IX

It was late in the afternoon when I reached the LaRauche house, a big,

old-fashioned place, which stood within large enclosed grounds of its

own, in a heavily wooded section, on a lonely and unfrequented road,

about three miles south of Sands Cliff village.

Outwardly the residence was shabby, neglected, much in the want of

fresh paint. The grounds in front were grown up with weeds. At the

rear was a level stretch of meadow, backed by woods, which LaRauche

used as a flying field. He owned and operated a small plane, in which

he carried on experiments in wireless and meteorological observations.

Ample private means enabled him to gratify his tastes to the full in

the various fields of scientific research and exploration.

Astronomy held a particular attraction for him; he was a geologist and

botanist as well. What with one thing and another, his life had been

one long mad quest into the mysteries of the universe, and some of them

he had solved. An astounding genius, if ever there was one, who was

destined, I firmly believed, to spend his last days in a padded cell.

In appearance, he was a ramrod of a man, with hawk-like features

surmounted by a mass of untidy, bushy white hair. Endowed with vast

energy, he carried his sixty odd years with an air of perpetual youth

and freshness. The man in the street who read of his scientific

explorations into the unknown--recently he had been entertaining the

reading-public with accounts of his plans and preparations to ride in a

rocket to the moon--had no conception of the zeal that animated him as

a scientific investigator, nor knowledge of the jealous fury that would

seize him whenever he was outshone by the superior success of a fellow

scientist.

Hot-headed, violently controversial, always quarrelsome, he had a

malignant way of convulsing the various learned scientific bodies, to

which he belonged, with stinging impeachments of his rivals. He had a

turn for the sensational, which is rare in a man of his genius.

The breach between LaRauche and Henry dated back two years. It grew out

of the first showing by LaRauche of several reels of motion pictures

at the Exploration Club, depicting the life and customs of a hitherto

unknown race of dwarfs, or midgets, he claimed to have discovered,

living in a most primitive state in the jungles of Central Africa.

Henry and I attended the première, and Henry, in his rather dumb way,

with no intention of wounding the feelings of LaRauche, or injuring

his reputation, voiced his opinion to one of his intimates that the

pictures were fictitious. His chance remark reached the ears of a

member of the board of governors of the club, who made an official

report of it to that body. Secret investigation by the board disclosed

that LaRauche had, indeed, resorted to faking. The official inquiry

revealed that he had recruited a small company of Negro midgets from

Harlem, dressed them in skins of wild beasts and put them through

various African jungle stunts in a wild and wooded section of New

Jersey. The midget tribe he so cleverly portrayed subsisted mainly on

insects, frogs and toads, and their eating live toads was one of the

most realistic and clever fakes I have ever seen.

As a result, LaRauche was expelled from membership for conduct

prejudicial to the club. The fact that the club's action was made

public turned the current of public feeling against him for a time. It

should have covered him with shame and confusion--a very foolish trick

for a scientist of his standing to perpetrate in the declining years

of his career--but he assumed an utterly contemptuous attitude, and

readily admitted once he was cornered that the pictures were intended

as a fake, to fool his rivals in the African exploration field.

Naturally, he blamed Henry for his crushing defeat. There was no

mistaking his ill will thereafter towards my brother, and he endeavored

in many ways to injure Henry's reputation as a scientist. He wrote him

letters, couched in violent terms; called him an "amateur meddler"

in science; he wanted war to the knife. But it takes two to make a

quarrel, and Henry, in his easy way, declined to enter the controversy.

Another crushing blow to LaRauche was Henry's discovery of the comet,

which increased his rancor and violent antipathy towards my brother. So

it was with no little trepidation that I approached his house.

Parking my car at the side of the road, I paused a few moments at

the entrance gate to take a rapid, estimating view of the estate,

apparently the only human habitation anywhere about. The grounds were

fenced by a dilapidated hedge, and rows of maples and poplars.

Suddenly, through the screen of trees, I noticed an old brick house,

set in a hollow, at the base of a hill that sloped gently down from

LaRauche's place. It was set far back from the road, in a clump of

trees, and possessed a considerable range of stables and outhouses,

the possible use of which immediately roused my curiosity, as there

were no indications that farming was being carried on. It struck me

as odd that they should be there. There was a reason for the several

outbuildings I saw on LaRauche's grounds; a hangar, a small frame

building, set between two tall antennae towers of steel, apparently

used for broadcasting, and a glass-domed brick structure, where, no

doubt, he carried on his astronomical observations.

