stupendous power which he must learn to control, they would traverse interstellar space—visit strange planets and survey strange solar systems.

While he did not forget his sweetheart—the thought of her was often in his mind, and the fact that her future was so intimately connected with his own gave to every action a new meaning—he had such a multitude of things to do and was so eager to get them all done at once that day after day went by and he could not find time to call upon her.

Crane remonstrated in vain. His protests against Seaton’s incessant work had no effect. Seaton insisted that he must fix firmly just a few more points before they eluded him, and stuck doggedly to his task.

Finally, Crane laid his work aside and went to call upon the girl. He found her just leaving home, and fell into step beside her. For awhile she tried to rouse herself to be entertaining, or at least friendly, but the usual ease with which she chatted had deserted her, and her false gayety did not deceive the keen-minded Crane for an instant. Soon the two were silent as they walked along together. Crane’s thoughts were on the beautiful girl beside him, and on the splendid young genius under his roof, so deeply immersed in his problem that he was insensible to everything else.

“I have just left Dick,” Crane said suddenly, and paying no attention to her startled glance. “Did you ever in your life see anyone with his singleness of purpose? With all his brilliance, one idea at a time is all that he seems capable of—though that is probably why he is such a genius. He is working himself insane. Has he told you about leaving the Bureau?”

“No. Has he? Has it anything to do with what happened that day at the laboratory? I haven’t seen him since the accident, or discovery, whichever it was, happened. He came to see me at half-past ten, when he was invited for dinner—oh, Martin, I had been so angry!—and he told such a preposterous story, I’ve been wondering since if I didn’t dream it.”

“No, you didn’t dream it, no matter how wild it sounded. He said it, and it is all true. I cannot explain it to you; Dick himself cannot explain it, even to me. But I can give you an idea of what we both think it may come to.”

“Yes, do.”

“Well, he has discovered something that makes copper act mighty queer—knocks it off its feet, so to speak. That day a piece went up and never did come down.”

“Yes, that is what is so preposterous!”

“Just a moment, please,” replied the imperturbable Crane. “You should know that nothing ordinary can account for Dick’s behavior, and after what I have seen this last week I shall never again think anything preposterous. As I said, this piece of copper departed, via the window, for scenes unknown. As far as a pair of good binoculars could follow it, it held to a perfectly straight course toward those scenes. We intend to follow it in some suitable vehicle.”

He paused, looking at his companion’s face, but she did not speak.

“Building the conveyance is where I come in,” he continued in his matter-of-fact voice. “As you know, I happen to have almost as much money as Dick has brains, and some day, before the summer is over, we expect to go somewhere. We do not know where, but it will be a long way from this earth.”

There was a silence, then Dorothy said, helplessly:

“Well, go on.… I can’t understand.…”

“Neither can I. All I know is that Dick wants to build a heavy steel hull, and he is going to put something inside it that will take us out into space. Only occasionally do I see a little light as he tries to explain the mechanism of the thing to me.”

After enjoining upon her the strictest secrecy he repeated the story that Seaton had told him, and informed her as to the present condition of affairs.

“It’s no wonder the other chemists thought he was crazy, is it, Martin?”

“No, especially after the failure of his demonstration the next morning. You see, he tried to prove to the others that he was right, and nothing happened. He has found out since that an electrical machine in another room, which was not running that morning, played a very important part. When the copper refused to act as it had the night before they all took the snap judgment that he had suffered an attack of temporary insanity, and that the solution was worthless. They called him ‘Nobody Holme’.”

“It almost fits, at that!” exclaimed Dorothy, laughing.

“But if he thought of that,” she added, thoughtfully, “if he was brilliant enough to build up such a wonderful theory…think out such a thing as actually traveling to the stars…all on such a slight foundation of fact… I wonder why he couldn’t have told me?”

She hadn’t meant to utter the last thought. Nobody must know how being left out of it had hurt her, and she would have recalled the words if she could. Crane understood, and answered loyally.

“He will tell you all about it very soon, never fear. His is the mind of a great scientist, working on a subject of which but very few men have even an inkling. I am certain that the only reason he thought of me is that he could not finance the investigation alone. Never think for an instant that his absorption implies a lack of fondness for you. You are his anchor, his only hold on known things. In fact, it was about this that I came to see you. Dick is working himself at a rate that not even a machine can stand. He eats hardly anything, and if he sleeps at all, I have never caught him at it. That idea is driving him day and night, and if he goes on the way he is going, it means a breakdown. I do not know whether you can make him listen to reason or not—certainly no one else can. If you think you can do it, that is to be your job, and it will be the biggest one of the three.”

“How well you understand him,” Dorothy said, after a pause. “You make me feel ashamed, Martin. I should have known without being told. Then I wouldn’t have had these nasty little doubts about him.”

“I should call them perfectly natural, considering the circumstances,” he answered. “Men with minds like Dick’s are rare. They work on only one track. Your part will be hard. He will come to you, bursting with news and aching to tell you all about his theories and facts and calculations, and you must try to take his mind off the whole thing and make him think of something else. It looks impossible to me.”

The smile had come back to Dorothy’s face. Her head, graced by its wealth of gleaming auburn hair, was borne proudly, and glancing mischief lit her violet eyes.

“Didn’t you just tell me nothing is impossible? You know, Martin, that I can make Dicky forget everything, even interstellar—did I get that word right?—space itself, with my violin.”

“Trying to beguile a scientist from his hobby is comparable only to luring a drug addict away from his vice…but I would not be surprised if you could do it,” he slowly replied.

For he had heard her play. She and Seaton had been caught near his home by a sudden shower while on horseback, and had dashed in for shelter. While the rain beat outside and while Shiro was preparing one of his famous suppers, Crane had suggested that she pass the time by playing his “fiddle.” Dorothy realized, with the first sweep of the bow, that she was playing a Stradivarius, the like of which she had played before only in her dreams. She forgot her listeners, forgot the time and the place, and poured out in her music all the beauty and tenderness of her nature. Soft and full the tones filled the room, and in Crane’s vision there rose a home filled with happy work, with laughter and companionship, with playing children who turned their faces to their mother as do flowers to the light. Sensing the girl’s dreams as the music filled his ears, he realized as never before in his busy, purposeful life how beautiful a home with the right woman could be. No thought of love for Dorothy entered his mind, for he knew that the love existing between her and his friend was of the kind that nothing could alter, but he felt that she had unwittingly given him a great gift. Often thereafter in his lonely hours he had imagined that dream-home, and nothing less than its perfection would ever satisfy him.

For a time they walked on in silence. On Dorothy’s face was a tender look, the reflection of her happy thoughts, and in Crane’s mind floated again the vision of his ideal home, the home whose central figure he was unable to visualize. At last she turned and placed her hand on his arm.

“You have done a great deal for me—for us,” she said simply. “I wish there were something I could do for you in return.”

“You have already done much more than that for me, Dorothy,” he answered, more slowly even than usual. “It is hard for me to express just what it is, but I want you to know that you and Dick mean much to me.… You are the first real woman I have ever known, and some day, if life is good to me, I hope to have some girl as lovely care for me.”

Dorothy’s sensitive face flushed warmly. So unexpected and sincere was his praise that it made her feel both proud and humble. She had never realized that this quiet, apparently unimaginative man had seen all the ideals she expressed in her music. A woman expects to appear lovely to her lover, and to the men who would be her lovers if they could, but here was a man who neither sought nor expected any favors, saying that he wanted some girl as lovely for his own. Truly it was a compliment to be cherished.

After they had returned to the house and Crane had taken his departure, Dorothy heard the purr of a rapidly approaching motorcycle, and her heart leaped as she went to the door to welcome her lover.

“It seems like a month since I saw you last, sweetheart!” he exclaimed, as he lifted her clear from the floor in a passionate embrace and kissed in turn her lips, her eyes, the tip of her nose, the elusive dimple in her cheek, and the adorable curve of her neck.

“It seems longer than that to me, Dicky. I was perfectly miserable until Martin called this afternoon and explained what you have been doing.”

“Yes, I met him on the way over. But honestly, Dottie, I simply couldn’t get away. I wanted to, the worst way, but everything went so slow.…”

“Slow? When you have a whole laboratory installed in a week? What would you call speed?”

“About two days. And then, there were a lot of little ideas that had to be nailed down before they got away from me. This is a horribly big job, Dottie, and when a fellow gets into it he can’t quit. But you know that I love you just the same, even though I do appear to neglect you,” he continued with fierce intensity. “I love you with everything there is in me. I love you, mind, body and spirit; love you as a man should love the one and only woman. For you are the only woman, there never was and never will be another. I love you morally, physically, intellectually, and every other way there is, for the perfect little darling that you are.”

She moved in his embrace and her arms tightened about his neck.

“You are the nearest thing to absolute perfection that ever came into this imperfect world,” he continued. “Just to think of a girl of your sheer beauty, your ability, your charm, your all-round perfection, being engaged to a thing like me, makes me dizzy—but I sure do love you, little girl of mine. I will love you as long as we live, and afterward, my soul will love your soul throughout eternity. You know that, sweetheart girl.”

“Oh, Dick!” she whispered, her soul shaken with response to his love. “I never dreamed it possible for a woman to love as I love you. ‘Whither thou goest.…’”

Her voice failed in the tempest of her emotion, and they clung together in silence.

They were finally interrupted by Dorothy’s stately and gracious mother, who came in to greet Seaton and invite him to have dinner with them.

“I knew that Dot would forget such an unimportant matter,” she said, with a glint of Dorothy’s own mischief in her eyes.

* * * *

As they went into the dining-room Dorothy was amazed to see the changes that six days had wrought in Seaton. His face looked thin, almost haggard. Fine lines had made their appearance at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, and faint but unmistakable blue rings encircled his eyes.

“You have been working too hard, boy,” she reproved him gravely.

“Oh, no,” he rejoined lightly. “I’m all right, I never felt better. Why, I could whip a rattlesnake right now, and give him the first bite!”

She laughed at his reply, but the look of concern did not leave her face. As soon as they were seated at the table she turned to her father, a clean-cut, gray-haired man of fifty, known as one of the shrewdest attorneys in the city.

“Daddy,” she demanded, “what do you mean by being elected director in the Seaton-Crane Company and not telling me anything about it?”

“Daughter,” he replied in the same tone, “what do you mean by asking such a question as that? Don’t you know that it is a lawyer’s business to get information, and to give it out only to paying clients? However, I can tell you all I know about the Seaton-Crane Company without adding to your store of knowledge at all. I was present at one meeting, gravely voted ‘aye’ once, and that is all.”

“Didn’t you draw up the articles of incorporation?”

“I am doing it, yes; but they don’t mean anything. They merely empower the Company to do anything it wants to, the same as other large companies do.” Then, after a quick but searching glance at Seaton’s worn face and a warning glance at his daughter, he remarked:

“I read in the Star this evening that Enright and Stanwix will probably make the Australian Davis Cup team, and that the Hawaiian with the unpronounceable name has broken three or four more world’s records. What do you think of our tennis chances this year, Dick?”

Dorothy flushed, and the conversation, steered by the lawyer into the safer channels, turned to tennis, swimming, and other sports. Seaton, whose plate was unobtrusively kept full by Mr. Vaneman, ate such a dinner as he had not eaten in weeks. After the meal was over they all went into the spacious living-room, where the men ensconced themselves in comfortable Morris chairs with long, black cigars between their teeth, and all four engaged in a spirited discussion of various topics of the day. After a time, the older couple left the room, the lawyer going into his study to work, as he always did in the evening.

“Well, Dicky, how’s everything?” Dorothy asked, unthinkingly.

The result of this innocent question was astonishing. Seaton leaped to his feet. The problem, dormant for two hours, was again in complete possession of his mind.

“Rotten!” he snapped, striding back and forth and brandishing his half-smoked cigar. “My head is so thick that it takes a thousand years for an idea to filter into it. I should have the whole thing clear by this time, but I haven’t. There’s something, some little factor, that I can’t get. I’ve almost had it a dozen times, but it always gets away from me. I know that the force is there and I can liberate it, but I can’t work out a system of control until I can understand exactly why it acts the way it does.” Then, more slowly, thinking aloud rather than addressing the girl:

“The force is attraction toward all matter, generated by the vibrations of all the constituent electrons in parallel planes. It is directed along a line perpendicular to the plane of vibration at its center, and approaches infinity as the angle theta approaches the limit of Pi divided by two. Therefore, by shifting the axis of rotation or the plane of vibration thus making theta vary between the limits of zero and Pi divided by two.…”

He was interrupted by Dorothy, who, mortified by her thoughtlessness in getting him started, had sprung up and seized him by the arm.

“Sit down, Dicky!” she implored. “Sit down, you’re rocking the boat! Save your mathematics for Martin. Don’t you know that I could never find out why ‘x’ was equal to ‘y’ or to anything else in algebra?”

She led him back to his chair, where he drew her down to a seat on the arm beside him.

“Whom do you love?” she whispered gayly in his ear.

After a time she freed herself.

* * * *

“I haven’t practised today. Don’t you want me to play for you a little?”

“Fine business, Dottie. When you play a violin, it talks.”

She took down her violin and played; first his favorites, crashing selections from operas and solos by the great masters, abounding in harmonies on two strings. Then she changed to reveries and soft, plaintive melodies. Seaton listened with profound enjoyment. Under the spell of the music he relaxed, pushed out the footrest of the chair, and lay back at ease, smoking dreamily. The cigar finished and his hands at rest, his eyes closed of themselves. The music, now a crooning lullaby, grew softer and slower, until his deep and regular breathing showed that he was sound asleep. She stopped playing and sat watching him intently, her violin in readiness to play again, if he should show the least sign of waking, but there was no such sign. Freed from the tyranny of the mighty brain which had been driving it so unmercifully, his body was making up for many hours of lost sleep.

Assured that he was really asleep, Dorothy tip-toed to her father’s study and quietly went in.

“Daddy, Dick is asleep out there in the chair. What shall we do with him?”

“Good work, Dottie Dimple. I heard you playing him to sleep—you almost put me to sleep as well. I’ll get a blanket and we’ll put him to bed right where he is.”

“Dear old Dad,” she said softly, sitting on the arm of his chair and rubbing her cheek against his. “You always did understand, didn’t you?”

“I try to, Kitten,” he answered, pulling her ear. “Seaton is too good a man to see go to pieces when it can be prevented. That is why I signalled you to keep the talk off the company and his work. One of the best lawyers I ever knew, a real genius, went to pieces that same way. He was on a big, almost an impossible, case. He couldn’t think of anything else, didn’t eat or sleep much for months. He won the case, but it broke him. But he wasn’t in love with a big, red-headed beauty of a girl, and so didn’t have her to fiddle him to sleep.

“Well, I’ll go get the blanket,” he concluded, with a sudden change in his tone.

In a few moments he returned and they went into the living-room together. Seaton lay in exactly the same position, only the regular lifting of his powerful chest showing that he was alive.

“I think we had better.…”

“Sh…sh,” interrupted the girl in an intense whisper. “You’ll wake him up, Daddy.”

“Bosh! You couldn’t wake him up with a club. His own name might rouse him, particularly if you said it; no other ordinary sound would. I started to say that I think we had better put him to bed on the davenport. He would be more comfortable.”

“But that would surely wake him. And he’s so big.…”

“Oh, no, it wouldn’t, unless I drop him on the floor. And he doesn’t weigh much over two hundred, does he?”

“About ten or eleven pounds.”

“Even though I am a lawyer, and old and decrepit, I can still handle that much.”

With Dorothy anxiously watching the proceeding and trying to help, Vaneman picked Seaton up out of the chair, with some effort, and carried him across the room. The sleeping man muttered as if in protest at being disturbed, but made no other sign of consciousness. The lawyer then calmly removed Seaton’s shoes and collar, while the girl arranged pillows under his head and tucked the blanket around him. Vaneman bent a quizzical glance upon his daughter, under which a flaming blush spread from her throat to her hair.

“Well,” she said, defiantly, “I’m going to, anyway.”

“My dear, of course you are. If you didn’t, I would disown you.”

As her father turned away, Dorothy knelt beside her lover and pressed her lips tightly to his.

“Good night, sweetheart,” she murmured.

“’Night,” he muttered in his sleep, as his lips responded faintly to her caress.

Vaneman waited for his daughter, and when she appeared, the blush again suffusing her face, he put his arm around her.

“Dorothy,” he said at the door of her room, using her full name, a very unusual thing for him, “the father of such a girl as you are hates to lose her, but I advise you to stick to that boy. Believe in him and trust him, no matter what happens. He is a real man.”

“I know it, Dad…thank you. I had a touch of the blues today, but I never will again. I think more of his little finger than I do of all the other men I ever knew, put together. But how do you know him so well? I know him, of course, but that’s different.”

“I have various ways of getting information. I know Dick Seaton better than you do—better than he knows himself. I have known all about every man who ever looked at you twice. I have been afraid once or twice that I would have to take a hand, but you saw them right, just as you see Seaton right. For some time I have been afraid of the thought of your marrying, the young men in your social set are such a hopeless lot, but I am not any more. When I hand my little girl over to her husband next October I can be really happy with you, instead of anxious for you. That’s how well I know Richard Seaton.… Well, good night, daughter mine.”

“Good night, Daddy dear,” she replied, throwing her arms around his neck. “I have the finest Dad a girl ever had, and the finest…boy. Good night.”

* * * *

It was three o’clock the following afternoon when Seaton appeared in the laboratory. His long rest had removed all the signs of overwork and he was his alert, vigorous self, but when Crane saw him and called out a cheery greeting he returned it with a sheepish smile.

“Don’t say anything, Martin—I’m thinking it all, and then some. I made a regular fool of myself last night. Went to sleep in a chair and slept seventeen hours without a break. I never felt so cheap in my life.”

“You were worn out, Dick, and you know it. That sleep put you on your feet again, and I hope you will have sense enough to take care of yourself after this. I warn you now, Dick, that if you start any more of that midnight work I will simply call Dorothy over here and have her take charge of you.”

“That’s it, Mart, rub it in. Don’t you see that I am flat on my back, with all four paws in the air? But I’m going to sleep every night. I promised Dottie to go to bed not later than twelve, if I have to quit right in the middle of an idea, and I told her that I was coming out to see her every other evening and every Sunday. But here’s the dope. I’ve got that missing factor in my theory—got it while I was eating breakfast this afternoon.”

“If you had eaten and slept regularly here and kept yourself fit you would have seen it before.”

“Yes, I guess that’s right, too. If I miss a meal or a sleep from now on I want you to sand-bag me. But never mind that. Here’s the explanation. We doped out before, you know, that the force is something like magnetism, and is generated when the coil causes the electrons of this specially-treated copper to vibrate in parallel planes. The knotty point was what could be the effect of a weak electric current in liberating the power. I’ve got it! It shifts the plane of vibration of the electrons!”

“It is impossible to shift that plane, Dick. It is fixed by physical state, just as speed is fixed by temperature.”

“No, it isn’t. That is, it usually is, but in this case it may be shifted. Here’s the mathematical proof.”

So saying, Seaton went over to the drafting table, tacked down a huge sheet of paper, and sketched rapidly, explaining as he drew. Soon the two men were engaged in a profound mathematical argument. Sheet after sheet of paper was filled with equations and calculations, and the table was covered with reference books. After two hours of intense study and hot discussion Crane’s face took on a look of dawning comprehension, which changed to amazement and then to joy. For the first time in Seaton’s long acquaintance with him, his habitual calm was broken.

“By George!” he cried, shaking Seaton’s hand in both of his. “I think you have it! But how under the sun did you get the idea? That calculus isn’t in any of the books. Where did you get it? Dick, you’re a wonder!”

“I don’t know how I got the idea, it merely came to me. But that Math is right—it’s got to be right, no other conclusion is possible. Now, if that calc is right, and I know it is, do you see how narrow the permissible limits of shifting are? Look at equation 236. Believe me, I sure was lucky, that day in the Bureau. It’s a wonder I didn’t blow up the whole works. Suppose I hadn’t been working with a storage cell that gave only four amperes at two volts? That’s unusually low, you know, for that kind of work.”

Crane carefully studied the equation referred to and figured for a moment.

“In that case the limit would be exactly eight watts. Anything above that means instant decomposition?”

“Yes.”

Crane whistled, a long, low whistle.

“And that bath weighed forty pounds—enough to vaporize the whole planet. Dick, it cannot be possible.”

“It doesn’t seem that way, but it is. It certainly makes me turn cold all over, though, to think of what might have happened. You know now why I wouldn’t touch the solution again until I had this stuff worked out?”

“I certainly do. You should be even more afraid of it now. I don’t mind nitroglycerin or T.N.T., but anything like that is merely a child’s plaything compared to this. Perhaps we had better drop it?”

“Not in seven thousand years. The mere fact that I was so lucky at first proves that Fate intended this thing to be my oyster. However, I’ll not tempt the old lady any farther. I’m going to start with one millionth of a volt, and will use a piece of copper visible only under a microscope. But there’s absolutely no danger, now that we know what it is. I can make it eat out of my hand. Look at this equation here, though. That being true, it looks as though you could get the same explosive effect by taking a piece of copper which had once been partially decomposed and subjecting it to some force, say an extremely heavy current. Again under the influence of the coil, a small current would explode it, wouldn’t it?”

“It looks that way, from those figures.”

“Say, wouldn’t that make some bullet? Unstabilize a piece of copper in that way and put it inside a rifle bullet, arranged to make a short circuit on impact. By making the piece of copper barely visible you could have the explosive effect of only a few sticks of dynamite—a piece the size of a pea would obliterate New York City. But that’s a long way from our flying-machine.”

“Perhaps not so far as you think. When we explore new worlds it might be a good idea to have a liberal supply of such ammunition, of various weights, for emergencies.”

“It might, at that. Here’s another point in equation 249. Suppose the unstabilized copper were treated with a very weak current, not strong enough to explode it? A sort of borderline condition? The energy would be liberated, apparently, but in an entirely new way. Wonder what would happen? I can’t see from the theory—have to work it out. And here’s another somewhat similar condition, right here, that will need investigating. I’ve sure got a lot of experimental work ahead of me before I’ll know anything. How’re things going with you?”

“I have the drawings and blue-prints of the ship itself done, and working sketches of the commercial power-plant. I am working now on the details, such as navigating instruments, food, water, and air supplies, special motors, and all of the hundred and one little things that must be taken into consideration. Then, as soon as you get the power under control, we will have only to sketch in the details of the power-plant and its supports before we can begin construction.”

“Fine, Mart, that’s great. Well, let’s get busy!”

CHAPTER IV

Steel Liberates Energy—Unexpectedly

DuQuesne was in his laboratory, poring over an abstruse article in a foreign journal of science, when Scott came breezily in with a newspaper in his hand, across the front page of which stretched great headlines.

“Hello, Blackie!” he called. “Come down to earth and listen to this tale of mystery from that world-renowned fount of exactitude and authority, the Washington Clarion. Some miscreant has piled up and touched off a few thousand tons of T.N.T. and picric acid up in the hills. Read about it, it’s good.”

DuQuesne read:

MYSTERIOUS EXPLOSION!

Mountain Village Wiped Out of Existence!

Two Hundred Dead, None Injured!

Force Felt All Over World. Cause Unknown.

Scientists Baffled.

Harper’s Ferry. March 26.—At 10: 23 A.M. today, the village of Bankerville, about thirty miles north of this place, was totally destroyed by an explosion of such terrific violence that seismographs all over the world recorded the shock, and that windows were shattered even in this city. A thick pall of dust and smoke was observed in the sky and parties set out immediately. They found, instead of the little mountain village, nothing except an immense, crater-like hole in the ground, some two miles in diameter and variously estimated at from two to three thousand feet deep. No survivors have been found, no bodies have been recovered. The entire village, with its two hundred inhabitants, has been wiped out of existence. Not so much as a splinter of wood or a fragment of brick from any of the houses can be found. Scientists are unable to account for the terrific force of the explosion, which far exceeded that of the most violent explosive known.

“Hmm. That sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?” asked DuQuesne, sarcastically, as he finished reading.

“It sure does,” replied Scott, grinning. “What’d’you suppose it was? Think the reporter heard a tire blow out on Pennsylvania Avenue?”

“Perhaps. Nothing to it, anyway,” as he turned back to his work.

As soon as the visitor had gone a sneering smile spread over DuQuesne’s face and he picked up his telephone.

“The fool did it. That will cure him of sucking eggs!” he muttered. “Operator? DuQuesne speaking. I am expecting a call this afternoon. Please ask him to call me at my house.… Thank you.”

“Fred,” he called to his helper, “if anyone wants me, tell them that I have gone home.”

He left the building and stepped into his car. In less than half an hour he arrived at his house on Park Road, overlooking beautiful Rock Creek Park. Here he lived alone save for an old colored couple who were his servants.

In the busiest part of the afternoon Chambers rushed unannounced into Brookings’ private office. His face was white as chalk.

“Read that, Mr. Brookings!” he gasped, thrusting the Clarion extra into his hand.

Brookings read the news of the explosion, then looked at his chief chemist, his face turning gray.

“Yes, sir, that was our laboratory,” said Chambers, dully.

“The fool! Didn’t you tell him to work with small quantities?”

“I did. He said not to worry, that he was taking no chances, that he would never have more than a gram of copper on hand at once in the whole laboratory.”

“Well… I’ll…be…damned!” Slowly turning to the telephone, Brookings called a number and asked for Doctor DuQuesne, then called another.

“Brookings speaking. I would like to see you this afternoon. Will you be at home?… I’ll be there in about an hour. Good bye.”

* * * *

When Brookings arrived he was shown into DuQuesne’s study. The two men shook hands perfunctorily and sat down, the scientist waiting for the other to speak.

“Well, DuQuesne, you were right. Our man couldn’t handle it. But of course you didn’t mean the terms you mentioned before?”

DuQuesne’s lips smiled; a hard, cold smile.

“You know what I said, Brookings. Those terms are now doubled, twenty thousand and ten million. Nothing else goes.”

“I expected it, since you never back down. The Corporation expects to pay for its mistakes. We accept your terms and I have contracts here for your services as research director, at a salary of two hundred and forty thousand dollars per annum, with the bonus and royalties you demand.”

DuQuesne glanced over the documents and thrust them into his pocket.

“I’ll go over these with my attorney to-night, and mail one back to you if he approves the contract. In the meantime, we may as well get down to business.”

“What would you suggest?” asked Brookings.

“You people stole the solution, I see.…”

“Don’t use such harsh language, Doctor, it’s.…”

“Why not? I’m for direct action, first, last and all the time. This thing is too important to permit of mincing words or actions, it’s a waste of time. Have you the solution here?”

“Yes, here it is,” drawing the bottle from his pocket.

“Where’s the rest of it?” asked DuQuesne as he noted the size of the bottle.

“All that we found is here, except about a teaspoonful which the expert had to work on,” replied Brookings. “We didn’t get it all, only half of it. The rest of it was diluted with water, so that it wouldn’t be missed. After we get started, if you find it works out satisfactorily, we can procure the rest of it. That will certainly cause a disturbance, but it may be necessary.…”

“Half of it!” interrupted DuQuesne. “You haven’t one-twentieth of it here. When I saw it in the Bureau, Seaton had about five hundred milliliters—over a pint—of it. I wonder if you’re double-crossing me again?”

“No, you’re not,” he continued, paying no attention to the other’s protestations of innocence. “You’re paying me too much to want to block me now. The crook you sent out to get the stuff turned in only this much. Do you suppose he is holding out on us?”

“No. You know Perkins and his methods.”

“He missed the main bottle, then. That’s where your methods make me tired. When I want anything done, I believe in doing it myself, then I know it’s done right. As to what I suggest, that’s easy. I will take three or four of Perkins’ gunmen tonight. We’ll go out there and raid the place. We’ll shoot Seaton and anybody else who gets in the way. We’ll dynamite the safe and take their solution, plans, notes, money, and anything else we want.”

“No, no, Doctor, that’s too crude altogether. If we have to do that, let it be only as a last resort.”

“I say do it first, then we know we will get results. I tell you I’m afraid of pussyfooting and gumshoeing around Seaton and Crane. I used to think that Seaton was easy, but he seems to have developed greatly in the last few weeks, and Crane never was anybody’s fool. Together they make a combination hard to beat. Brute force, applied without warning, is our best bet, and there’s no danger, you know that. We’ve got away clean with lots worse stuff.”

“It’s always dangerous, and we could wink at such tactics only after everything else has failed. Why not work it out from this solution we have, and then quietly get the rest of it? After we have it worked out, Seaton might get into an accident on his motorcycle, and we could prove by the state of development of our plans that we discovered it long ago.”

“Because developing the stuff is highly dangerous, as you have found out. Even Seaton wouldn’t have been alive now if he hadn’t had a lot of luck at the start. Then, too, it would take too much time. Seaton has already developed it—you see, I haven’t been asleep and I know what he has done, just as well as you do—and why should we go through all that slow and dangerous experimental work when we can get their notes and plans as well as not? There is bound to be trouble anyway when we steal all their solution, even though they haven’t missed this little bit of it yet, and it might as well come now as any other time. The Corporation is amply protected, and I am still a Government chemist. Nobody even suspects that I am in on this deal. I will never see you except after hours and in private, and will never come near your offices. We will be so cautious that, even if anyone should get suspicious, they can’t possibly link us together, and until they do link us together, we are all safe. No, Brookings, a raid in force is the only sure and safe way. What is more natural than a burglary of a rich man’s house? It will be a simple affair. The police will stir around for a few days, then it will all be forgotten and we can go ahead. Nobody will suspect anything except Crane, if he is alive, and he won’t be able to do anything.”

So the argument raged. Brookings was convinced that DuQuesne was right in wanting to get possession of all the solution, and also of the working notes and plans, but would not agree to the means suggested, holding out for quieter and more devious, but less actionable methods. Finally he ended the argument with a flat refusal to countenance the raid, and the scientist was forced to yield, although he declared that they would have to use his methods in the end, and that it would save time, money, and perhaps lives, if they were used first. Brookings then took from his pocket his wireless and called Perkins. He told him of the larger bottle of solution, instructing him to secure it and to bring back all plans, notes, and other material he could find which in any way pertained to the matter in hand. Then, after promising DuQuesne to keep him informed of developments, and giving him an instrument similar to the one he himself carried, Brookings took his leave.

* * * *

Seaton had worked from early morning until late at night, but had rigorously kept his promise to Dorothy. He had slept seven or eight hours every night and had called upon her regularly, returning from the visits with ever-keener zest for his work.

Late in the afternoon, upon the day of the explosion, Seaton stepped into Crane’s shop with a mass of notes in his hand.

“Well, Mart, I’ve got it—some of it, at least. The power is just what we figured it, so immensely large as to be beyond belief. I have found:

“First: That it is a practically irresistible pull along the axis of the treated wire or bar. It is apparently focused at infinity, as near-by objects are not affected.

“Second: I have studied two of the border-line regions of current we discussed. I have found that in one the power is liberated as a similar attractive force but is focused upon the first object in line with the axis of the bar. As long as the current is applied it remains focused upon that object, no matter what comes between. In the second border-line condition the power is liberated as a terrific repulsion.

“Third: That the copper is completely transformed into available energy, there being no heat whatever liberated.

“Fourth: Most important of all, that the X acts only as a catalyst for the copper and is not itself consumed, so that an infinitesimally thin coating is all that is required.”

“You certainly have found out a great deal about it,” replied Crane, who had been listening with the closest attention, a look of admiration upon his face. “You have all the essential facts right there. Now we can go ahead and put in the details which will finish up the plans completely. Also, one of those points solves my hardest problem, that of getting back to the earth after we lose sight of it. We can make a small bar in that border-line condition and focus it upon the earth, and we can use that repulsive property to ward off any meteorites which may come too close to us.”

“That’s right. I never thought of using those points for anything. I found them out incidentally, and merely mentioned them as interesting facts. I have a model of the main bar built, though, that will lift me into the air and pull me all around. Want to see it work?”

“I certainly do.”

As they were going out to the landing field Shiro called to them and they turned back to the house, learning that Dorothy and her father had just arrived.

“Hello, boys!” Dorothy said, bestowing her radiant smile upon them both as Seaton seized her hand. “Dad and I came out to see that you were taking care of yourselves, and to see what you are doing. Are visitors allowed?”

“No,” replied Seaton promptly. “All visitors are barred. Members of the firm and members of the family, however, are not classed as visitors.”

“You came at the right time,” said Crane, smiling. “Dick has just finished a model, and was about to demonstrate it to me when you arrived. Come with us and watch the.…”

“I object,” interrupted Seaton. “It is a highly undignified performance as yet, and.…”

“Objection overruled,” interposed the lawyer, decisively. “You are too young and impetuous to have any dignity; therefore, any performance not undignified would be impossible, a priori. The demonstration will proceed.”

* * * *

Laughing merrily, the four made their way to the testing shed, in front of which Seaton donned a heavy leather harness, buckled about his shoulders, body and legs; to which were attached numerous handles, switches, boxes and other pieces of apparatus. He snapped the switch which started the Tesla coil in the shed and pressed a button on an instrument in his hand, attached to his harness by a small steel cable. Instantly there was a creak of straining leather and he shot vertically into the air for perhaps a hundred feet, where he stopped and remained motionless for a few moments. Then the watchers saw him point his arm and dart in the direction in which he pointed. By merely pointing, apparently, he changed his direction at will; going up and down, forward and backward, describing circles and loops and figures of eight. After a few minutes of this display he descended, slowing up abruptly as he neared the ground and making an easy landing.

“There, oh beauteous lady and esteemed sirs,” he began, with a low bow and a sweeping flourish—when there was a snap, and he was jerked sidewise off his feet. In bowing, his cumbersome harness had pressed the controlling switch and the instrument he held in his hand, which contained the power-plant, or bar, had torn itself loose from its buckle. Instead of being within easy reach of his hand it was over six feet away, and was dragging him helplessly after it, straight toward the high stone wall! But only momentarily was he helpless, his keen mind discovering a way out of the predicament even as he managed to scramble to his feet in spite of the rapid pace. Throwing his body sidewise and reaching out his long arm as far as possible toward the bar, he succeeded in swinging it around so that he was running back toward the party and the spacious landing field. Dorothy and her father were standing motionless, staring at Seaton; the former with terror in her eyes, the latter in blank amazement. Crane had darted to the switch controlling the coil, and was reaching for it when Seaton passed them.

“Don’t touch that switch!” he yelled. “I’ll catch that thing yet!”

At this evidence that Seaton still thought himself master of the situation, Crane began to laugh, though he still kept his hand near the controlling switch. Dorothy, relieved of her fear for her lover’s safety, could not help but join him, so ludicrous were Seaton’s antics. The bar was straight out in front of him, about five feet above the ground, going somewhat faster than a man could run. It turned now to the right, now to the left, as his weight was thrown to one side or the other. Seaton, dragged along like a small boy trying to hold a runaway calf by the tail, was covering the ground in prodigious leaps and bounds; at the same time pulling himself up, hand over hand, to the bar in front of him. He soon reached it, seized it in both hands, again darted into the air, and descended lightly near the others, who were rocking with laughter.

“I said it would be undignified,” chuckled Seaton, rather short of breath, “but I didn’t know just how much so it was going to be.”

Dorothy tucked her fingers into his hand.

“Are you hurt anywhere, Dick?”

“Not a bit. He led me a great chase, though.”

“I was scared to death until you told Martin to let the switch alone. But it was funny then! I hadn’t noticed your resemblance to a jumping-jack before. Won’t you do it again sometime and let us take a movie of it?”

“That was as good as any show in town, Dick,” said the lawyer, wiping his eyes, “but you must be more careful. Next time, it might not be funny at all.”

“There will be no next time for this rig,” replied Seaton. “This is merely to show us that our ideas are all right. The next trip will be in a full-scale, completely-equipped boat.”

“It was perfectly wonderful,” declared Dorothy. “I know this first flight of yours will be a turning-point or something in history. I don’t pretend to understand how you did it—the sight of you standing still up there in the air made me wonder if I really were awake, even though I knew what to expect—but we wouldn’t have missed it for worlds, would we, Dad?”

“No. I am very glad that we saw the first demonstration. The world has never before seen anything like it, and you two men will rank as two of the greatest discoverers.”

“Seaton will, you mean,” replied Crane, uncomfortably. “You know I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“It’s nearly all yours,” denied Seaton. “Without your ideas I would have lost myself in space in my first attempt.”

“You are both wrong,” said Vaneman. “You, Martin, haven’t enough imagination; and you, Dick, have altogether too much, for either of you to have done this alone. The honor will be divided equally between you.”

* * * *

He turned to Crane as Dorothy and Seaton set out toward the house.

“What are you going to do with it, commercially? Dick, of course, hasn’t thought of anything except this space-car—equally of course, you have?”

“Yes. Knowing the general nature of the power and confident that Dick would control it, I have already drawn up sketches for a power-plant installation of five hundred thousand electrical horsepower, which will enable us to sell power for less than one-tenth of a cent per kilowatt-hour and still return twenty percent annual dividends. However, the power-plant comes after the flyer.”

“Why? Why not build the power-plant first, and take the pleasure trip afterward?”

“There are several reasons. The principal one is that Dick and I would rather be off exploring new worlds, while the other members of the Seaton-Crane Company, Engineers, build the power-plant.”

During the talk the men had reached the house, into which the others had disappeared some time before. Upon Crane’s invitation, Vaneman and his daughter stayed to dinner, and Dorothy played for awhile upon Crane’s wonderful violin. The rest of the evening was spent in animated discussion of the realization of Seaton’s dreams of flying without wings and beyond the supporting atmosphere. Seaton and Crane did their best to explain to the non-technical visitors how such flight was possible.

“Well, I am beginning to understand it a little,” said Dorothy finally. “In plain language, it is like a big magnet or something, but different. Is that it?”

“That’s it exactly,” Seaton assured her.

“What are you going to call it? It isn’t like anything else that ever was. Already this evening you have called it a bus, a boat, a kite, a star-hound, a wagon, an aerial flivver, a sky-chariot, a space-eating wampus, and I don’t know what else. Even Martin has called it a vehicle, a ship, a bird, and a shell. What is its real name?”

“I don’t know. It hasn’t got any that I know of. What would you suggest, Dottie?”

“I don’t know what general name should be applied to them, but for this one there is only one possible name, ‘The Skylark.’”

“Exactly right, Dorothy,” said Crane.

“Fine!” cried Seaton. “And you shall christen it, Dottie, with a big Florence flask full of absolute vacuum. ‘I christen you “The Skylark.” BANG!’”

As the guests were leaving, at a late hour, Vaneman said:

“Oh, yes. I bought an extra Clarion as we came out. It tells a wild tale of an explosion so violent that science cannot explain it. I don’t suppose it is true, but it may make interesting reading for you two scientific sharps. Good night.”

Seaton accompanied Dorothy to the car, bidding her a more intimate farewell on the way. When he returned, Crane, with an unusual expression of concern on his face, handed him the paper without a word.

* * * *

“What’s up, old man? Something in it?” he asked, as he took the paper. He fell silent as he read the first words, and after he had read the entire article he said slowly:

“True, beyond a doubt. Even a Clarion reporter couldn’t imagine that. It’s all intra-atomic energy, all right—some poor devil trying our stunt without my horseshoe in his pocket.”

“Think, Dick! Something is wrong somewhere. You know that two people did not discover X at the same time. The answer is that somebody stole your idea, but the idea is worthless without the X. You say that the stuff is extremely rare—where did they get it?”

“That’s right, Mart. I never thought of that. The stuff is extremely rare. I am supposed to know something about rare metals, and I never heard of it before—there isn’t even a gap in the Periodic System in which it belongs. I would bet a hat that we have every milligram known to the world at present.”

“Well, then,” said the practical Crane. “We had better see whether or not we have all we started with.”

Asking Shiro to bring the large bottle from the vault, he opened the living-room safe and brought forth the small vial. The large bottle was still nearly full, the seal upon it unbroken. The vial was apparently exactly as Seaton had left it after he had made his bars.

“Our stuff seems to be all there,” said Crane. “It looks as though someone else has discovered it also.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Seaton, their positions now reversed. “It’s altogether too rare.”

He scanned both bottles narrowly.

“I can tell by taking the densities,” he added, and ran up to the laboratory, returning with a Westphal balance in his hand. After testing both solutions he said slowly:

“Well, the mystery is solved. The large bottle has a specific gravity of 1.80, as it had when I prepared it; that in the vial reads only 1.41. Somebody has burglarized this safe and taken almost half of the solution, filling the vial up with colored water. The stuff is so strong that I probably never would have noticed the difference.”

“But who could it have been?”

“Search me! But it’s nothing to worry about now, anyway, because whoever it was is gone where he’ll never do it again. He’s taken the solution with him, too, so that nobody else can get it.”

“I wish I were sure of that, Dick. The man who tried to do the research work is undoubtedly gone—but who is back of him?”

“Nobody, probably. Who would want to be?”

“To borrow your own phrase, Dick, Scott ‘chirped it’ when he called you ‘Nobody Holme.’ For a man with your brains you have the least sense of anybody I know. You know that this thing is worth, as a power project alone, thousands of millions of dollars, and that there are dozens of big concerns who would cheerfully put us both out of the way for a thousandth of that amount. The question is not to find one concern who might be backing a thing like that, but to pick out the one who is backing it.”

* * * *

After thinking deeply for a few moments he went on:

“The idea was taken from your demonstration in the Bureau, either by an eye-witness or by someone who heard about it afterward, probably the former. Even though it failed, one man saw the possibilities. Who was that man? Who was there?”

“Oh, a lot of the fellows were there. Scott, Smith, Penfield, DuQuesne, Roberts—quite a bunch of them. Let’s see—Scott hasn’t brains enough to do anything. Smith doesn’t know anything about anything except amines. Penfield is a pure scientist, who wouldn’t even quote an authority without asking permission. DuQuesne is…hm-m… DuQuesne…he… I.…”

“Yes. DuQuesne. I have heard of him. He’s the big black fellow, about your own size? He has the brains, the ability, and the inclination, has he not?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to say that. I don’t know him very well, and personal dislike is no ground at all for suspicion, you know.”

“Enough to warrant investigation. Is there anyone else who might have reasoned it out as you did, and as DuQuesne possibly could?”

“Not that I remember. But we can count DuQuesne out, anyway, because he called me up this afternoon about some notes on gallium; so he is still in the Bureau. Besides, he wouldn’t let anybody else investigate it if he got it. He would do it himself, and I don’t think he would have blown himself up. I never did like him very well personally—he’s such a cold, inhuman son of a fish—but you’ve got to hand it to him for ability. He’s probably the best man in the world today on that kind of thing.”

“No, I do not think that we will count him out yet. He may have had nothing to do with it, but we will have him investigated nevertheless, and will guard against future visitors here.”

Turning to the telephone, he called the private number of a well-known detective.

“Prescott? Crane speaking. Sorry to get you out of bed, but I should like to have a complete report upon Dr. Marc C. DuQuesne, of the Rare Metals Laboratory, as soon as possible. Every detail for the last two weeks, every move and every thought if possible. Please keep a good man on him until further notice.… I wish you would send two or three guards out here right away, to-night; men you can trust and who will stay awake.… Thanks. Good night.”

CHAPTER V

Direct Action

Seaton and Crane spent some time developing the object-compass. Crane made a number of these instruments, mounted in gymbals, so that the delicate needles were free to turn in any direction whatever. They were mounted upon jeweled bearings, but bearings made of such great strength, that Seaton protested.

“What’s the use, Mart? You don’t expect a watch to be treated like a stone-crusher. That needle weighs less than half a gram. Why mount it as though it weighed twenty pounds?”

“To be safe. Remember the acceleration the Lark will be capable of, and also that on some other worlds, which we hope to visit, this needle will weigh more than it does here.”

“That’s right, Mart, I never thought of that. Anyway, we can’t be too safe to suit me.”

When the compasses were done and the power through them had been adjusted to one-thousandth of a watt, the lowest they could maintain with accuracy, they focused each instrument upon one of a set of most carefully weighed glass beads, ranging in size from a pin-head up to a large marble, and had the beads taken across the country by Shiro, in order to test the sensitiveness and accuracy of the new instruments. The first test was made at a distance of one hundred miles, the last at nearly three thousand. They found, as they had expected, that from the weight of the object and the time it took the needle to come to rest after being displaced from its line by a gentle tap of the finger, they could easily calculate the distance from the compass to the object. This fact pleased Crane immensely, as it gave him a sure means of navigation in space. The only objection to its use in measuring earthly distances was its extreme delicacy, the needle focused upon the smallest bead in the lot at a distance of three thousand miles coming to rest in little more than one second.

The question of navigation solved, the two next devoted themselves to perfecting the “X-plosive bullet,” as Seaton called it. From his notes and equations Seaton calculated the weight of copper necessary to exert the explosive force of one pound of nitro-glycerin, and weighed out, on the most delicate assay-balance made, various fractions and multiples of this amount of the treated copper, while Crane fitted up the bullets of automatic-pistol cartridges to receive the charges and to explode them on impact.

They placed their blueprints and working notes in the safe, as usual, taking with them only those notes dealing with the object-compass and the X-plosive bullet, upon which they were still working. No one except Shiro knew that the original tracings, from which the blue-prints had been made, and their final, classified notes were always kept in the vault. They cautioned him and the three guards to keep a close watch until they returned. Then they set out in the biplane, to try out the new weapon in a lonely place where the exploding shells could do no damage.

* * * *

They found that the X-plosive came fully up to expectations. The smallest charge they had prepared, fired by Crane at a great stump a full hundred yards away from the bare, flat-topped knoll that had afforded them a landing-place, tore it bodily from the ground and reduced it to splinters, while the force of the explosion made the two men stagger.

“She sure is big medicine!” laughed Seaton. “Wonder what a real one will do?” and drawing his pistol, he inserted a cartridge carrying a much heavier charge.

“Better be careful with the big ones,” cautioned Crane. “What are you going to shoot at?”

“That rock over there,” pointing to a huge boulder half a mile away across the small valley. “Want to bet me a dinner I can’t hit it?”

“No. You forget that I saw you win the pistol trophy of the District.”

The pistol cracked, and when the bullet reached its destination the great stone was obliterated in a vast ball of flame. After a moment there was a deafening report—a crash as though the world were falling to pieces. Both men were hurled violently backward, stumbling and falling flat. Picking themselves up, they looked across the valley at the place where the boulder had stood, to see only an immense cloud of dust, which slowly blew away, revealing a huge hole in the ground. They were silent a moment, awed by the frightful power they had loosed.

“Well, Mart,” Seaton broke the silence, “I’ll say those one-milligram loads are plenty big enough. If that’d been something coming after us—whether any possible other-world animal, a foreign battleship, or the mythical great sea-serpent himself, it’d be a good Indian now. Yes? No?”

“Yes. When we use the heavier charges we must use long-range rifles. Have you had enough demonstration or do you want to shoot some more?”

“I’ve had enough, thanks. That last rock I bounced off of was no pillow, I’ll tell the world. Besides, it looks as though I’d busted a leg or two off of our noble steed with my shot, and we may have to walk back home.”

An examination of the plane, which had been moved many feet and almost overturned by the force of the explosion, revealed no damage that they could not repair on the spot, and dusk saw them speeding through the air toward the distant city.

In response to a summons from his chief, Perkins silently appeared in Brookings’ office, without his usual complacent smile.

“Haven’t you done anything yet, after all this time?” demanded the magnate. “We’re getting tired of this delay.”

“I can’t help it, Mr. Brookings,” replied the subordinate. “They’ve got detectives from Prescott’s all over the place. Our best men have been trying ever since the day of the explosion, but can’t do a thing without resorting to violence. I went out there myself and looked them over, without being seen. There isn’t a man there with a record, and I haven’t been able so far to get anything on any one of them that we can use as a handle.”

“No, Prescott’s men are hard to do anything with. But can’t you…?” Brookings paused significantly.

“I was coming to that. I thought one of them might be seen, and I talked to him a little, over the phone, but I couldn’t talk loud enough without consulting you. I mentioned ten, but he held out for twenty-five. Said he wouldn’t consider it at all, but he wants to quit Prescott and go into business for himself.”

“Go ahead on twenty-five. We want to get action,” said Brookings, as he wrote an order on the cashier for twenty-five thousand dollars in small-to-medium bills. “That is cheap enough, considering what DuQuesne’s rough stuff would probably cost. Report tomorrow about four, over our private phone—no, I’ll come down to the café, it’s safer.”

* * * *

The place referred to was the Perkins Café, a high-class restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue, heavily patronized by the diplomatic, political, financial, and sporting circles of upper-class Washington. It was famous for its discreet waiters, and for the absolutely private rooms. Many of its patrons knew of its unique telephone service, in which each call went through such a devious system of relays that any attempt to trace it was hopeless; they knew that while “The Perkins” would not knowingly lend itself to any violation of law, it was an entirely safe and thoroughly satisfactory place in which to conduct business of the most secret and confidential character; a place from which one could enjoy personal conversation with persons to whom he wished to remain invisible and untraceable: a place which had never been known to “leak.” For these reasons it was really the diplomatic and political center of the country, and over its secret wires had gone, in guarded language, messages that would have rocked the world had they gone astray. It was recognized that the place was occasionally, by its very nature, used for illegal purposes, but it was such a political, financial, and diplomatic necessity that it carried a “Hands Off” sign. It was never investigated by Congress and never raided by the police. Hundreds of telephone calls were handled daily. A man would come in, order something served in a private room, leave a name at the desk, and say that he was expecting a call. There the affair ended. The telephone operators were hand-picked, men of very short memories, carefully trained never to look at a face and never to remember a name or a number. Although the precaution was unnecessary, this shortness of memory was often encouraged by bills of various denominations.

No one except Perkins and the heads of the great World Steel Corporation knew that the urbane and polished proprietor of the café was a criminal of the blackest kind, whose liberty and life itself were dependent upon the will of the Corporation; or that the restaurant was especially planned and maintained as a blind for its underground activities; or that Perkins was holding a position which suited him exactly and which he would not have given up for wealth or glory—that of being the guiding genius who planned nefarious things for the men higher up, and saw to it that they were carried out by the men lower down. He was in constant personal touch with his superiors, but in order to avoid any chance of betrayal he never saw his subordinates personally. Not only were they entirely ignorant of his identity, but all possible means of their tracing him had been foreseen and guarded against. He called them on the telephone, but they never called him. The only possible way in which any of his subordinates could get in touch with him was by means of the wonderful wireless telephone already referred to, developed by a drug-crazed genius who had died shortly after it was perfected. It was a tiny instrument, no larger than a watch, but of practically unlimited range. The controlling central station of the few instruments in existence, from which any instrument could be cut out, changed in tune, or totally destroyed at will, was in Perkins’ office safe. A man intrusted with an unusually important job would receive from an unknown source an instrument, with directions sufficient for its use. As soon as the job was done he would find, upon again attempting to use the telephone, that its interior was so hopelessly wrecked that not even the most skilled artisan could reproduce what it had once been.

* * * *

At four o’clock Brookings was ushered into the private office of the master criminal, who was plainly ill at ease.

“I’ve got to report another failure, Mr. Brookings. It’s nobody’s fault, just one of those things that couldn’t be helped. I handled this myself. Our man left the door unlocked and kept the others busy in another room. I had just started to work when Crane’s Japanese servant, who was supposed to be asleep, appeared upon the scene. If I hadn’t known something about jiu-jutsu myself, he’d have broken my neck. As it was, I barely got away, with the Jap and all three guards close behind me.…”

“I’m not interested in excuses,” broke in the magnate, angrily. “We’ll have to turn it over to DuQuesne after all unless you get something done, and get it done quick. Can’t you get to that Jap some way?”

“Certainly I can. I never yet saw the man who couldn’t be reached, one way or another. I’ve had ‘Silk’ Humphreys, the best fixer in the business, working on him all day, and he’ll be neutral before night. If the long green won’t quiet him—and I never saw a Jap refuse it yet—a lead pipe will. Silk hasn’t reported yet, but I expect to hear from him any minute now, through our man out there.”

As he spoke, the almost inaudible buzzer in his pocket gave a signal.

“There he is now,” said Perkins, as he took out his wireless instrument. “You might listen in and hear what he has to say.”

Brookings took out his own telephone and held it to his ear.

“Hello,” Perkins spoke gruffly into the tiny transmitter. “What’ve you got on your chest?”

“Your foot slipped on the Jap,” the stranger replied. “He crabbed the game right. Slats and the big fellow put all the stuff into the box, told us to watch it until they get back tonight—they may be late—then went off in Slats’ ship to test something—couldn’t find out what. Silk tackled the yellow boy, and went up to fifty grand, but the Jap couldn’t see him at all. Silk started to argue, and the Jap didn’t do a thing but lay him out, cold. This afternoon, while the Jap was out in the grounds, three stick-up men jumped him. He bumped one of them off with his hands and the others with his gat—one of those big automatics that throw a slug like a cannon. None of us knew he had it. That’s all, except that I am quitting Prescott right now. Anything else I can do for you, whoever you are?”

“No. Your job’s done.”

The conversation closed. Perkins pressed the switch which reduced the interior of the spy’s wireless instrument to a fused mass of metal, and Brookings called DuQuesne on the telephone.

“I would like to talk to you,” he said. “Shall I come there or would you rather come to my office?”

“I’ll come there. They’re watching this house. They have one man in front and one in back, a couple of detectaphones in my rooms here, and have coupled onto this telephone.

“Don’t worry,” he continued calmly as the other made an exclamation of dismay. “Talk ahead as loud as you please—they can’t hear you. Do you think that those poor, ignorant flat feet can show me anything about electricity? I’d shoot a jolt along their wires that would burn their ears off if it weren’t my cue to act the innocent and absorbed scientist. As it is, their instruments are all registering dense silence. I am deep in study right now, and can’t be disturbed!”

“Can you get out?”

“Certainly. I have that same private entrance down beside the house wall and the same tunnel I used before. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”

* * * *

In Brookings’ office, DuQuesne told of the constant surveillance over him.

“They suspect me on general principles, I think,” he continued. “They are apparently trying to connect me with somebody. I don’t think they suspect you at all, and they won’t unless they get some better methods. I have devices fitted up to turn the lights off and on, raise and lower the windows, and even cast shadows at certain times. The housekeeper knows that when I go to my library after dinner, I have retired to study, and that it is as much as anyone’s life is worth to disturb me. Also, I am well known to be firmly fixed in my habits, so it’s easy to fool those detectives. Last night I went out and watched them. They hung around a couple of hours after my lights went out, then walked off together. I can dodge them any time and have all my nights free without their ever suspecting anything.”

“Are you free tonight?”

“Yes. The time-switches are all set, and as long as I get back before daylight, so they can see me get up and go to work, it will be all right.”

Brookings told him briefly of the failures to secure the solution and the plans, of the death of the three men sent to silence Shiro, and of all the other developments. DuQuesne listened, his face impassive.

“Well,” he said as Brookings ceased. “I thought you would bull it, but not quite so badly. But there’s no use whining now. I can’t use my original plan of attack in force, as they are prepared and might be able to stand us off until the police could arrive.”

He thought deeply for a time, then said, intensely:

“If I go into this thing, Brookings, I am in absolute command. Everything goes as I say. Understand?”

“Yes. It’s up to you, now.”

“All right, I think I’ve got it. Can you get me a Curtiss biplane in an hour, and a man about six feet tall who weighs about a hundred and sixty pounds? I want to drive the plane myself, and have the man, dressed in full leathers and hood, in the passenger’s seat, shot so full of chloroform or dope that he will be completely unconscious for at least two hours.”

“Easy. We can get you any kind of plane you want in an hour, and Perkins can find a man of that description who would be glad to have a dream at that price. But what’s the idea?… Pardon me, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he added, as the saturnine chemist shot him a black look from beneath his heavy brows.

Well, within the hour, DuQuesne drove up to a private aviation field and found awaiting him a Curtiss biplane, whose attendant jumped into an automobile and sped away as he approached. He quickly donned a heavy leather suit, similar to the one Seaton always wore in the air, and drew the hood over his face. Then, after a searching look at the lean form of the unconscious man in the other seat, he was off, the plane climbing swiftly under his expert hand. He took a wide circle to the west and north.

Soon Shiro and the two guards, hearing the roar of an approaching airplane, looked out and saw what they supposed to be Crane’s biplane coming down with terrific speed in an almost vertical nose-dive, as though the driver were in an extremity of haste. Flattening out just in time to avert destruction it taxied up the field almost to the house. The watchers saw a man recognizable as Seaton by his suit and his unmistakable physique stand up and wave both arms frantically, heard him shout hoarsely “…all of you…out here,” saw him point to Crane’s apparently lifeless form and slump down in his seat. All three ran out to help the unconscious aviators, but just as they reached the machine there were three silenced reports and the three men fell to the ground. DuQuesne leaped lightly out of the machine and looked narrowly at the bodies at his feet. He saw that the two detectives were dead, but found with some chagrin that the Japanese still showed faint signs of life. He half drew his pistol to finish the job, but observing that the victim was probably fatally wounded he thrust it back into its holster and went on into the house. Drawing on rubber gloves he rapidly blew the door off the safe with nitro-glycerin and took out everything it contained. He set aside a roll of blueprints, numerous notebooks, some money and other valuables, and a small vial of solution—but of the larger bottle there was no trace. He then ransacked the entire house, from cellar to attic, with no better success. So cleverly was the entrance to the vault concealed in the basement wall that he failed to discover it.

“I might have expected this of Crane,” he thought, half aloud, “after all the warning that fool Brookings persisted in giving him. This is the natural result of his nonsense. The rest of the solution is probably in the safest safe-deposit vault in the United States. But I’ve got their plans and notes, and enough solution for the present. I’ll get the rest of it when I want it—there’s more than one way to kill any cat that ever lived!”

Returning to the machine, DuQuesne calmly stepped over the bodies of the detectives and the unconscious form of the dying Japanese, who was uttering an occasional groan. He started the engine and took his seat. There was an increasing roar as he opened the throttle, and soon he descended upon the field from which he had set out. He noted that there was a man in an automobile at some distance from the hangar, evidently waiting to take care of the plane and his still unconscious passenger. Rapidly resuming his ordinary clothing, he stepped into his automobile and was soon back in his own rooms, poring over the blueprints and notebooks.

* * * *

Seaton and Crane both felt that something was wrong when they approached the landing field and saw that the landing-lights were not burning, as they always were kept lighted whenever the plane was abroad after dark. By the dim light of the old moon Crane made a bumpy landing and they sprang from their seats and hastened toward the house. As they neared it they heard a faint moan and turned toward the sound, Seaton whipping out his electric torch with one hand and his automatic pistol with the other. At the sight that met their eyes, however, he hastily replaced the weapon and bent over Shiro, a touch assuring him that the other two were beyond the reach of help. Silently they picked up the injured man and carried him gently into his own room, barely glancing at the wrecked safe on the way. Seaton applied first-aid treatment to the ghastly wound in Shiro’s head, which both men supposed to be certainly fatal, while Crane called a noted surgeon, asking him to come at once. He then telephoned the coroner, the police, and finally Prescott, with whom he held a long conversation.

Having done all in their power for the unfortunate man, they stood at his bedside, their anger all the more terrible for the fact that it was silent. Seaton stood with every muscle tense. He was seething with rage, his face purple and his eyes almost emitting sparks, his teeth clenched until the muscles of his jaws stood out in bands and lumps. His right hand, white-knuckled, gripped the butt of his pistol, while under his left the brass rail of the bed slowly bent under the intensity of his unconscious muscular effort. Crane stood still, apparently impassive, but with his face perfectly white and with every feature stern and cold as though cut from marble. Seaton was the first to speak.

“Mart,” he gritted, his voice husky with fury, “a man who would leave another man alone to die after giving him that, ain’t a man—he’s a thing. If Shiro dies and we can ever find out who did it I’ll shoot him with the biggest explosive charge I’ve got. No, I won’t either, that’d be too sudden. I’ll take him apart with my bare hands.”

“We will find him, Dick,” Crane replied in a level, deadly voice entirely unlike his usual tone. “That is one thing money can do. We will get him if money, influence, and detectives can do it.”

The tension was relieved by the arrival of the surgeon and his two nurses, who set to work with the machine-like rapidity and precision of their highly-specialized craft. After a few minutes, the work completed, the surgeon turned to the two men who had been watching him so intently, with a smile upon his clean-shaven face.

“Merely a scalp wound, Mr. Crane,” he stated. “He should recover consciousness in an hour or so.” Then, breaking in upon Seaton’s exclamation, “It looks much worse than it really is. The bullet glanced off the skull instead of penetrating it, stunning him by the force of the blow. There are no indications that the brain is affected in any way, and while the affected area of the scalp is large, it is a clean wound and should heal rapidly. He will probably be up and around in a couple of days, and by the time his hair grows again, he will not be able to find a scar.”

As he took his leave, the police and coroner arrived. After making a thorough investigation, in which they learned what had been stolen and shrewdly deduced the manner in which the robbery had been accomplished, they departed, taking with them the bodies. They were authorized by Crane to offer a reward of one million dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the murderer. After everyone except the nurses had gone, Crane showed them the rooms they were to occupy while caring for the wounded man. As the surgeon had foretold, Shiro soon recovered consciousness. After telling his story he dropped into a deep sleep, and Seaton and Crane, after another telephonic conference with Prescott, retired for the rest of the night.

CHAPTER VI

The Object-Compass at Work

Prescott, after a sleepless night, joined Seaton and Crane at breakfast.

“What do you make of it, Mr. Prescott?” asked Crane. “Seaton here thinks it was DuQuesne, possibly acting for some foreign power, after our flying-machine to use in war. I think it was some big industrial concern after our power-plant. What is your opinion?”

“I haven’t any,” replied the great detective after a moment. “Either guess may be true, although I am almost positive that Dr. DuQuesne had nothing to do with it, either way. It was no ordinary burglary, that is certain from Shiro’s story. It was done by someone who had exact information of your movements and habits. He chose a time when you were away, probably not so much from fear of you as because it was only in your absence that he could succeed as he did in getting all the guards out at once where he could handle them. He was a man with one accomplice or who worked alone, and who was almost exactly Seaton’s size and build. He was undoubtedly an expert, as he blew the safe and searched the whole house without leaving a finger-print or any other clue, however slight, that I can find—a thing I have never before seen done in all my experience.”

“His size should help in locating him,” declared Crane. “While there are undoubtedly thousands of men of Dick’s six-feet-one and two-fifths, they are fairly well scattered, are they not?”

“Yes, they are, but his very size only makes it worse. I have gone over all the records I could, in the short time I have had, and can’t find an expert of that class with anywhere near that description.”

“How about the third guard, the one who escaped?” asked Seaton.

“He wasn’t here. It was his afternoon off, you know, and he said that he wouldn’t come back into this job on a bet—that he wasn’t afraid of anything ordinary, but he didn’t like the looks of things out here. That sounded fishy to me, and I fired him. He may have been the leak, of course, though I have always found him reliable before. If he did leak, he must have got a whale of a slice for it. He is under constant watch, and if we can ever get anything on him, I will nail him to the cross. But that doesn’t help get this affair straightened out. I haven’t given up, of course, there are lots of things not tried yet, but I must admit that temporarily, at least, I am up a stump.”

“Well,” remarked Seaton, “that million-dollar reward will bring him in, sure. No honor that ever existed among thieves, or even among free-lances of diplomacy, could stand that strain.”

“I’m not so sure of that, Dick,” said Crane. “If either one of our ideas is the right one, very few men would know enough about the affair to give pertinent information, and they probably would not live long enough to enjoy the reward very thoroughly. Even a million dollars fails in that case.”

“I rather agree with Mr. Crane, Seaton. If it were an ordinary affair—and I am as sure it is not as the police are that it is—a reward of that size would get us our man within two days. As it is, I doubt very much that the reward will do us any good. I’m afraid that it will never be claimed.”

“Wonder if the Secret Service could help us out? They’d be interested if it should turn out to be some foreign power.”

“I took it up with the Chief himself, just after it happened last night. He doesn’t think that it can be a foreign country. He has their agents pretty well spotted, and the only one that could fill the bill—you know a man with that description and with the cold nerve to do the job would be apt to be known—was in San Francisco, the time this job was pulled off.”

* * * *

“The more you talk, the more I am convinced that it was DuQuesne himself,” declared Seaton, positively. “He is almost exactly my size and build, is the only man I know of who could do anything with the solution after he got it, and he has nerve enough to do anything.”

“I would like to think it was DuQuesne,” replied the detective, thoughtfully, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to count him out of it entirely. He has been under the constant surveillance of my best men ever since you mentioned him. We have detectaphones in his rooms, wires on his telephone, and are watching him night and day. He never goes out except to work, never has any except unimportant telephone calls, and the instruments register only the occasional scratching of a match, the rustle of papers, and other noises of a man studying. He’s innocent.”

“That may be true,” assented Seaton doubtfully, “but you want to remember that he knows more about electricity than the guy that invented it, and I’m not sure that he can’t talk to a detectaphone and make it say anything he wants it to. Anyway, we can soon settle it. Yesterday I made a special trip down to the Bureau, with some notes as an excuse, to set this object-compass on him,” taking one of the small instruments from his pocket as he spoke. “I watched him a while last night, then fixed an alarm to wake me if the needle moved much, but it pointed steady all night. See! It’s moving now. That means that he is going to work early, as usual. Now I’m morally certain that he’s mixed up in this thing somewhere, and I’m not convinced that he isn’t slipping one over on your men some way—he’s a clever devil. I wonder if you wouldn’t take this compass and watch him yourself tonight, just on general principles? Or let me do it. I’d be glad to. I say ‘tonight’ because if he did get the stuff here he didn’t deliver it anywhere last night. It’s just a chance, of course, but he may do it tonight.”

After the compass had been explained to the detective he gladly consented to the plan, declaring that he would willingly spend the time just to watch such an unheard-of instrument work. After another hour of fruitless discussion Prescott took his leave, saying that he would mount an impregnable guard from that time on.

Late that evening Prescott joined the two men who were watching DuQuesne’s house. They reported that all was perfectly quiet, as usual. The scientist was in his library, the instruments registering only the usual occasional faint sounds of a man absorbed in study. But after an hour of waiting, and while the microphones made a noise as of rustling papers, the needle of the compass moved. It dipped slowly toward the earth as though DuQuesne were descending into the cellar, but at the same time the shadow of his unmistakable profile was thrown upon the window shade as he apparently crossed the room.

“Can’t you hear him walk?” demanded Prescott.

“No. He has heavy Turkish rugs all over the library, and he always walks very lightly, besides.”

* * * *

Prescott watched the needle in amazement as it dipped deeper and deeper, pointing down into the earth almost under his feet and then behind him, as though DuQuesne had walked beneath him. He did not, could not, believe it. He was certain that something had gone wrong with the strange instrument in his hand, nevertheless he followed the pointing needle. It led him beside Park Road, down the hill, straight toward the long bridge which forms one entrance to Rock Creek Park. Though skeptical, Prescott took no chances, and as he approached the bridge he left the road and concealed himself behind a clump of trees, from which point of vantage he could see the ground beneath the bridge as well as the roadway. Soon the bridge trembled under the weight of a heavy automobile going toward the city at a high rate of speed. He saw DuQuesne, with a roll of papers under his arm, emerge from under the bridge just in time to leap aboard the automobile, which slowed down only enough to enable him to board it in safety. The detective noticed that the car was a Pierce-Arrow limousine—a car not common, even in Washington—and rushed out to get its number, but the license plates were so smeared with oil and dust that the numbers could not be read by the light of the tail lamp. Glancing at the compass in his hand he saw that the delicate needle was now pointing steadily at the fleeing car, and all doubts as to the power of the instrument were dispelled. He rejoined his men, informed them that DuQuesne had eluded them, and took one of them up the hill to a nearby garage. There he engaged a fast car and set out in pursuit, choosing the path for the chauffeur by means of the compass. His search ended at the residence of Brookings, the General Manager of the great World Steel Corporation. Here he dismissed the car and watched the house while his assistant went to bring out the fast motorcycle used by Prescott when high speed was desirable.

After four hours a small car bearing the license number of a distant state—which was found, by subsequent telegraphing, to be unknown to the authorities of that state—drove under the porte-cochère, and the hidden watcher saw DuQuesne, without the papers, step into it. Knowing now what to expect, Prescott drove his racing motorcycle at full speed out to the Park Road Bridge and concealed himself beneath the structure, in a position commanding a view of the concrete abutment through which the scientist must have come. Soon he heard a car slow down overhead, heard a few rapid footfalls, and saw the dark form of a large man outlined against the gray face of the abutment. He saw the man lift his hand high above his head, and saw a black rectangle appear in the gray, engulf the man, and disappear. After a few minutes he approached the abutment and searched its face with the help of his flash-light. He finally succeeded in tracing the almost imperceptible crack which outlined the door, and the concealed button which DuQuesne had pressed to open it. He did not press the button, as it might be connected to an alarm. Deep in thought, he mounted his motorcycle and made his way to his home to get a few hours of sleep before reporting to Crane whom he was scheduled to see at breakfast next morning.

* * * *

Both men were waiting for him when he appeared, and he noticed with pleasure that Shiro, with a heavily-bandaged head, was insisting that he was perfectly able to wait on the table instead of breakfasting in bed. He calmly proceeded to serve breakfast in spite of Crane’s remonstrances, having ceremoniously ordered out of the kitchen the colored man who had been secured to take his place.

“Well, gentlemen,” the detective began, “part of the mystery is straightened out. I was entirely wrong, and each of you were partly right. It was DuQuesne, in all probability. It is equally probable that a great company—in this case the World Steel Corporation—is backing him, though I don’t believe there is a ghost of a show of ever being able to prove it in law. Your ‘object-compass’ did the trick.”

He narrated all the events of the previous night.

“I’d like to send him to the chair for this job,” said Seaton with rising anger. “We ought to shoot him anyway, damn him—I’m sorry duels have gone out of fashion, for I can’t shoot him off-hand, the way things are now—I sure wish I could.”

“No, you cannot shoot him,” said Crane, thoughtfully, “and neither can I, worse luck. We are not in his class there. And you must not fight with him, either”—noting that Seaton’s powerful hands had doubled into fists, the knuckles showing white through the tanned skin—“though that would be a fight worth watching and I would like to see you give him the beating of his life. A little thing like a beating is not a fraction of what he deserves and it would show him that we have found him out. No, we must do it legally or let him entirely alone. You think there is no hope of proving it, Prescott?”

“Frankly, I see very little chance of it. There is always hope, of course, and if that bunch of pirates ever makes a slip, we’ll be right there waiting to catch ’em. While I don’t believe in holding out false encouragement, they’ve never slipped yet. I’ll take my men off DuQuesne, now that we’ve linked him up with Steel. It doesn’t make any difference, does it, whether he goes to them every night or only once a week?

“No.”

“Then about all I can do is to get everything I can on that Steel crowd, and that is very much like trying to get blood out of a turnip. I intend to keep after them, of course, for I owe them something for killing two of my men here, as well as for other favors they have done me in the past, but don’t expect too much. I have tackled them before, and so have police headquarters and even the Secret Service itself, under cover, and all that any of us has been able to get is an occasional small fish. We could never land the big fellows. In fact, we have never found the slightest material proof of what we are morally certain is the truth, that World Steel is back of a lot of deviltry all over the country. The little fellows who do the work either don’t know anything or are afraid to tell. I’ll see if I can find out what they are doing with the stuff they stole, but I’m not even sure of doing that. You can’t plant instruments on that bunch—it would be like trying to stick a pin into a sleeping cat without waking him up. They undoubtedly have one of the best corps of detectives in the world. You haven’t perfected an instrument which enables you to see into a closed room and hear what is going on there, have you?” And upon being assured that they had not, he took his leave.

“Optimistic cuss, ain’t he?” remarked Seaton.

“He has cause to be, Dick. World Steel is a soulless corporation if there ever was one. They have the shrewdest lawyers in the country, and they get away legally with things that are flagrantly illegal, such as freezing out competitors, stealing patents, and the like. Report has it that they do not stop at arson, treason, or murder to attain their ends, but as Prescott said, they never leave any legal proof behind them.”

“Well, we should fret, anyway. Of course, a monopoly is what they’re after, but they can’t form one because they can’t possibly get the rest of our solution. Even if they should get it, we can get more. It won’t be as easy as this last batch was, since the X was undoubtedly present in some particular lot of platinum in extraordinary quantities, but now that I know exactly what to look for, I can find more. So they can’t get their monopoly unless they kill us off.…”

“Exactly. Go on, I see you are getting the idea. If we should both conveniently die, they could get the solution from the company, and have the monopoly, since no one else can handle it.”

“But they couldn’t get away with it, Mart—never in a thousand years, even if they wanted to. Of course I am small fry, but you are too big a man for even Steel to do away with. It can’t be done.”

“I am not so sure of that. Airplane accidents are numerous, and I am an aviator. Also, has it ever occurred to you that the heavy forging for the Skylark, ordered a while ago, are of steel?”

Seaton paused, dumbfounded, in the act of lighting his pipe.

“But thanks to your object-compass, we are warned.” Crane continued, evenly. “Those forgings are going through the most complete set of tests known to the industry, and if they go into the Skylark at all it will be after I am thoroughly convinced that they will not give way on our first trip into space. But we can do nothing until the steel arrives, and with the guard Prescott has here now we are safe enough. Luckily, the enemy knows nothing of the object-compass or the X-plosive, and we must keep them in ignorance. Hereinafter, not even the guards get a look at anything we do.”

“They sure don’t. Let’s get busy!”

* * * *

DuQuesne and Brookings met in conference in a private room of the Perkins Café.

“What’s the good word, Doctor?”

“So-so,” replied the scientist. “The stuff is all they said it was, but we haven’t enough of it to build much of a power-plant. We can’t go ahead with it, anyway, as long as Seaton and Crane have nearly all their original solution.”

“No, we can’t. We must find a way of getting it. I see now that we should have done as you suggested, and taken it before they had warning and put it out of our reach.”

“There’s no use holding post-mortems. We’ve got to get it, some way, and everybody that knows anything about that new metal, how to get it or how to handle it, must die. At first, it would have been enough to kill Seaton. Now, however, there is no doubt that Crane knows all about it, and he probably has left complete instructions in case he gets killed in an accident—he’s the kind that would. We will have to keep our eyes open and wipe out those instructions and anyone who has seen them. You see that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I am afraid that is the only way out. We must have the monopoly, and anyone who might be able to interfere with it must be removed. How has your search for more X prospered?”

“About as well as I expected. We bought up all the platinum wastes we could get, and reworked all the metallic platinum and allied metals we could buy in the open market, and got less than a gram of X out of the whole lot. It’s scarcer than radium. Seaton’s finding so much of it at once was an accident, pure and simple—it couldn’t happen once in a million years.”

“Well, have you any suggestions as to how we can get that solution?”

“No. I haven’t thought of anything but that very thing ever since I found that they had hidden it, and I can’t yet see any good way of getting it. My forte is direct action and that fails in this case, since no amount of force or torture could make Crane reveal the hiding-place of the solution. It’s probably in the safest safe-deposit vault in the country. He wouldn’t carry the key on him, probably wouldn’t have it in the house. Killing Seaton or Crane, or both of them, is easy enough, but it probably wouldn’t get us the solution, as I have no doubt that Crane has provided for everything.”

“Probably he has. But if he should disappear the stuff would have to come to light, or the Seaton-Crane Company might start their power-plant. In that case, we probably could get it?”

“Possibly, you mean. That method is too slow to suit me, though. It would take months, perhaps years, and would be devilishly uncertain, to boot. They’ll know something is in the wind, and the stuff will be surrounded by every safeguard they can think of. There must be some better way than that, but I haven’t been able to think of it.”

“Neither have I, but your phrase ‘direct action’ gives me an idea. You say that that method has failed. What do you think of trying indirect action in the shape of Perkins, who is indirection personified?”

“Bring him in. He may be able to figure out something.”

* * * *

Perkins was called in, and the main phases of the situation laid before him. The three men sat in silence for many minutes while the crafty strategist studied the problem. Finally he spoke.

“There’s only one way, gentlemen. We must get a handle on either Seaton or Crane strong enough to make them give up their bottle of dope, their plans, and everything.…”

“Handle!” interrupted DuQuesne. “You talk like a fool! You can’t get anything on either of them.”

“You misunderstand me, Doctor. You can get a handle of some kind on any living man. Not necessarily in his past, you understand—I know that anything like that is out of the question in this case—but in his future. With some men it is money, with others power, with others fame, with others women or some woman, and so on down the list. What can we use here? Money is out of the question, so are power and fame, as they already have both in plain sight. It seems to me that women would be our best chance.”

“Hah!” snorted the chemist. “Crane has been chased by all the women of three continents so long that he’s womanproof. Seaton is worse—he’s engaged, and wouldn’t realize that a woman was on his trail, even if you could find a better looking one to work on him than the girl he’s engaged to—which would be a hard job. Cleopatra herself couldn’t swing that order.”

“Engaged? That makes it simple as A B C.”

“Simple? In the devil’s name, how?”

“Easy as falling off a log. You have enough of the dope to build a space-car from those plans, haven’t you?”

“Yes. What has that to do with the case?”

“It has everything to do with it. I would suggest that we build such a car and use it to carry off the girl. After we have her safe we could tell Seaton that she is marooned on some distant planet, and that she will be returned to earth only after all the solution, all notes, plans, and everything pertaining to the new metal are surrendered. That will bring him, and Crane will consent. Then, afterward, Dr. Seaton may go away indefinitely, and if desirable, Mr. Crane may accompany him.”

“But suppose they try to fight?” asked Brookings.

Perkins slid down into his chair in deep thought, his pale eyes under half-closed lids darting here and there, his stubby fingers worrying his watch-chain restlessly.

“Who is the girl?” he asked at last.

“Dorothy Vaneman, the daughter of the lawyer. She’s that auburn-haired beauty that the papers were so full of when she came out last year.”

“Vaneman is a director in the Seaton-Crane Company. That makes it still better. If they show fight and follow us, that beautiful car we are making for them will collapse and they will be out of the way. Vaneman, as Seaton’s prospective father-in-law and a member of his company, probably knows something about the secret. Maybe all of it. With his daughter in a space-car, supposedly out in space, and Seaton and Crane out of the way, Vaneman would listen to reason and let go of the solution, particularly as nobody knows much about it except Seaton and Crane.”

“That strikes me as a perfectly feasible plan,” said Brookings. “But you wouldn’t really take her to another planet, would you? Why not use an automobile or an airplane, and tell Seaton that it was a space-car?”

“I wouldn’t advise that. He might not believe it, and they might make a lot of trouble. It must be a real space-car even if we don’t take her out of the city. To make it more impressive, you should take her in plain sight of Seaton—no, that would be too dangerous, as I have found out from the police that Seaton has a permit to carry arms, and I know that he is one of the fastest men with a pistol in the whole country. Do it in plain sight of her folks, say, or a crowd of people; being masked, of course, or dressed in an aviator’s suit, with the hood and goggles on. Take her straight up out of sight, then hide her somewhere until Seaton listens to reason. I know that he will listen, but if he doesn’t, you might let him see you start out to visit her. He’ll be sure to follow you in their rotten car. As soon as he does that, he’s our meat. But that raises the question of who is going to drive the car?”

“I am,” replied DuQuesne. “I will need some help, though, as at least one man must stay with the girl while I bring the car back.”

“We don’t want to let anybody else in on this if we can help it,” cautioned Brookings. “You could go along, couldn’t you, Perkins?”

“Is it safe?”

“Absolutely,” answered DuQuesne. “They have everything worked out to the queen’s taste.”

“That’s all right, then. I’ll take the trip. Also,” turning to Brookings, “it will help in another little thing we are doing—the Spencer affair.”

“Haven’t you got that stuff away from her yet, after having had her locked up in that hell-hole for two months?” asked Brookings.

“No. She’s stubborn as a mule. We’ve given her the third degree time after time, but it’s no use.”

* * * *

“What’s this?” asked DuQuesne. “Deviltry in the main office?”

“Yes. This Margaret Spencer claims that we swindled her father out of an invention and indirectly caused his death. She secured a position with us in search of evidence. She is an expert stenographer, and showed such ability that she was promoted until she became my secretary. Our detectives must have been asleep, as she made away with some photographs and drawings before they caught her. She has no real evidence, of course, but she might cause trouble with a jury, especially as she is one of the best-looking women in Washington. Perkins is holding her until she returns the stolen articles.”

“Why can’t you kill her off?”

“She cannot be disposed of until after we know where the stuff is, because she says, and Perkins believes, that the evidence will show up in her effects. We must do something about her soon, as the search for her is dying down and she will be given up for dead.”

“What’s the idea about her and the space-car?”

“If the car proves reliable we might actually take her out into space and give her the choice between telling and walking back. She has nerve enough here on earth to die before giving up, but I don’t believe any human being would be game to go it alone on a strange world. She’d wilt.”

“I believe you’re right, Perkins. Your suggestions are the best way out. Don’t you think so, Doctor?”

“Yes, I don’t see how we can fail—we’re sure to win, either way. You are prepared for trouble afterward, of course?”

“Certainly, but I don’t think there will be much trouble. They can’t possibly link the three of us together. They aren’t wise to you, are they, Doctor?”

“Not a chance!” sneered DuQuesne. “They ran themselves ragged trying to get something on me, but they couldn’t do it. They have given me up as a bad job. I am still as careful as ever, though—I am merely a pure scientist in the Bureau of Chemistry!”

All three laughed, and Perkins left the room. The talk then turned to the construction of the space-car. It was decided to rush the work on it, so that DuQuesne could familiarize himself with its operation, but not to take any steps in the actual abduction until such time as Seaton and Crane were nearly ready to take their first flight, so that they could pursue the abductors in case Seaton was still obdurate after a few days of his fiancée’s absence. DuQuesne insisted that the car should mount a couple of heavy guns, to destroy the pursuing car if the faulty members should happen to hold together long enough to carry it out into space.

After a long discussion, in which every detail of the plan was carefully considered, the two men left the restaurant, by different exits.

CHAPTER VII

The Trial Voyage

The great steel forgings which were to form the framework of the Skylark finally arrived and were hauled into the testing shed. There, behind closed doors, Crane inspected every square inch of the massive members with a lens, but could find nothing wrong. Still unsatisfied, he fitted up an electrical testing apparatus in order to search out flaws which might be hidden beneath the surface. This device revealed flaws in every piece, and after thoroughly testing each one and mapping out the imperfections he turned to Seaton with a grave face.

“Worse than useless, every one of them. They are barely strong enough to stand shipment. They figured that we would go slowly until we were well out of the atmosphere, then put on power—then something would give way and we would never come back.”

“That’s about the right dope, I guess. But now what’ll we do? We can’t cancel without letting them know we’re onto them, and we certainly can’t use this stuff.”

“No, but we will go ahead and build this ship, anyway, so that they will think that we are going ahead with it. At the same time we will build another one, about four times this size, in absolute secrecy, and.…”

“What d’you mean, absolute secrecy? How can you keep steel castings and forgings of that size secret from Steel?”

“I know a chap who owns and operates a small steel plant, so insignificant, relatively, that he has not yet been bought out or frozen out by Steel. I was able to do him a small favor once, and I am sure that he will be glad to return it. We will not be able to oversee the work, that is a drawback. We can get MacDougall to do it for us, however, and with him doing the work we can rest assured that there will be nothing off color. Even Steel couldn’t buy him.”

“MacDougall! The man who installed the Intercontinental plant? He wouldn’t touch a little job like this with a pole!”

“I think he would. He and I are rather friendly, and after I tell him all about it he will be glad to take it. It means building the first interplanetary vessel, you know.”

“Wouldn’t Steel follow him up if he should go to work on a mysterious project? He’s too big to hide.”

“No. He will go camping—he often does. I have gone with him several times when we were completely out of touch with civilization for two months at a time. Now, about the ship we want. Have you any ideas?”

“It will cost more than our entire capital.”

“That is easily arranged. We do not care how much it costs.”

Seaton began to object to drawing so heavily upon the resources of his friend, but was promptly silenced.

“I told you when we started,” Crane said flatly, “that your solution and your idea are worth far more than half a million. In fact, they are worth more than everything I have. No more talk of the money end of it, Dick.”

“All right. We’ll build a regular go-getter. Four times the size—she’ll be a bear-cat, Mart. I’m glad this one is on the fritz. She’ll carry a two-hundred-pound bar—Zowie! Watch our smoke! And say, why wouldn’t it be a good idea to build an attractor—a thing like an object-compass, but mounting a ten-pound bar instead of a needle, so that if they chase us in space we can reach out and grab ’em? We might mount a machine-gun in each quadrant, shooting X-plosive bullets, through pressure gaskets in the walls. We should have something for defense—I don’t like the possibility of having that gang of pirates after us, and nothing to fight back with except thought-waves.”

“Right. We will do both those things. But we should make the power-plant big enough to avert any possible contingency—say four hundred pounds—and we should have everything in duplicate, from power-plant to push-buttons.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mart. Don’t you think that’s carrying caution to extremes?”

“Possibly—but I would rather be a live coward than a dead hero, wouldn’t you?”

“You chirped it, old scout, I sure would. I never did like the looks of that old guy with the scythe, and I would hate to let DuQuesne feel that he had slipped something over on me at my own game. Besides, I’ve developed a lot of caution myself, lately. Double she is, with a skin of four-foot Norwegian armor. Let’s get busy!”

* * * *

They made the necessary alteration in the plans, and in a few days work was begun upon the huge steel shell in the little mountain steel-plant. The work was done under the constant supervision of the great MacDougall, by men who had been in his employ for years and who were all above suspicion. While it was being built Seaton and Crane employed a force of men and went ahead with the construction of the space-car in the testing shed. While they did not openly slight the work nearly all their time was spent in the house, perfecting the many essential things which were to go into the real Skylark. There was the attractor, for which they had to perfect a special sighting apparatus so that it could act in any direction, and yet would not focus upon the ship itself nor anything it contained. There were many other things.

It was in this work that the strikingly different temperaments and abilities of the two men were most clearly revealed. Seaton strode up and down the room, puffing great volumes of smoke from his hot and reeking briar, suggesting methods and ideas, his keen mind finding the way over, around, or through the apparently insuperable obstacles which beset their path. Crane, seated calmly at the drafting-table, occasionally inhaling a mouthful of smoke from one of his specially-made cigarettes, mercilessly tore Seaton’s suggestions to shreds—pointing out their weaknesses, proving his points with his cold, incisive reasoning and his slide-rule calculations of factors, stresses, and strains. Seaton in turn would find a remedy for every defect, and finally, the idea complete and perfect, Crane would impale it upon the point of his drafting pencil and spread it in every detail upon the paper before him, while Seaton’s active mind leaped to the next problem.

Not being vitally interested in the thing being built in the shed, they did not know that to the flawed members were being attached faulty plates, by imperfect welding. Even if they had been interested they could not have found the poor workmanship by any ordinary inspection, for it was being done by a picked crew of experts picked by Perkins. But to make things even, Perkins’ crew did not know that the peculiar instruments installed by Seaton and Crane, of which their foreman took many photographs, were not real instruments, and were made only nearly enough like them to pass inspection. They were utterly useless, in design and function far different from the real instruments intended for the Skylark.

Finally, the last dummy instrument was installed in the worthless space-car, which the friends referred to between themselves as “The Cripple,” a name which Seaton soon changed to “Old Crip.” The construction crew was dismissed after Crane had let the foreman overhear a talk between Seaton and himself in which they decided not to start for a few days as they had some final experiments to make. Prescott reported that Steel had relaxed its vigilance and was apparently waiting for the first flight. About the same time word was received from MacDougall that the real Skylark was ready for the finishing touches. A huge triplane descended upon Crane Field and was loaded to its capacity with strange looking equipment. When it left Seaton and Crane went with it, “to make the final tests before the first flight,” leaving a heavy guard over the house and the testing shed.

A few nights later, in inky blackness, a huge shape descended rapidly in front of the shed, whose ponderous doors opened to receive it and closed quickly after it. The Skylark moved lightly and easily as a wafted feather, betraying its thousands of tons of weight only by the hole it made in the hard-beaten earth of the floor as it settled to rest. Opening one of the heavy doors, Seaton and Crane sprang out into the darkness.

Dorothy and her father, who had been informed that the Skylark was to be brought home that night, were waiting. Seaton caught up his sweetheart in one mighty arm and extended his hand past her to Vaneman, who seized it in both his own. Upon the young man’s face was the look of a victorious king returning from conquest. For a few minutes disconnected exclamations were all that any of the party could utter. Then Seaton, loosening slightly his bear’s hold upon Dorothy, spoke.

“She flies!” he cried exultantly. “She flies, dearest, like a ray of light for speed and like a bit of thistledown for lightness. We’ve been around the moon!”

“Around the moon!” cried the two amazed visitors. “So soon?” asked Vaneman. “When did you start?”

“Almost an hour ago,” replied Crane readily; he had already taken out his watch. His voice was calm, his face quiet, but to those who knew him best a deeper resonance in his voice and a deeper blue sparkle in his eyes betrayed his emotion. Both inventors were moved more than they could have told by their achievement, by the complete success of the great space-cruiser upon which they had labored for months with all the power of their marvelous intellects. Seaton stood now at the summit of his pride. No recognition by the masses, no applause by the multitudes, no praise even from the upper ten of his own profession could equal for him the silent adulation of the two before him. Dorothy’s exquisite face was glorified as she looked at her lover. Her eyes wonderful as they told him how high he stood above all others in her world, how much she loved him. Seeing that look; that sweet face, more beautiful than ever in this, his hour of triumph; that perfect, adorable body, Seaton forgot the others and a more profound exaltation than that brought by his flight filled his being—humble thankfulness that he was the man to receive the untold treasure of her great giving.

“Every bit of mechanism we had occasion to use worked perfectly,” Crane stated proudly. “We did not find it necessary to change any of our apparatus and we hope to make a longer flight soon. The hour we took on this trip might easily have been only a few minutes, for the Lark did not even begin to pick up speed.”

* * * *

Shiro looked at Crane with an air of utter devotion and bowed until his head approached the floor.

“Sir,” he said in his stilted English. “Honorable Skylark shall be marvelous wonder. If permitting, I shall luxuriate in preparing suitable refreshment.”

The permission granted, he trotted away into the house, and the travelers invited their visitors to inspect the new craft. Crane and the older man climbed through the circular doorway, which was at an elevation of several feet above the ground. Seaton and Dorothy exchanged a brief but enthusiastic caress before he lifted her lightly up to the opening and followed her up a short flight of stairs. Although she knew what to expect, from her lover’s descriptions and from her own knowledge of “Old Crip,” which she had seen many times, she caught her breath in amazement as she stood up and looked about the brilliantly-lighted interior of the great sky-rover. It was a sight such as had never before been seen upon earth.

In the exact center of the huge shell was a spherical network of enormous steel beams. Inside this structure could be seen a similar network which, mounted upon universal bearings, was free to revolve in any direction.

She saw a spherical shell of hardened steel armor-plate, fully forty feet in diameter; though its true shape was not readily apparent from the inside, as it was divided into several compartments by horizontal floors or decks. In the exact center of the huge shell was a spherical network of enormous steel beams. Inside this structure could be seen a similar network which, mounted upon universal bearings, was free to revolve in any direction. This inner network was filled with machinery, surrounding a shining copper cylinder. From the outer network radiated six mighty supporting columns. These, branching as they neared the hull of the vessel, supported the power-plant and steering apparatus in the center and so strengthened the shell that the whole structure was nearly as strong as a solid steel ball. She noticed that the floor, perhaps eight feet below the center, was heavily upholstered in leather and did not seem solid; and that the same was true of the dozen or more seats—she could not call them chairs—which were built in various places. She gazed with interest at the two instrument boards, upon which flashed tiny lights and the highly-polished plate glass, condensite, and metal of many instruments, the use of which she could not guess.

After a few minutes of silence both visitors began to ask questions, and Seaton showed them the principal features of the novel craft. Crane accompanied them in silence, enjoying their pleasure, glorying in the mighty vessel. Seaton called attention to the great size and strength of the lateral supporting columns, one of which was immediately above their heads, and then led them over to the vertical column which pierced the middle of the floor. Enormous as the lateral had seemed, it appeared puny in comparison with this monster of fabricated steel. Seaton explained that the two verticals were many times stronger than the four laterals, as the center of gravity of the ship had been made lower than its geometrical center, so that the apparent motion of the vessel and therefore the power of the bar, would usually be merely vertical. Resting one hand caressingly upon the huge column, he exultantly explained that these members were “the last word in strength, made up of many separate I-beams and angles of the strongest known special steel, latticed and braced until no conceivable force could make them yield a millimeter.”

“But why such strength?” asked the lawyer doubtfully. “This column alone would hold up Brooklyn Bridge.”

“To hold down the power-plant, so that the bar won’t tear through the ship when we cut her loose,” replied Seaton. “Have you any idea how fast this bird can fly?”

“Well, I have heard you speak of traveling with the velocity of light, but that is overdrawn, isn’t it?”

“Not very much. Our figures show that with this four-hundred-pound bar”—pointing to the copper cylinder in the exact center of the inner sphere—“we could develop not only the velocity of light, but an acceleration equal to that velocity, were it not for the increase in mass at high velocities, as shown by Einstein and others. We can’t go very fast near the earth, of course, as the friction of the air would melt the whole works in a few minutes. Until we get out of the atmosphere our speed will be limited by the ability of steel to withstand melting by the friction of the air to somewhere in the neighborhood of four or five thousand miles per hour, but out in space we can develop any speed we wish, up to that of light as a limit.”

“I studied physics a little in my youth. Wouldn’t the mere force of such an acceleration as you mention flatten you on the floor and hold you there? And any sudden jar would certainly kill you.”

* * * *

“There can’t be any sudden jar. This is a special floor, you notice. It is mounted on long, extremely heavy springs, to take up any possible jar. Also, whenever we are putting on power we won’t try to stand up, our legs would crimple up like strings. We will ride securely strapped into those special seats, which are mounted the same as the floor, only a whole lot more so. As to the acceleration.…”

“That word means picking up speed, doesn’t it?” interrupted Dorothy.

“The rate of picking up speed,” corrected Seaton. “That is, if you were going forty miles per hour one minute, and fifty the next minute, your acceleration would be ten miles per hour per minute. See? It’s acceleration that makes you feel funny when you start up or down in an elevator.”

“Then riding in this thing will be like starting up in an elevator so that your heart sinks into your boots and you can’t breathe?”

“Yes, only worse. We will pick up speed faster and keep on doing it.…”

“Seriously,” interrupted the lawyer, “do you think that the human body can stand any such acceleration as that?”

“I don’t know. We are going to find out, by starting out slowly and increasing our acceleration to as much as we can stand.”

“I see,” Vaneman replied. “But how are you going to steer her? How do you keep permanent reference points, since there are no directions in space?”

“That was our hardest problem,” explained Seaton, “but Martin solved it perfectly. See the power-plant up there? Notice those big supporting rings and bearings? Well, the power-plant is entirely separate from the ship, as it is inside that inner sphere, about which the outer sphere and the ship itself are free to revolve in any direction. No matter how much the ship rolls and pitches, as she is bound to do every time we come near enough to any star or planet to be influenced by its gravitation, the bar stays where it is pointed. Those six big jackets in the outer sphere, on the six sides of the bar, cover six pairs of gyroscope wheels, weighing several tons each, turning at a terrific speed in a vacuum. The gyroscopes keep the whole outer sphere in exactly the same position as long as they are kept turning, and afford us not only permanent planes of reference, but also a solid foundation in those planes which can be used in pointing the bar. The bar can be turned instantly to any direction whatever by special electrical instruments on the boards. You see, the outer sphere stays immovably fixed in that position, with the bar at liberty to turn in any direction inside it, and the ship at liberty to do the same thing outside it.

“Now we will show you where we sleep,” Seaton continued. “We have eight rooms, four below and four above,” leading the way to a narrow, steep steel stairway and down into a very narrow hall, from either side of which two doors opened. “This is my room, the adjoining one is Mart’s. Shiro sleeps across the hall. The rest of the rooms are for our guests on future trips.”

Sliding back the door, he switched on the light and revealed a small but fully-appointed bedroom, completely furnished with everything necessary, yet everything condensed into the least possible space. The floor, like the one above, was of cushioned leather supported by springs. The bed was a modification of the special seats already referred to. Opening another sliding door, he showed them an equally complete and equally compact bathroom.

“You see, we have all the comforts of home. This bathroom, however, is practical only when we have some force downward, either gravitation or our own acceleration. The same reasoning accounts for the hand-rails you see everywhere on board. Drifting in space, you know, there is no weight, and you can’t walk; you must pull yourself around. If you tried to take a step you would bounce up and hit the ceiling, and stay there. That is why the ceilings are so well padded. And if you tried to wash your face you would throw water all over the place, and it would float around in the air instead of falling to the floor. As long as we can walk we can use the bathroom—if I should want to wash my face while we are drifting, I just press this button here, and the pilot will put on enough acceleration to make the correct use of water possible. There are a lot of surprising things about a trip into space.”

“I don’t doubt it a bit, and I’m simply wild to go for a ride with you. When will you take me, Dicky?” asked Dorothy eagerly.

“Very soon, Dottie. As soon as we get her in perfect running condition. You shall be the first to ride with us, I promise you.”

“Where do you cook and eat? How do you see out? How about the air and water supply? How do you keep warm, or cool, as the case may be?” asked the girl’s father, as though he were cross-examining a witness.

“Shiro has a galley on the main floor, and tables fold up into the wall of the main compartment. The passengers see out by sliding back steel panels, which normally cover the windows. The pilot can see in any direction from his seat at the instrument-board, by means of special instruments, something like periscopes. The windows are made of optical glass similar to that used in the largest telescopes. They are nearly as thick as the hull and have a compressive resistance almost equal to that of armor steel. Although so thick, they are crystal clear, and a speck of dust on the outer surface is easily seen. We have water enough in tanks to last us three months, or indefinitely if we should have to be careful, as we can automatically distill and purify all our waste water, recovering absolutely pure H2O. We have compressed air, also in tanks, but we need very little, as the air is constantly being purified. Also, we have oxygen-generating apparatus aboard, in case we should run short. As to keeping warm, we have electric heating coils, run by the practically inexhaustible power of a small metal bar. If we get too near the sun and get too warm, we have a refrigerating machine to cool us off. Anything else?”

“You’d better give up, Dad,” laughingly advised his daughter. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you, Dick?”

“Mart has, I think. This is all his doing, you know. I wouldn’t have thought of a tenth of it, myself.”

“I must remind you young folks,” said the older man, glancing at his watch, “that it is very late and high time for Dottie and me to be going home. We would like to stay and see the rest of it, but you know we must be away from here before daylight.”

* * * *

As they went into the house Vaneman asked:

“What does the other side of the moon look like? I have always been curious about it.”

“We were not able to see much,” replied Crane “It was too dark and we did not take the time to explore it, but from what we could see by means of our searchlights it is very much like this side—the most barren and desolate place imaginable. After we go to Mars, we intend to explore the moon thoroughly.”

“Mars, then, is your first goal? When do you intend to start?”

“We haven’t decided definitely. Probably in a day or two. Everything is ready now.”

As the Vanemans had come out in the street car, in order to attract as little attention as possible, Seaton volunteered to take them home in one of Crane’s cars. As they bade Crane goodnight after enjoying Shiro’s “suitable refreshment” the lawyer took the chauffeur’s seat, motioning his daughter and Seaton into the closed body of the car. As soon as they had started Dorothy turned in the embrace of her lover’s arm.

“Dick,” she said fiercely. “I would have been worried sick if I had known that you were way off there.”

“I knew it, sweetheart. That’s why I didn’t tell you we were going. We both knew the Skylark was perfectly safe, but I knew that you would worry about our first trip. Now that we have been to the moon you won’t be uneasy when we go to Mars, will you, dear?”

“I can’t help it, boy. I will be afraid that something terrible has happened, every minute. Won’t you take me with you? Then, if anything happens, it will happen to both of us, and that is as it should be. You know that I wouldn’t want to keep on living if anything should happen to you.”

He put both arms around her as his reply, and pressed his cheek to hers.

“Dorothy sweetheart, I know exactly how you feel. I feel the same way myself. I’m awfully sorry, dear, but I can’t do it. I know the machine is safe, but I’ve got to prove it to everybody else before I take you on a long trip with me. Your father will agree with me that you ought not to go, on the first trip or two, anyway. And besides, what would Madam Grundy say?”

“Well, there is a way.…” she began, and he felt her face turn hot.

His arms tightened around her and his breath came fast.

“I know it, sweetheart, and I would like nothing better in the world than to be married today and take our honeymoon in the Skylark, but I can’t do it. After we come back from the first long trip we will be married just as soon as you say ready, and after that we will always be together wherever I go. But I can’t take even the millionth part of a chance with anything as valuable as you are—you see that, don’t you, Dottie?”

“I suppose so,” she returned disconsolately, “but you’ll make it a short trip, for my sake? I know I won’t rest a minute until you get back.”

“I promise you that we won’t be gone more than four days. Then for the greatest honeymoon that ever was,” and they clung together in the dark body of the car, each busy with solemn and beautiful thoughts of the happiness to come.

They soon reached their destination. As they entered the house Dorothy made one more attempt.

“Dad, Dick is just too perfectly mean. He says he won’t take me on the first trip. If you were going out there wouldn’t mother want to go along too?”

After listening to Seaton he gave his decision.

“Dick is right, Kitten. He must make the long trip first. Then, after the machine is proved reliable, you may go with him. I can think of no better way of spending a honeymoon—it will be a new one, at least. And you needn’t worry about the boys getting back safely. I might not trust either of them alone, but together they are invincible. Good-night, children. I wish you success, Dick,” as he turned away.

Seaton took a lover’s leave of Dorothy, and went into the lawyer’s study, taking an envelope from his pocket.

“Mr. Vaneman,” he said in a low voice, “we think the Steel crowd is still camping on our trail. We are ready for them, with a lot of stuff that they never heard of, but in case anything goes wrong, Martin has written between the lines of this legal form, in invisible ink A-36, exactly how to get possession of all our notes and plans, so that the company can go ahead with everything. With those directions any chemist can find and use the stuff safely. Please put this envelope in the safest place you can think of, and then forget it unless they get both Crane and me. There’s about one chance in a million of their doing that, but Mart doesn’t gamble on even that chance.”

“He is right, Dick. I believe that you can outwit them in any situation, but I will keep this paper where no one except myself can ever see it, nevertheless. Good-night, son, and good luck.”

“The same to you, sir, and thank you. Good-night.”

CHAPTER VIII

Indirect Action

The author of this story, being a chemist of high standing and an excellent mathematician, gives us a rare gem in this interplanetary tale. For one thing, he suggests an interesting use of the action of acceleration. In this instalment it is made to take the place of gravity when the interplanetary vehicle is out in open space. In order to get the gravity effect, a positive or negative acceleration could be given out.

This instalment retains its easy flow of language and continues to develop surprise episodes with a remarkable degree of realism.

The afternoon following the homecoming of the Skylark, Seaton and Dorothy returned from a long horseback ride in the park. After Seaton had mounted his motorcycle Dorothy turned toward a bench in the shade of an old elm to watch a game of tennis on the court next door. Scarcely had she seated herself when a great copper-plated ball alighted upon the lawn in front of her. A heavy steel door snapped open and a powerful figure clad in aviator’s leather, the face completely covered by the hood, leaped out. She jumped to her feet with a cry of joyful surprise, thinking it was Seaton—a cry which died suddenly as she realized that Seaton had just left her and that this vessel was far too small to be the Skylark. She turned in flight, but the stranger caught her in three strides. She found herself helpless in a pair of arms equal in strength to Seaton’s own. Picking her up lightly as a baby, DuQuesne carried her over to the space-car. Shriek after shriek rang out as she found that her utmost struggles were of no avail against the giant strength of her captor, that her fiercely-driven nails glanced harmlessly off the heavy glass and leather of his hood, and that her teeth were equally ineffective against his suit.

With the girl in his arms DuQuesne stepped into the vessel, and as the door clanged shut behind them Dorothy caught a glimpse of another woman, tied hand and foot in one of the side seats of the car.

“Tie her feet, Perkins,” DuQuesne ordered brusquely, holding her around the body so that her feet extended straight out in front of him. “She’s a wildcat.”

As Perkins threw one end of a small rope around her ankles Dorothy doubled up her knees, drawing her feet as far away from him as possible. As he incautiously approached, she kicked out viciously, with all the force of her muscular young body behind her heavy riding-boots.

The sharp heel of one small boot struck Perkins squarely in the pit of the stomach—a true “solar-plexus” blow—and completely knocked out, he staggered back against the instrument-board. His out-flung arm pushed the speed lever clear out to its last notch, throwing the entire current of the batteries through the bar, which was pointed straight up, as it had been when they made their landing, and closing the switch which threw on the power of the repelling outer coating. There was a creak of the mighty steel fabric, stressed almost to its limit as the vessel darted upward with its stupendous velocity, and only the carefully-planned spring-and-cushion floor saved their lives as they were thrown flat and held there by the awful force of their acceleration as the space-car tore through the thin layer of the earth’s atmosphere. So terrific was their speed, that the friction of the air did not have time to set them afire—they were through it and into the perfect vacuum of interstellar space before the thick steel hull was even warmed through. Dorothy lay flat upon her back, just as she had fallen, unable even to move her arms, gaining each breath only by a terrible effort. Perkins was a huddled heap under the instrument-board. The other captive, Brookings’ ex-secretary, was in somewhat better case, as her bonds had snapped like string and she was lying at full length in one of the side-seats—forced into that position and held there, as the design of the seats was adapted for the most comfortable position possible under such conditions. She, like Dorothy, was gasping for breath, her straining muscles barely able to force air into her lungs because of the paralyzing weight of her chest.

DuQuesne alone was able to move, and it required all of his Herculean strength to creep and crawl, snake-like, toward the instrument-board. Finally attaining his goal, he summoned all his strength to grasp, not the controlling lever, which he knew was beyond his reach, but a cut-out switch only a couple of feet above his head. With a series of convulsive movements he fought his way up, first until he was crouching on his elbows and knees, and then into a squatting position. Placing his left hand under his right, he made a last supreme effort. Perspiration streamed from him, his mighty muscles stood out in ridges visible even under the heavy leather of his coat, his lips parted in a snarl over his locked teeth as he threw every ounce of his wonderful body into an effort to force his right hand up to the switch. His hand approached it slowly—closed over it and pulled it out.

The result was startling. With the mighty power instantly cut off, and with not even the ordinary force of gravitation to counteract the force DuQuesne was exerting, his own muscular effort hurled him up toward the center of the car and against the instrument-board. The switch, still in his grasp, was again closed. His shoulder crashed against the levers which controlled the direction of the bar, swinging it through a wide arc. As the ship darted off in the new direction with all its old acceleration, he was hurled against the instrument board, tearing one end loose from its supports and falling unconscious to the floor on the other side. After a time, which seemed like an eternity, Dorothy and the other girl felt their senses slowly leave them.

With four unconscious passengers, the space-car hurtled through empty space, its already inconceivable velocity being augmented every second by a quantity bringing its velocity near to that of light, driven onward by the incredible power of the disintegrating copper bar.

* * * *

Seaton had gone only a short distance from his sweetheart’s home when over the purring of his engine he thought he heard Dorothy’s voice raised in a scream. He did not wait to make sure, but whirled his machine about and the purring changed instantly to a staccato roar as he threw open the throttle and advanced the spark. Gravel flew from beneath his skidding wheels as he negotiated the turn into the Vaneman grounds at suicidal speed. But with all his haste he arrived upon the scene just in time to see the door of the space-car close. Before he could reach it the vessel disappeared, with nothing to mark its departure save a violent whirl of grass and sod, uprooted and carried far into the air by the vacuum of its wake. To the excited tennis-players and the screaming mother of the abducted girl it seemed as though the great metal ball had vanished utterly—only Seaton, knowing what to expect, saw the line it made in the air and saw for an instant a minute dot in the sky before it disappeared.

Interrupting the clamor of the young people, each of whom was trying to tell him what had happened, he spoke to Mrs. Vaneman.

“Mother, Dottie’s all right,” he said rapidly but gently. “Steel’s got her, but they won’t keep her long. Don’t worry, we’ll get her. It may take a week or it may take a year, but we’ll bring her back,” and leaping upon his motorcycle, he shattered all the speed laws on his way to Crane’s house.

“Mart!” he yelled, rushing into the shop, “they’ve got Dottie, in a bus made from our plans. Let’s go!” as he started on a run for the testing shed.

“Wait a minute!” crisply shouted Crane. “Don’t go off half-cocked. What is your plan?”

“Plan, hell!” barked the enraged chemist. “Chase ’em!”

“Which way did they go, and when?”

“Straight up, full power, twenty minutes ago.”

“Too long ago. Straight up has changed its direction several degrees since then. They may have covered a million miles, or they may have come back and landed next door. Sit down and think—we need all your brains now.”

Regaining his self-possession as the wisdom of his friend’s advice came home to him, Seaton sat down and pulled out his pipe. There was a tense silence for an instant. Then he leaped to his feet and darted into his room, returning with an object-compass whose needle pointed upward.

“DuQuesne did it,” he cried exultantly. “This baby is still looking right at him. Now let’s go—make it snappy!”

“Not yet. We should find out how far away they are; that may give us an idea.”

Suiting action to word, he took up his stopwatch and set the needle swinging. They watched it with strained faces as second after second went by and it still continued to swing. When it had come to rest Crane read his watch and made a rapid calculation.

“About three hundred and fifty million miles,” he stated. “Clear out of our solar system already, and from the distance covered he must have had a constant acceleration so as to approximate the velocity of light, and he is still going with full.…”

“But nothing can possibly go that fast, Mart, it’s impossible. How about Einstein’s theory?”

“That is a theory, this measurement of distance is a fact, as you know from our tests.”

“That’s right. Another good theory gone to pot. But how do you account for his distance? D’you suppose he’s lost control?”

“He must have. I do not believe that he would willingly stand that acceleration, nor that he would have gone that far of his own accord. Do you?”

“I sure don’t. We don’t know how big a bar they are carrying, so we can’t estimate how long it is going to take us to catch them. But let’s not waste any more time, Mart. For Cat’s sake, let’s get busy!”

“We have only those four bars, Dick—two for each unit. Do you think that will be enough? Think of how far we may have to go, what we may possibly get into, and what it will mean to Dottie if we fail for lack of power.”

Seaton, though furiously eager to be off, paused at this new idea, and half-regretfully he replied:

“We are so far behind them already that I guess a few hours more won’t make much difference. It sure would be disastrous to get out near one of the fixed stars and have our power quit. I guess you’re right, we’d better get a couple more—make it four, then we’ll have enough to chase them half our lives. We’d better load up on grub and X-plosive ammunition, too.”

* * * *

While Crane and Shiro carried additional provisions and boxes of cartridges into the “Skylark,” Seaton once more mounted his motorcycle and sped across the city to the brass foundry. The manager of the plant took his order, but blandly informed him that there was not that much copper in the city, that it would be a week or ten days before the order could be filled. Seaton suggested that they melt up some copper cable and other goods already manufactured, offering ten times their value, but the manager was obdurate, saying that he could not violate the rule of priority of orders. Seaton then went to other places, endeavoring to buy scrap copper, trolley wire, electric cable, anything made of the ruddy metal, but found none for sale in quantities large enough to be of any use. After several hours of fruitless search, he returned home in a towering rage and explained to Crane, in lurid language, his failure to secure the copper. The latter was unmoved.

“After you left, it occurred to me that you might not get any. You see, Steel is still watching us.”

Fire shot from Seaton’s eyes.

“I’m going to clean up that bunch,” he gritted through his teeth as he started straight for the door.

“Not yet, Dick,” Crane remonstrated. “We can go down to Wilson’s in a few minutes, and I know we can get it there if he has it. The “Skylark” is all ready to travel.”

No more words were needed. They hurried into the space-car and soon were standing in the office of the plant in which the vessel had been built. When they had made their wants known, the iron-master shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Crane, but I have only a few pounds of copper in the shop, and we have no suitable furnace.”

Seaton broke out violently at this, but Crane interrupted him, explaining their inability to get the metal anywhere else and the urgency of their need. When he had finished, Wilson brought his fist down upon his desk.

“I’ll get it if I have to melt up our dynamos,” he roared. “We’ll have to rig a crucible, but we’ll have your bars out just as soon as the whole force of this damned scrap-heap can make ’em!”

Calling in his foreman, he bellowed orders, and while automobiles scoured the nearby towns for scrap copper, the crucible and molds were made ready.

Nearly two days passed before the gleaming copper cylinders were finished. During this time Crane added to their already complete equipment every article he could conceive of their having any use for, while Seaton raged up and down the plant in a black fury of impatience. Just before the bars were ready, they made another reading on the object-compass. Their faces grew tense and drawn and their hearts turned sick as second followed second and minute followed minute and the needle still oscillated. Finally, however, it came to rest, and Seaton’s voice almost failed him as he read his figures.

“Two hundred and thirty-five light-years, Mart. They’re lost, and still going. Good-bye, old scout,” holding out his hand, “Tell Vaneman that I’ll bring her back or else stay out there myself.”

“You must be crazy, Dick. You know I am going.”

“Why? No use in both of us taking such a chance. If Dottie’s gone, of course I want to go too, but you don’t.”

“Nonsense, Dick. Of course this is somewhat farther than we had planned on going for our maiden voyage, but where is the difference? It is just as safe to go a thousand light-years as only one, and we have power and food for any contingency. There is no more danger in this trip than there is in one to Mars. At all events, I am going whether you want me to or not, so save your breath.”

“You lie like a thief, Mart—you know what we are up against as well as I do. But if you insist on coming along, I’m sure glad to have you.”

As their hands met in a crushing grip, the bars were brought up and loaded into the carriers. Waving good-bye to Wilson, they closed the massive door and took their positions. Seaton adjusted the bar parallel with the needle of the object-compass, turned on the coil, and advanced the speed-lever until Crane, reading the pyro-meters, warned him to slow down, as the shell was heating. Free of the earth’s atmosphere, he slowly advanced the lever, one notch at a time, until he could no longer support the increasing weight of his hand, but had to draw out the rolling support designed for that emergency. He pushed the lever a few notches farther, and felt himself forced down violently into the seat. He was now lying at full length, the seat having automatically moved upward so that his hand still controlled the lever. Still he kept putting on more power, until the indicator showed that more than three-quarters of the power was in operation and he felt that he could stand but little more.

“How are you making it, Mart?” he asked, talking with difficulty because of the great weight of his tongue and jaws.

“All right so far,” came the response, in a hesitating, almost stammering voice, “but I do not know how much more I can take. If you can stand it, go ahead.”

“This is enough for awhile, until we get used to it. Any time you want to rest, tell me and I’ll cut her down.”

“Keep her at this for four or five hours. Then cut down until we can walk, so that we can eat and take another reading on distance. Remember that it will take as long to stop as it does to get up speed, and that we must be careful not to ram them. There would be nothing left of either car.”

“All right. Talking’s too darn much work, I’ll talk to you again when we ease down. I sure am glad we’re on our way at last.”

CHAPTER IX

Lost In Space

For forty-eight hours the uncontrolled atomic motor dragged the masterless vessel with its four unconscious passengers through the illimitable reaches of empty space, with an awful and constantly increasing velocity. When only a few traces of copper remained in the power-plant, the acceleration began to decrease and the powerful springs began to restore the floor and the seats to their normal positions. The last particle of copper having been transformed into energy, the speed of the vessel became constant. Apparently motionless to those inside it, it was in reality traversing space with a velocity thousands of times greater than that of light. As the force which had been holding them down was relaxed, the lungs, which had been able to secure only air enough to maintain faint sparks of life, began to function more normally and soon all four recovered consciousness, drinking in the life-giving oxygen in a rapid succession of breaths so deep that it seemed as though their lungs must burst with each inhalation.

DuQuesne was the first to gain control of himself. His first effort to rise to his feet lifted him from the floor, and he floated lightly to the ceiling, striking it with a gentle bump and remaining suspended in the air. The others, who had not yet attempted to move, stared at him in wide-eyed amazement. Reaching out and clutching one of the supporting columns, he drew himself back to the floor and cautiously removed his leather suit, transferring two heavy automatic pistols as he did so. By gingerly feeling of his injured body, he discovered that no bones were broken, although he was terribly bruised. He then glanced around to learn how his companions were faring. He saw that they were all sitting up, the girls resting, Perkins removing his aviator’s costume.

“Good morning, Doctor DuQuesne. What happened when I kicked your friend?”

DuQuesne smiled.

“Good morning, Miss Vaneman. Several things happened. He fell into the controls, turning on all the juice. We left shortly afterward. I tried to shut the power off, and in doing so I balled things up worse than ever. Then I went to sleep, and just woke up.”

“Have you any idea where we are?”

“No, but I can make a fair estimate, I think,” and glancing at the empty chamber in which the bar had been, he took out his notebook and pen and figured for a few minutes. As he finished, he drew himself along by a handrail to one of the windows, then to another. He returned with a puzzled expression on his face and made a long calculation.

“I don’t know exactly what to make of this,” he said thoughtfully. “We are so far away from the earth that even the fixed stars are unrecognizable. The power was on exactly forty-eight hours, since that is the life of that particular bar under full current. We should still be close to our own solar system, since it is theoretically impossible to develop any velocity greater than that of light. But in fact, we have. I know enough about astronomy to recognize the fixed stars from any point within a light-year or so of the sun, and I can’t see a single familiar star. I never could see how mass could be a function of velocity, and now I am convinced that it is not. We have been accelerating for forty-eight hours!”

He turned to Dorothy.

“While we were unconscious, Miss Vaneman, we had probably attained a velocity of something like seven billion four hundred thirteen million miles per second, and that is the approximate speed at which we are now traveling. We must be nearly six quadrillion miles, and that is a space of several hundred light-years—away from our solar system, or, more plainly, about six times as far away from our earth as the North Star is. We couldn’t see our sun with a telescope, even if we knew which way to look for it.”

* * * *

At this paralyzing news, Dorothy’s face turned white and Margaret Spencer quietly fainted in her seat.

“Then we can never get back?” asked Dorothy slowly.

At this question, Perkins’ self-control gave way and his thin veneer of decency disappeared completely.

“You got us into this whole thing!” he screamed as he leaped at Dorothy with murderous fury gleaming in his pale eyes and his fingers curved into talons. Instead of reaching her, however, he merely sprawled grotesquely in midair, and DuQuesne knocked him clear across the vessel with one powerful blow of his fist.

“Get back there, you cowardly cur,” he said evenly. “Even though we are a long way from home, try to remember you’re a man, at least. One more break like that and I’ll throw you out of the boat. It isn’t her fault that we are out here, but our own. The blame for it is a very small matter, anyway; the thing of importance is to get back as soon as possible.”

“But how can we get back?” asked Perkins sullenly from the corner where he was crouching, fear in every feature. “The power is gone, the controls are wrecked, and we are hopelessly lost in space.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘hopelessly,’” returned the other, “I have never been in any situation yet that I couldn’t get out of, and I won’t be convinced until I am dead that I can’t get out of this one. We have two extra power bars, we can fix the board, and if I can’t navigate us back close enough to our solar system to find it, I am more of a dub than I think I am. How about a little bite to eat?”

“Show us where it is!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Now that you mention it, I find that I am starved to death.”

DuQuesne looked at her keenly.

“I admire your nerve, Miss Vaneman. I didn’t suppose that that animal over there would show such a wide streak of yellow, but I was rather afraid that you girls might go to pieces.”

“I’m scared blue, of course,” Dorothy admitted frankly, “but hysterics won’t do any good, and we simply must get back.”

“Certainly, we must and we will,” stated DuQuesne calmly. “If you like, you might find something for us to eat in the galley there, while I see what I can do with this board that I wrecked with my head. By the way, that cubby-hole there is the apartment reserved for you two ladies. We are in rather cramped quarters, but I think you will find everything you need.”

As Dorothy drew herself along the handrail toward the room designated, accompanied by the other girl who, though conscious, had paid little attention to anything around her, she could not help feeling a thrill of admiration for the splendid villain who had abducted her. Calm and cool, always master of himself, apparently paying no attention to the terrible bruises which disfigured half his face and doubtless half his body as well, she admitted to herself that it was only his example, which had enabled her to maintain her self-control in their present plight. As she crawled over Perkins’ discarded suit, she remembered that he had not taken any weapons from it. After a rapid glance around to assure herself that she was not being watched, she quickly searched the coat, bringing to light not one, but two pistols, which she thrust into her pocket. She saw with relief that they were regulation army automatics, with whose use she was familiar from much target practise with Seaton.

In the room, which was a miniature of the one she had seen on the Skylark, the girls found clothing, toilet articles, and everything necessary for a long trip. As they were setting themselves to rights, Dorothy electing to stay in her riding suit, they surveyed each other frankly and each was reassured by what she saw. Dorothy saw a girl of twenty-two, of her own stature, with a mass of heavy, wavy black hair. Her eyes, a singularly rich and deep brown, contrasted strangely with the beautiful ivory of her skin. She was normally a beautiful girl, thought Dorothy, but her beauty was marred by suffering and privation. Her naturally slender form was thin, her face was haggard and worn. The stranger broke the silence.

* * * *

“I’m Margaret Spencer,” she began abruptly, “former secretary to His Royal Highness, Brookings of Steel. They swindled my father out of an invention worth millions and he died, broken-hearted. I got the job to see if I couldn’t get enough evidence to convict them, and I had quite a lot when they caught me. I had some things that they were afraid to lose, and I had them so well hidden that they couldn’t find them, so they kidnapped me to make me give them back. They haven’t dared kill me so far for fear the evidence will show up after my death—which it will. However, I will be legally dead before long, and then they know the whole thing will come out, so they have brought me out here to make me talk or kill me. Talking won’t do me any good now, though, and I don’t believe it ever would have. They would have killed me after they got the stuff back, anyway. So you see I, at least, will never get back to the earth alive.”

“Cheer up—we’ll all get back safely.”

“No, we won’t. You don’t know that man Perkins—if that is his name. I never heard him called any real name before. He is simply unspeakable—vile—hideous—everything that is base. He was my jailer, and I utterly loathe and despise him. He is mean and underhanded and tricky—he reminds me of a slimy, poisonous snake. He will kill me: I know it.”

“But how about Doctor DuQuesne? Surely he isn’t that kind of man? He wouldn’t let him.”

“I’ve never met him before, but from what I heard of him in the office, he’s even worse than Perkins, but in an entirely different way. There’s nothing small or mean about him, and I don’t believe he would go out of his way to hurt anyone, as Perkins would. But he is absolutely cold and hard, a perfect fiend. Where his interests are concerned, there’s nothing under the sun, good or bad, that he won’t do. But I’m glad that Perkins had me instead of ‘The Doctor,’ as they call him. Perkins raises such a bitter personal feeling, that anybody would rather die than give up to him in anything. DuQuesne, however, would have tortured me impersonally and scientifically—cold and self-contained all the while and using the most efficient methods, and I am sure he would have got it out of me some way. He always gets what he goes after.”

“Oh, come, Miss Spencer!” Dorothy interrupted the half-hysterical girl. “You’re too hard on him. Didn’t you see him knock Perkins down when he came after me?”

“Well, maybe he has a few gentlemanly instincts, which he uses when he doesn’t lose anything by it. More likely he merely intended to rebuke him for a useless action. He is a firm Pragmatist—anything that is useful is all right, anything that is useless is a crime. More probably yet, he wants you left alive. Of course that is his real reason. He went to the trouble of kidnapping you, so naturally he won’t let Perkins or anybody else kill you until he is through with you. Otherwise he would have let Perkins do anything he wanted to with you, without lifting a finger.”

“I can’t quite believe that,” Dorothy replied, though a cold chill struck at her heart as she remembered the inhuman crime attributed to this man, and she quailed at the thought of being in his charge, countless millions of miles from earth, a thought only partly counteracted by the fact that she was now armed. “He has treated us with every consideration so far, let’s hope for the best. Anyway, I’m sure that we’ll get back safely.”

“Why so sure? Have you something up your sleeve?”

“No—or yes, in a way I have, though nothing very definite. I’m Dorothy Vaneman, and I am engaged to the man who discovered the thing that makes this space-car go.…”

“That’s why they kidnapped you, then—to make him give up all his rights to it. It’s like them.”

“Yes, I think that’s why they did it. But they won’t keep me long. Dick Seaton will find me, I know. I feel it.”

“But that’s exactly what they want!” cried Margaret excitedly. “In my spying around I heard a little about this very thing—the name Seaton brings it to my mind. His car is broken in some way, so that it will kill him the first time he tries to run it.”

“That’s where they underestimated Dick and his partner. You have heard of Martin Crane, of course?”

“I think I heard his name mentioned in the office, together with Seaton’s, but that’s all.”

“Well, besides other things, Martin is quite a wonderful mechanic, and he found out that our Skylark was spoiled. So they built another one, a lot bigger, and I am sure that they are following us, right now.”

“But how can they possibly follow us, when we are going so fast and are so far away?” queried the other girl, once more despondent.

“I don’t quite know, but I do know that Dick will find a way. He’s simply wonderful. He knows more now than that Doctor DuQuesne will ever learn in all his life, and he will find us in a few days. I feel it in my bones. Besides, I picked Perkins’ pockets of these two pistols. Can you shoot an automatic?”

“Yes,” replied the other girl, as she seized one of the guns, assured herself that its magazine was full, and slipped it into her pocket. “I used to practise a lot with my father’s. This makes me feel a whole lot better. And call me Peggy, won’t you? It will seem good to hear my name again. After what I’ve been through lately, even this trip will be a vacation for me.”

“Well, then, cheer up, Peggy dear, we’re going to be great friends. Let’s go get us all something to eat. I’m simply starved, and I know you are, too.”

* * * *

The presence of the pistol in her pocket and Dorothy’s unwavering faith in her lover, lifted the stranger out of the mood of despair into which the long imprisonment, the brutal treatment, and the present situation had plunged her, and she was almost cheerful as they drew themselves along the hand-rail leading to the tiny galley.

“I simply can’t get used to the idea of nothing having any weight—look here!” laughed Dorothy, as she took a boiled ham out of the refrigerator and hung it upon an imaginary hook in the air, where it remained motionless. “Doesn’t it make you feel funny?”

“It is a queer sensation. I feel light, like a toy balloon, and I feel awfully weird inside. If we have no weight, why does it hurt so when we bump into anything? And when you throw anything, like the Doctor did Perkins, why does it hit as hard as ever?”

“It’s mass or inertia or something like that. A thing has it everywhere, whether it weighs anything or not. Dick explained it all to me. I understood it when he told me about it, but I’m afraid it didn’t sink in very deep. Did you ever study physics?”

“I had a year of it in college, but it was more or less of a joke. I went to a girls’ school, and all we had to do in physics was to get the credit; we didn’t have to learn it.”

“Me too. Next time I go to school I’m going to Yale or Harvard or some such place, and I’ll learn so much mathematics and science that I’ll have to wear a bandeau to keep my massive intellect in place.”

During this conversation they had prepared a substantial luncheon and had arranged it daintily upon two large trays, in spite of the difficulty caused by the fact that nothing would remain in place by its own weight. The feast prepared, Dorothy took her tray from the table as carefully as she could, and saw the sandwiches and bottles start to float toward the ceiling. Hastily inverting the tray above the escaping viands, she pushed them back down upon the table. In doing so she lifted herself clear from the floor, as she had forgotten to hold herself down.

“What’ll we do, anyway?” she wailed when she had recovered her position. “Everything wants to fly all over the place!”

“Put another tray on top of it and hold them together,” suggested Margaret. “I wish we had a birdcage. Then we could open the door and grab a sandwich as it flies out.”

By covering the trays the girls finally carried the luncheon out into the main compartment, where they gave DuQuesne and Perkins one of the trays and all fell to eating hungrily. DuQuesne paused with a glint of amusement in his one sound eye as he saw Dorothy trying to pour ginger ale out of a bottle.

“It can’t be done, Miss Vaneman. You’ll have to drink it through a straw. That will work, since our air pressure is normal. Be careful not to choke on it, though; your swallowing will have to be all muscular out here. Gravity won’t help you. Or wait a bit—I have the control board fixed and it will be a matter of only a few minutes to put in another bar and get enough acceleration to take the place of gravity.”

He placed one of the extra power bars in the chamber and pushed the speed lever into the first notch, and there was a lurch of the whole vessel as it swung around the bar so that the floor was once more perpendicular to it. He took a couple of steps, returned, and advanced the lever another notch.

“There that’s about the same as gravity. Now we can act like human beings and eat in comfort.”

“That’s a wonderful relief, Doctor!” cried Dorothy. “Are we going back toward the earth?”

“Not yet. I reversed the bar, but we will have to use up all of this one before we can even start back. Until this bar is gone we will merely be slowing down.”

* * * *

As the meal progressed, Dorothy noticed that DuQuesne’s left arm seemed almost helpless, and that he ate with great difficulty because of his terribly bruised face. As soon as they had removed the trays she went into her room, where she had seen a small medicine chest, and brought out a couple of bottles.

“Lie down here, Doctor DuQuesne,” she commanded. “I’m going to apply a little first-aid to the injured. Arnica and iodine are all I can find, but they’ll help a little.”

“I’m all right,” began the scientist, but at her imperious gesture he submitted, and she bathed his battered features with the healing lotion and painted the worst bruises with iodine.

“I see your arm is lame. Where does it hurt?”

“Shoulder’s the worst. I rammed it through the board when we started out.”

He opened his shirt at the throat and bared his shoulder, and Dorothy gasped—as much at the size and power of the muscles displayed, as at the extent and severity of the man’s injuries. Stepping into the gallery, she brought out hot water and towels and gently bathed away the clotted blood that had been forced through the skin.

“Massage it a little with the arnica as I move the arm,” he directed coolly, and she did so, pityingly. He did not wince and made no sign of pain, but she saw beads of perspiration appear upon his face, and wondered at his fortitude.

“That’s fine,” he said gratefully as she finished, and a peculiar expression came over his face. “It feels one hundred per cent better already. But why do you do it? I should think you would feel like crowning me with that basin instead of playing nurse.”

“Efficiency,” she replied with a smile. “I’m taking a leaf out of your own book. You are our chief engineer, you know, and it won’t do to have you laid up.”

“That’s a logical explanation, but it doesn’t go far enough,” he rejoined, still studying her intently. She did not reply, but turned to Perkins.

“How are you, Mr. Perkins? Do you require medical attention?”

“No,” growled Perkins from the seat in which he had crouched immediately after eating. “Keep away from me, or I’ll cut your heart out!”

“Shut up!” snapped DuQuesne. “Remember what I said?”

“I haven’t done anything,” snarled the other.

“I said I would throw you out if you made another break,” DuQuesne informed him evenly, “and I meant it. If you can’t talk decently, keep still. Understand that you are to keep off Miss Vaneman, words and actions. I am in charge of her, and I will put up with no interference whatever. This is your last warning.”

“How about Spencer, then?”

“I have nothing to say about her, she’s not mine,” responded DuQuesne with a shrug.

An evil light appeared in Perkins’ eyes and he took out a wicked-looking knife and began to strop it carefully upon the leather of the seat, glaring at his victim the while.

“Well, I have something to say.…” blazed Dorothy, but she was silenced by a gesture from Margaret, who calmly took the pistol from her pocket, jerked the slide back, throwing a cartridge into the chamber, and held the weapon up on one finger, admiring it from all sides.

* * * *

“Don’t worry about his knife. He has been sharpening it for my benefit for the last month. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

At this unexpected show of resistance, Perkins stared at her for an instant, then glanced at his coat.

“Yes, this was yours, once. You needn’t bother about picking up your coat, they’re both gone. You might be tempted to throw that knife, so drop it on the floor and kick it over to me before I count three.

“One.” The heavy pistol steadied into line with his chest and her finger tightened on the trigger.

“Two.” He obeyed and she picked up the knife. He turned to DuQuesne, who had watched the scene unmoved, a faint smile upon his saturnine face.

“Doctor!” he cried, shaking with fear. “Why don’t you shoot her or take that gun away from her? Surely you don’t want to see me murdered?”

“Why not?” replied DuQuesne calmly. “It is nothing to me whether she kills you or you kill her. You brought it on yourself by your own carelessness. Any man with brains doesn’t leave guns lying around within reach of prisoners, and a blind man could have seen Miss Vaneman getting your hardware.”

“You saw her take them and didn’t warn me?” croaked Perkins.

“Why should I warn you? If you can’t take care of your own prisoner she earns her liberty, as far as I am concerned. I never did like your style, Perkins, especially your methods of handling—or rather mishandling—women. You could have made her give up the stuff she recovered from that ass Brookings inside of an hour, and wouldn’t have had to kill her afterward, either.”

“How?” sneered the other. “If you are so good at that kind of thing, why didn’t you try it on Seaton and Crane?”

“There are seven different methods to use on a woman like Miss Spencer, each of which will produce the desired result. The reason I did not try them on either Seaton or Crane is that they would have failed. Your method of indirect action is probably the only one that will succeed. That is why I adopted it.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” shrieked Perkins. “Are you going to sit there and lecture all day?”

“I am going to do nothing whatever,” answered the scientist coldly. “If you had any brains you would see that you are in no danger. Miss Spencer will undoubtedly kill you if you attack her—not otherwise. That is an Anglo-Saxon weakness.”

“Did you see me take the pistols?” queried Dorothy.

“Certainly. I’m not blind. You have one of them in your right coat pocket now.”

“Then why didn’t you, or don’t you, try to take it away from me?” she asked in wonder.

“If I had objected to your having them, you would never have got them. If I didn’t want you to have a gun now, I would take it away from you. You know that, don’t you?” and his black eyes stared into her violet ones with such calm certainty of his ability that she felt her heart sink.

“Yes,” she admitted finally, “I believe you could—that is, unless I were angry enough to shoot you.”

“That wouldn’t help you. I can shoot faster and straighter than you can, and would shoot it out of your hand. However, I have no objection to your having the gun, since it is no part of my plan to offer you any further indignity of any kind. Even if you had the necessary coldness of nerve or cruelty of disposition—of which I have one, Perkins the other, and you neither—you wouldn’t shoot me now, because you can’t get back to the earth without me. After we get back I will take the guns away from both of you if I think it desirable. In the meantime, play with them all you please.”

“Has Perkins any more knives or guns or things in his room?” demanded Dorothy.

“How should I know?” indifferently; then, as both girls started for Perkins’ room he ordered brusquely:

“Sit down, Miss Vaneman. Let them fight it out. Perkins has his orders to lay off you—you lay off him. I’m not taking any chances of getting you hurt, that’s one reason I wanted you armed. If he gets gay, shoot him; otherwise, hands off completely.”

Dorothy threw up her head in defiance, but meeting his cold stare she paused irresolutely and finally sat down, biting her lips in anger, while the other girl went on.

“That’s better. She doesn’t need any help to whip that yellow dog. He’s whipped already. He never would think of fighting unless the odds were three to one in his favor.”

* * * *

When Margaret had returned from a fruitless search of Perkins’ room and had assured herself that he had no more weapons concealed about his person, she thrust the pistol back into her pocket and sat down.

“That ends that,” she declared. “I guess you will be good now, won’t you, Mr. Perkins?”

“Yes,” that worthy muttered. “I have to be, now that you’ve got the drop on me and DuQuesne’s gone back on me. But wait until we get back! I’ll get you then, you.…”

“Stop right there!” sharply. “There’s nothing I would rather do than shoot you right now, if you give me the slightest excuse, such as that name you were about to call me. Now go ahead!”

DuQuesne broke the silence that followed.

“Well, now that the battle is over, and since we are fed and rested, I suggest that we slow down a bit and get ready to start back. Pick out comfortable seats, everybody, and I’ll shoot a little more juice through that bar.”

Seating himself before the instrument board, he advanced the speed lever slowly until nearly three-quarters of the full power was on, as much as he thought the others could stand.

For sixty hours he drove the car, reducing the acceleration only at intervals during which they ate and walked about their narrow quarters in order to restore the blood to circulation in their suffering bodies. The power was not reduced for sleep; everyone slept as best he could.

Dorothy and Margaret talked together at every opportunity, and a real intimacy grew up between them. Perkins was for the most part sullenly quiet, knowing himself despised by all the others and having no outlet here for his particular brand of cleverness. DuQuesne was always occupied with his work and only occasionally addressed a remark to one or another of the party, except during meals. At those periods of general recuperation, he talked easily and well upon many topics. There was no animosity in his bearing nor did he seem to perceive any directed toward himself, but when any of the others ventured to infringe upon his ideas of how discipline should be maintained, DuQuesne’s reproof was merciless. Dorothy almost liked him, but Margaret insisted that she considered him worse than ever.

When the bar was exhausted, DuQuesne lifted the sole remaining cylinder into place.

“We should be nearly stationary with respect to the earth,” he remarked. “Now we will start back.”

“Why, it felt as though we were picking up speed for the last three days!” exclaimed Margaret.

“Yes, it feels that way because we have nothing to judge by. Slowing down in one direction feels exactly like starting up in the opposite one. There is no means of knowing whether we are standing still, going away from the earth, or going toward it, since we have nothing stationary upon which to make observations. However, since the two bars were of exactly the same size and were exerted in opposite directions except for a few minutes after we left the earth, we are nearly stationary now. I will put on power until this bar is something less than half gone, then coast for three or four days. By the end of that time we should be able to recognize our solar system from the appearance of the fixed stars.”

He again advanced the lever, and for many hours silence filled the car as it hurtled through space. DuQuesne, waking up from a long nap, saw that the bar no longer pointed directly toward the top of the ship, perpendicular to the floor, but was inclined at a sharp angle. He reduced the current, and felt the lurch of the car as it swung around the bar, increasing the angle many degrees. He measured the angle carefully and peered out of all the windows on one side of the car. Returning to the bar after a time, he again measured the angle, and found that it had increased greatly.

“What’s the matter, Doctor DuQuesne?” asked Dorothy, who had also been asleep.

“We are being deflected from our course. You see the bar doesn’t point straight up any more? Of course the direction of the bar hasn’t changed, the car has swung around it.”

“What does that mean?”

“We have come close enough to some star so that its attraction swings the bottom of the car around. Normally, you know, the bottom of the car follows directly behind the bar. It doesn’t mean much yet except that we are being drawn away from our straight line, but if the attraction gets much stronger it may make us miss our solar system completely. I have been looking for the star in question, but can’t see it yet. We’ll probably pull away from it very shortly.”

* * * *

He threw on the power, and for some time watched the bar anxiously, expecting to see it swing back into the vertical, but the angle continually increased. He again reduced the current and searched the heavens for the troublesome body.

“Do you see it yet?” asked Dorothy with concern.

“No, there’s apparently nothing near enough to account for all this deflection.”

He took out a pair of large night-glasses and peered through them for several minutes.

“Good God! It’s a dead sun, and we’re nearly onto it! It looks as large as our moon!”

Springing to the board, he whirled the bar into the vertical. He took down a strange instrument, went to the bottom window, and measured the apparent size of the dark star. Then, after cautioning the rest of the party to sit tight, he advanced the lever farther than it had been before. After half an hour he again slackened the pace and made another observation, finding to his astonishment that the dark mass had almost doubled its apparent size! Dorothy, noting his expression, was about to speak, but he forestalled her.

“We lost ground, instead of gaining, that spurt,” he remarked, as he hastened to his post. “It must be inconceivably large, to exert such an enormous attractive force at this distance. We’ll have to put on full power. Hang onto yourselves as best you can.”

He then pushed the lever out to its last notch and left it there until the bar was nearly gone, only to find that the faint disk of the monster globe was even larger than before, being now visible to the unaided eye. Revived, the three others saw it plainly—a great dim circle, visible as is the dark portion of the new moon—and, the power shut off, they felt themselves falling toward it with sickening speed. Perkins screamed with mad fear and flung himself grovelling upon the floor. Margaret, her nerves still unstrung, clutched at her heart with both hands. Dorothy, though her eyes looked like great black holes in her white face, looked DuQuesne in the eye steadily.

“This is the end, then?”

“Not yet,” he replied in a calm and level voice. “The end will not come for a good many hours, as I have calculated that it will take at least two days, probably more, to fall the distance we have to go. We have all that time in which to think out a way of escape.”

“Won’t the outer repulsive shell keep us from striking it, or at least break the force of our fall?”

“No. It was designed only as protection from meteorites and other small bodies. It is heavy enough to swing us away from a small planet, but it will be used up long before we strike.”

He lighted a cigarette and sat at case, as though in his own study, his brow wrinkled in thought as he made calculations in his notebook. Finally he rose to his feet.

“There’s only one chance that I can see. That is to gather up every scrap of copper we have and try to pull ourselves far enough out of line so that we will take an hyperbolic orbit around that body instead of falling into it.”

“What good will that do us?” asked Margaret, striving for self-control. “We will starve to death finally, won’t we?”

“Not necessarily. That will give us time to figure out something else.”

“You won’t have to figure out anything else, Doctor,” stated Dorothy positively. “If we miss that moon, Dick and Martin will find us before very long.”

“Not in this life. If they tried to follow us, they’re both dead before now.”

“That’s where even you are wrong!” she flashed at him. “They knew you were wrecking our machine, so they built another one, a good one. And they know a lot of things about this new metal that you have never dreamed of, since they were not in the plans you stole.”

* * * *

DuQuesne went directly to the heart of the matter, paying no attention to her barbed shafts.

“Can they follow us through space without seeing us?” he demanded.

“Yes—or at least, I think they can.”

“How do they do it?”

“I don’t know—I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

“You’ll tell if you know,” he declared, his voice cutting like a knife. “But that can wait until after we get out of this. The thing to do now is to dodge that world.”

He searched the vessel for copper, ruthlessly tearing out almost everything that contained the metal, hammering it flat and throwing it into the power-plant. He set the bar at right angles to the line of their fall and turned on the current. When the metal was exhausted, he made another series of observations upon the body toward which they were falling, and reported quietly:

“We made a lot of distance, but not enough. Everything goes in, this time.”

He tore out the single remaining light-wire, leaving the car in darkness save for the diffused light of his electric torch, and broke up the only remaining motor. He then took his almost priceless Swiss watch, his heavy signet ring, his scarf pin, and the cartridges from his pistol, and added them to the collection. Flashing his lamp upon Perkins, he relieved him of everything he had which contained copper.

“I think I have a few pennies in my pocketbook,” suggested Dorothy.

“Get ’em,” he directed briefly, and while she was gone he searched Margaret, without result save for the cartridges in her pistol, as she had no jewelry remaining after her imprisonment. Dorothy returned and handed him everything she had found.

“I would like to keep this ring,” she said slowly, pointing to a slender circlet of gold set with a solitaire diamond, “if you think there is any chance of us getting clear.”

“Everything goes that has any copper in it,” he said coldly, “and I am glad to see that Seaton is too good a chemist to buy any platinum jewelry. You may keep the diamond, though,” as he wrenched the jewel out of its setting and returned it to her.

He threw all the metal into the central chamber and the vessel gave a tremendous lurch as the power was again applied. It was soon spent, however, and after the final observation, the others waiting in breathless suspense for him to finish his calculations, he made his curt announcement.

“Not enough.”

Perkins, his mind weakened by the strain of the last few days, went completely insane at the words. With a wild howl he threw himself at the unmoved scientist, who struck him with the butt of his pistol as he leaped, the mighty force of DuQuesne’s blow crushing his skull like an eggshell and throwing him backward to the opposite side of the vessel. Margaret lay in her seat in a dead faint. Dorothy and DuQuesne looked at each other in the feeble light of the torch. To the girl’s amazement, the man was as calm as though he were safe in his own house, and she made a determined effort to hold herself together.

“What next, Doctor DuQuesne?”

“I don’t know. We have a couple of days yet, at least. I’ll have to study awhile.”

“In that time Dick will find us, I know.”

“Even if they do find us in time, which I doubt, what good will it do? It simply means that they will go with us instead of saving us, for of course they can’t pull away, since we couldn’t. I hope they don’t find us, but locate this star in time to keep away from it.”

“Why?” she gasped. “You have been planning to kill both of them! I should think you would be delighted to take them with us?”

“Far from it. Please try to be logical. I intended to remove them because they stood in the way of my developing this new metal. If I am to be out of the way—and frankly, I see very little chance of getting out of this—I hope that Seaton goes ahead with it. It is the greatest discovery the world has ever known, and if both Seaton and I, the only two men in the world who know how to handle it, drop out, it will be lost for perhaps hundreds of years.”

“If Dick’s finding us means that he must go, too, of course I hope that he won’t find us, but I don’t believe that. I simply know that he could get us away from here.”

She continued more slowly, almost speaking to herself, her heart sinking with her voice:

“He is following us, and he won’t stop even if he does see this dead star and knows that he can’t get away. We will die together.”

“There’s no denying the fact that our situation is critical, but you know a man isn’t dead until after his heart stops beating. We have two whole days yet, and in that time, I can probably dope out some way of getting away from here.”

“I hope so,” she replied, keeping her voice from breaking only by a great effort. “But go ahead with your doping. I’m worn out.” She drew herself down upon one of the seats and stared at the ceiling, fighting to restrain an almost overpowering impulse to scream.

Thus the hours wore by—Perkins dead; Margaret still unconscious; Dorothy lying in her seat, her thoughts a formless prayer, buoyed up only by her faith in God and in her lover; DuQuesne self-possessed, smoking innumerable cigarettes, his keen mind grappling with its most desperate problem, grimly fighting until the very last instant of life—while the powerless space-car fell with an appalling velocity, faster and faster; falling toward that cold and desolate monster of the heaven.

CHAPTER X

The Rescue

Seaton and Crane drove the Skylark in the direction indicated by the unwavering object-compass with the greatest acceleration they could stand, each man taking a twelve-hour watch at the instrument board.

Now, indeed, did the Skylark justify the faith of her builders, and the two inventors, with an exultant certainty of their success, flew out beyond man’s wildest imaginings. Had it not been for the haunting fear for Dorothy’s safety, the journey would have been one of pure triumph, and even that anxiety did not prevent a profound joy in the enterprise.

“If that misguided mutt thinks he can pull off a stunt like that and get away with it, he’s got another think coming,” asserted Seaton, after making a reading on the other car after several days of the flight. “He went off half-cocked this time, for sure, and we’ve got him foul. We’d better put on some negative pretty soon hadn’t we, Mart? Only a little over a hundred light-years now.”

Crane nodded agreement and Seaton continued:

“It’ll take as long to stop, of course, as it has taken to get out here, and if we ram them—GOOD NIGHT! Let’s figure it out as nearly as we can.”

They calculated their own speed, and that of the other vessel, as shown by the various readings taken, and applied just enough negative acceleration to slow the Skylark down to the speed of the other space-car when they should come up with it. They smiled at each other in recognition of the perfect working of the mechanism when the huge vessel had spun, with a sickening lurch, through a complete half-circle, the instant the power was reversed. Each knew that they were actually traveling in a direction that to them seemed “down,” but with a constantly diminishing velocity, even though they seemed to be still going “up” with an increasing speed.

Until nearly the end of the calculated time the two took turns as before, but as the time of meeting drew near both men were on the alert, taking readings on the object-compass every few minutes. Finally Crane announced:

“We are almost on them, Dick. They are so close that it is almost impossible to time the needle—less than ten thousand miles.”

Seaton gradually increased the retarding force until the needle showed that they were very close to the other vessel and maintaining a constant distance from it. He then shut off the power, and both men hurried to the bottom window to search for the fleeing ship with their powerful night-glasses. They looked at each other in amazement as they felt themselves falling almost directly downward, with an astounding acceleration.

“What do you make of it, Dick?” asked Crane calmly, as he brought his glasses to his eyes and stared out into the black heavens, studded with multitudes of brilliant and unfamiliar stars.

“I don’t make it at all, Mart. By the feel, I should say we were falling toward something that would make our earth look like a pin-head. I remember now that I noticed that the bus was getting a little out of plumb with the bar all this last watch. I didn’t pay much attention to it, as I couldn’t see anything out of the way. Nothing but a sun could be big enough to raise all this disturbance, and I can’t see any close enough to be afraid of, can you?”

“No, and I cannot see the Steel space-car, either. Look sharp.”

“Of course,” Seaton continued to argue as he peered out into the night, “it is theoretically possible that a heavenly body can exist large enough so that it could exert even this much force and still appear no larger than an ordinary star, but I don’t believe it is probable. Give me three or four minutes of visual angle and I’ll believe anything, but none of these stars are big enough to have any visual angle at all. Furthermore.…”

“There is at least half a degree of visual angle!” broke in his friend intensely. “Just to the left of that constellation that looks so much like a question mark. It is not bright, but dark, like a very dark moon—barely perceptible.”

Seaton pointed his glass eagerly in the direction indicated.

“Great Cat!” he ejaculated. “I’ll say that’s some moon! Wouldn’t that rattle your slats? And there’s DuQuesne’s bus, too, on the right edge. Get it?”

As they stood up, Seaton’s mood turned to one of deadly earnestness, and a grave look came over Crane’s face as the seriousness of their situation dawned upon them. Trained mathematicians both, they knew instantly that that unknown world was of inconceivable mass, and that their chance of escape was none too good, even should they abandon the other craft to its fate. Seaton stared at Crane, his fists clenched and drops of perspiration standing on his forehead. Suddenly, with agony in his eyes and in his voice, he spoke.

“Mighty slim chance of getting away if we go through with it, old man.… Hate like the devil.… Have no right to ask you to throw yourself away, too.”

“Enough of that, Dick. You had nothing to do with my coming: you could not have kept me away. We will see it through.”

Their hands met in a fierce clasp, broken by Seaton, as he jumped to the levers with an intense:

“Well, let’s get busy!”

In a few minutes they had reduced the distance until they could plainly see the other vessel, a small black circle against the faintly luminous disk. As it leaped into clear relief in the beam of his powerful searchlight, Seaton focused the great attractor upon the fugitive car and threw in the lever which released the full force of that mighty magnet, while Crane attracted the attention of the vessel’s occupants by means of a momentary burst of solid machine-gun bullets, which he knew would glance harmlessly off the steel hull.

* * * *

After an interminable silence, DuQuesne drew himself out of his seat. He took a long inhalation, deposited the butt of his cigarette carefully in his ash tray, and made his way to his room. He returned with three heavy fur suits provided with air helmets, two of which he handed to the girls, who were huddled in a seat with their arms around each other. These suits were the armor designed by Crane for use in exploring the vacuum and the intense cold of dead worlds. Air-tight, braced with fine steel netting, and supplied with air at normal pressure from small tanks by automatic valves, they made their wearers independent of surrounding conditions of pressure and temperature.

“The next thing to do,” DuQuesne stated calmly, “is to get the copper off the outside of the ship. That is the last resort, as it robs us of our only safeguard against meteorites, but this is the time for last-resort measures. I’m going after that copper. Put these suits on, as our air will leave as soon as I open the door, and practically an absolute vacuum and equally absolute zero will come in.”

As he spoke, the ship was enveloped in a blinding glare and they were thrown flat as the vessel slowed down in its terrific fall. The thought flashed across DuQuesne’s mind that they had already entered the atmosphere of that monster globe and were being slowed down and set afire by its friction, but he dismissed it as quickly as it had come—the light in that case would be the green of copper, not this bluish-white. His next thought was that there had been a collision of meteors in the neighborhood, and that their retardation was due to the outer coating. While these thoughts were flickering through his mind, they heard an insistent metallic tapping, which DuQuesne recognized instantly.

“A machine-gun!” he blurted in amazement. “How in.…”

“It’s Dick!” screamed Dorothy, with flashing eyes. “He’s found us, just as I knew he would. You couldn’t beat Dick and Martin in a thousand years!”

The tension under which they had been laboring so long suddenly released, the two girls locked their arms around each other in a half-hysterical outburst of relief. Margaret’s meaningless words and Dorothy’s incoherent praises of her lover and Crane mingled with their racking sobs as each fought to recover self-possession.

DuQuesne had instantly mounted to the upper window. Throwing back the cover, he flashed his torch rapidly. The glare of the searchlight was snuffed out and he saw a flashing light spell out in dots and dashes:

“Can you read Morse?”

“Yes,” he signalled back. “Power gone, drifting into.…”

“We know it. Will you resist?”

“No.”

“Have you fur pressure-suits?”

“Yes.”

“Put them on. Shut off your outer coating. Will touch so your upper door against our lower. Open, transfer quick.”

“O. K.”

* * * *

Hastily returning to the main compartment, he briefly informed the girls as to what had happened. All three donned the suits and stationed themselves at the upper opening. Rapidly, but with unerring precision, the two ships were brought into place and held together by the attractor. As the doors were opened, there was a screaming hiss as the air of the vessels escaped through the narrow crack between them. The passengers saw the moisture in the air turn into snow, and saw the air itself first liquefy and then freeze into a solid coating upon the metal around the orifices at the touch of the frightful cold outside—the absolute zero of interstellar space, about four hundred sixty degrees below zero in the every-day scale of temperature. The moisture of their breath condensed upon the inside of the double glasses of their helmets, rendering sight useless.

DuQuesne seized her and tossed her lightly through the doorway in such a manner that she would not touch the metal, which would have frozen instantly anything coming into contact with it.

Dorothy pushed the other girl ahead of her. DuQuesne seized her and tossed her lightly through the doorway in such a manner that she would not touch the metal, which would have frozen instantly anything coming into contact with it. Seaton was waiting. Feeling a woman’s slender form in his arms, he crushed her to him in a mighty embrace, and was astonished to feel movements of resistance, and to hear a strange, girlish voice cry out:

“Don’t! It’s me! Dorothy’s next!”

Releasing her abruptly, he passed her on to Martin and turned just in time to catch his sweetheart, who, knowing that he would be there and recognizing his powerful arms at the first touch, returned his embrace with a fierce intensity which even he had never suspected that she could exert. They stood motionless, locked in each other’s arms, while DuQuesne dove through the opening and snapped the door shut behind him.

The air-pressure and temperature back to normal, the cumbersome suits were hastily removed, and Seaton’s lips met Dorothy’s in a long, clinging caress. DuQuesne’s cold, incisive voice broke the silence.

“Every second counts. I would suggest that we go somewhere.”

“Just a minute!” snapped Crane. “Dick, what shall we do with this murderer?”

Seaton had forgotten DuQuesne utterly in the joy of holding his sweetheart in his arms, but at his friend’s words, he faced about and his face grew stern.

“By rights, we ought to chuck him back into his own tub and let him go to the devil,” he said savagely, doubling his fists and turning swiftly.

“No, no, Dick,” remonstrated Dorothy, seizing his arm. “He treated us very well, and saved my life once. Anyway, you mustn’t kill him.”

“No, I suppose not,” grudgingly assented her lover, “and I won’t, either, unless he gives me at least half an excuse.”

“We might iron him to a post?” suggested Crane, doubtfully.

“I think there’s a better way,” replied Seaton. “He may be able to work his way. His brain hits on all twelve, and he’s strong as a bull. Our chance of getting back isn’t a certainty, as you know.” He turned to DuQuesne.

“I’ve heard that your word is good.”

“It has never been broken.”

“Will you give your word to act as one of the party, for the good of us all, if we don’t iron you?”

“Yes—until we get back to the earth. Provided, of course, that I reserve the right to escape at any time between now and then if I wish to and can do so without injuring the vessel or any member of the party in any way.”

“Agreed. Let’s get busy—we’re altogether too close to that dud there to suit me. Sit tight, everybody, we’re on our way!” he cried, as he turned to the board, applied one notch of power, and shut off the attractor. The Skylark slowed down a trifle in its mad fall, the other vessel continued on its way—a helpless hulk, manned by a corpse, falling to destruction upon the bleak wastes of a desert world.

“Hold on!” said DuQuesne sharply. “Your power is the same as mine was, in proportion to your mass, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then our goose is cooked. I couldn’t pull away from it with everything I had, couldn’t even swing out enough to make an orbit, either hyperbolic or elliptical around it. With a reserve bar you will be able to make an orbit, but you can’t get away from it.”

“Thanks for the dope. That saves our wasting some effort. Our power-plant can be doubled up in emergencies, thanks to Martin’s cautious old bean. We’ll simply double her up and go away from here.”

* * * *

“There is one thing we didn’t consider quite enough,” said Crane, thoughtfully. “I started to faint back there before the full power of even one motor was in use. With the motor doubled, each of us will be held down by a force of many tons—we would all be helpless.”

“Yes,” added Dorothy, with foreboding in her eyes, “we were all unconscious on the way out, except Dr. DuQuesne.”

“Well, then, Blackie and I, as the huskiest members of the party, will give her the juice until only one of us is left with his eyes open. If that isn’t enough to pull us clear, we’ll have to give her the whole works and let her ramble by herself after we all go out. How about it, Blackie?” unconsciously falling into the old Bureau nickname. “Do you think we can make it stop at unconsciousness with double power on?”

DuQuesne studied the two girls carefully.

“With oxygen in the helmets instead of air, we all may be able to stand it. These special cushions keep the body from flattening out, as it normally would under such a pressure. The unconsciousness is simply a suffocation caused by the lateral muscles being unable to lift the ribs—in other words, the air-pumps aren’t strong enough for the added work put upon them. At least we stand a chance this way. We may live through the pressure while we are pulling away, and we certainly shall die if we don’t pull away.”

After a brief consultation, the men set to work with furious haste. While Crane placed extra bars in each of the motors and DuQuesne made careful observations upon the apparent size of the now plainly visible world toward which they were being drawn so irresistibly, Seaton connected the helmets with the air-and oxygen-tanks through a valve upon the board, by means of which he could change at will the oxygen content of the air they breathed. He then placed the strange girl, who seemed dazed by the frightful sensation of their never-ending fall, upon one of the seats, fitted the cumbersome helmet upon her head, strapped her carefully into place, and turned to Dorothy. In an instant they were in each other’s arms. He felt her labored breathing and the wild beating of her heart, pressed so closely to his, and saw the fear of the unknown in the violet depths of her eyes, but she looked at him unflinchingly.

“Dick, sweetheart, if this is good-bye.…”

He interrupted her with a kiss.

“It isn’t good-bye yet, Dottie mine. This is merely a trial effort, to see what we will have to do to get away. Next time will be the time to worry.”

“I’m not worried, really…but in case…you see… I…we…”

The gray eyes softened and misted over as he pressed his cheek to hers.

“I understand, sweetheart,” he whispered. “This is not good-bye, but if we don’t pull through we’ll go together, and that is what we both want.”

As Crane and DuQuesne finished their tasks, Seaton fitted his sweetheart’s helmet, placed her tenderly upon the seat, buckled the heavy restraining straps about her slender body, and donned his own helmet. He took his place at the main instrument board, DuQuesne stationing himself at the other.

“What did you read on it, Blackie?” asked Seaton.

“Two degrees, one minute, twelve seconds diameter,” replied DuQuesne. “Altogether too close for comfort. How shall we apply the power? One of us must stay awake, or we’ll go on as long as the bars last.”

“You put on one notch, then I’ll put on one. We can feel the bus jump with each notch. We’ll keep it up until one of us is so far gone that he can’t raise the bar—the one that raises last will have to let the ship run for thirty minutes or an hour, then cut down his power. Then the other fellow will revive and cut his off, for an observation. How’s that?”

“All right.”

* * * *

They took their places, and Seaton felt the vessel slow down in its horrible fall as DuQuesne threw his lever into the first notch. He responded instantly by advancing his own, and notch after notch the power applied to the ship by the now doubled motor was rapidly increased. The passengers felt their suits envelope them and began to labor for breath. Seaton slowly turned the mixing valve, a little with each advance of his lever, until pure oxygen flowed through the pipes. The power levers had moved scarcely half of their range, yet minutes now intervened between each advance instead of seconds, as at the start.

As each of the two men was determined that he would make the last advance, the duel continued longer than either would have thought possible. Seaton made what he thought his final effort and waited—only to feel, after a few minutes, the upward surge telling him that DuQuesne was still able to move his lever. His brain reeled. His arm seemed paralyzed by its own enormous weight, and felt as though it, the rolling table upon which it rested, and the supporting framework were so immovably welded together that it was impossible to move it even the quarter-inch necessary to operate the ratchet-lever. He could not move his body, which was oppressed by a sickening weight. His utmost efforts to breathe forced only a little of the life-giving oxygen into his lungs, which smarted painfully at the touch of the undiluted gas, and he felt that he could not long retain consciousness under such conditions. Nevertheless, he summoned all his strength and advanced the lever one more notch. He stared at the clock-face above his head, knowing that if DuQuesne could advance his lever again he would lose consciousness and be beaten. Minute after minute went by, however, and the acceleration of the ship remained constant. Seaton, knowing that he was in sole control of the power-plant, fought to retain possession of his faculties, while the hands of the clock told off the interminable minutes.

After an eternity of time an hour had passed, and Seaton attempted to cut down his power, only to find with horror that the long strain had so weakened him that he could not reverse the ratchet. He was still able, however, to give the lever the backward jerk which disconnected the wires completely—and the safety straps creaked with the sudden stress as, half the power instantly shut off, the suddenly released springs tried to hurl five bodies against the ceiling. After a few minutes DuQuesne revived and slowly cut off his power. To the dismay of both men they were again falling!

DuQuesne hurried to the lower window to make the observation, remarking:

“You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.”

“Only because you’re so badly bunged up. One more notch would’ve got my goat,” replied Seaton frankly as he made his way to Dorothy’s side. He noticed as he reached her, that Crane had removed his helmet and was approaching the other girl. By the time DuQuesne had finished the observation, the other passengers had completely recovered, apparently none the worse for their experience.

* * * *

“Did we gain anything?” asked Seaton eagerly.

“I make it two, four, thirteen. We’ve lost about two minutes of arc. How much power did we have on?”

“A little over half—thirty-two points out of sixty possible.”

“We were still falling pretty fast. We’ll have to put on everything we’ve got. Since neither of us can put it on we’ll have to rig up an automatic feed. It’ll take time, but it’s the only way.”

“The automatic control is already there,” put in Crane, forestalling Seaton’s explanation. “The only question is whether we will live through it—and that is not really a question, since certain death is the only alternative. We must do it.”

“We sure must,” answered Seaton soberly.

Dorothy gravely nodded assent.

“What do you fellows think of a little plus pressure on the oxygen?” asked Seaton. “I think it would help a lot.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” said DuQuesne, and Crane added:

“Four or five inches of water will be about all the pressure we can stand. Any more might burn our lungs too badly.”

The pressure apparatus was quickly arranged and the motors filled to capacity with reserve bars—enough to last seventy-two hours—the scientists having decided that they must risk everything on one trial and put in enough, if possible, to pull them clear out of the influence of this center of attraction, as the time lost in slowing up to change bars might well mean the difference between success and failure. Where they might lie at the end of the wild dash for safety, how they were to retrace their way with their depleted supply of copper, what other dangers of dead star, planet, or sun lay in their path—all these were terrifying questions that had to be ignored.

* * * *

DuQuesne was the only member of the party who actually felt any calmness, the quiet of the others expressing their courage in facing fear. Life seemed very sweet and desirable to them, the distant earth a very Paradise! Through Dorothy’s mind flashed the visions she had built up during long sweet hours, visions of a long life with Seaton. As she breathed an inaudible prayer, she glanced up and saw Seaton standing beside her, gazing down upon her with his very soul in his eyes. Never would she forget the expression upon his face. Even in that crucial hour, his great love for her overshadowed every other feeling, and no thought of self was in his mind—his care was all for her. There was a long farewell caress. Both knew that it might be goodbye, but both were silent as the violet eyes and the gray looked into each other’s depths and conveyed messages far beyond the power of words. Once more he adjusted her helmet and strapped her into place.

As Crane had in the meantime cared for the other girl, the men again took their places and Seaton started the motor which would automatically advance the speed levers, one notch every five seconds, until the full power of both motors was exerted. As the power was increased, he turned the valve as before, until the helmets were filled with pure oxygen under a pressure of five inches of water.

Margaret Spencer, weakened by her imprisonment, was the first to lose consciousness, and soon afterward Dorothy felt her senses leave her. A half-minute, in the course of which six mighty surges were felt, as more of the power of the doubled motor was released, and Crane had gone, calmly analyzing his sensations to the last. After a time DuQuesne also lapsed into unconsciousness, making no particular effort to avoid it, as he knew that the involuntary muscles would function quite as well without the direction of the will. Seaton, although he knew it was useless, fought to keep his senses as long as possible, counting the impulses he felt as the levers were advanced.

“Thirty-two.” He felt exactly as he had before, when he had advanced the lever for the last time.

“Thirty-three.” A giant hand shut off his breath completely, though he was fighting to his utmost for air. An intolerable weight rested upon his eyeballs, forcing them backward into his head. The universe whirled about him in dizzy circles—orange and black and green stars flashed before his bursting eyes.

“Thirty-four.” The stars became more brilliant and of more variegated colors, and a giant pen dipped in fire was writing equations and mathematico-chemical symbols upon his quivering brain. He joined the circling universe, which he had hitherto kept away from him by main strength, and whirled about his own body, tracing a logarithmic spiral with infinite velocity—leaving his body an infinite distance behind.

“Thirty-five.” The stars and the fiery pen exploded in a wild coruscation of searing, blinding light and he plunged from his spiral into a black abyss.

* * * *

In spite of the terrific stress put upon the machine, every part functioned perfectly, and soon after Seaton had lost consciousness the vessel began to draw away from the sinister globe; slowly at first, faster and faster as more and more of the almost unlimited power of the mighty motor was released. Soon the levers were out to the last notch and the machine was exerting its maximum effort. One hour and an observer upon the Skylark would have seen that the apparent size of the massive unknown world was rapidly decreasing; twenty hours and it was so far away as to be invisible, though its effect was still great; forty hours and the effect was slight; sixty hours and the Skylark was out of range of the slightest measurable force of the monster it had left.

Hurtled onward by the inconceivable power of the unleashed copper demon in its center, the Skylark flew through the infinite reaches of interstellar space with an unthinkable, almost incalculable velocity—beside which the velocity of light was as that of a snail to that of a rifle bullet; a velocity augmented every second by a quantity almost double that of light itself.