All this was running through my mind, as I walked up the gravel-path

towards the LaRauche house, when I heard a rustle in the hedge.

Glancing in this direction, I was amazed to see a grizzly bear emerge

from the hedge and make towards me. A cold sweat broke out on me. I was

terrified. I quickened my step, so did the bear, a ferocious-looking

beast. I broke into a run. The bear followed, close on my heels, in its

peculiar loping fashion.

Before I reached the house, a loud, gruff voice, emanating from

the other side of the hedge, stopped the bear's pursuit. I saw a

middle-aged man on the far side of the hedge. From that fleeting

glimpse I had of his general build and swarthy complexion, I judged

him to be an Italian. I was greatly relieved when the bear disappeared

through a hole in the hedge and joined his master on the other side.

But this was not the only unusual and surprising event of that

afternoon. In answer to my ring, the door opened and revealed the tall,

dignified figure of Orkins. I immediately deduced from his presence

there that LaRauche had some hold on him which made him Orkins' master.

I was also convinced that my theory that he had been planted in our

household by LaRauche to spy on Henry's work, was a very probable one.

I suppose I let my suspicions show themselves in my face, for Orkins

questioned me before I could speak. I was still a little breathless

from running.

"You are no doubt surprised, Mr. Royce, to find me here?" he said.

"Yes--I suppose so," I replied, evasively.

"Dr. LaRauche was kind enough to re-engage me after my leaving your

brother, Henry, so suddenly this morning," he went on. "How did your

brother take it?"

"I prefer not to say anything--about that," I answered. "In fact, I'm

not going to!"

"Yes, yes. I quite understand your attitude, Mr. Royce," he said. "Just

as you like."

"My business is with Dr. LaRauche," I said. "Is he at home?"

"Dr. LaRauche is very busy," Orkins answered, coldly. "He is not

receiving callers today."

"I think he will give me a few minutes' interview on rather urgent

business," I said. "Just give him my card, if you please."

Orkins took my card gingerly, backing away from the doorway as he

glanced at it. He still seemed taken aback, afraid, as though he felt

my business with LaRauche concerned him. I stepped through the doorway

into a small outer hall. "Just so--just so," muttered Orkins. "It's

highly probable that Dr. LaRauche will see you," he added. "Please wait

here," motioning for me to enter the main hall.

After he had vanished up the stairs, I looked from the hall into the

library, a room filled with books from floor to ceiling. I was staring

at this vast array of books with interest when a wisp of a woman

appeared at the head of the stairs. It was Mrs. LaRauche.

"Ah! Mr. Livingston Royce," she said as she came down the stairs. "You

want to see my husband? Well, he's very busy. Why, he hasn't allowed

himself a real night's sleep for several weeks."

Mrs. LaRauche was very much younger than her husband; a slim, smallish

woman of rather sallow complexion, with sandy hair, pale-blue, restless

eyes, and rather untidily dressed.

We shook hands cordially. She had always treated Henry and me with the

most punctilious respect. I had not seen her for about two years, and I

formed the opinion at once that her husband's break with Henry had not

changed her friendly feelings towards us.

I noticed a great change in her. She seemed to have lost her old-time

vivacity. She appeared tired and worn, and had aged considerably. I

felt anxious and perturbed about her. Something, I was quite sure, had

happened. And, of course, it had to do with her husband.

There was an atmosphere of mystery about her and the house, and it

was further deepened when Mrs. LaRauche led me from the hall into

the library. She gave me the impression at once of one who lives in

constant fear. There was a sign of caution and watchfulness in her

eyes, expressed in nervous, terrified glances over her shoulder.

"I'm sure you won't mind my asking if your business with my husband is

so very important?" she began in a low, tremulous voice. "You see--"

She stopped and turned at what seemed to be the sound of footfalls on

the stairs. There was a look of terror in her eyes.

"It isn't," I interrupted. "I've merely called, at my brother's

request, to ask Dr. LaRauche for the return of Professor Lowell's book

on Mars which he borrowed more than two years ago."

She looked greatly relieved. "I'm so glad," she breathed. "Rene goes

into a perfect rage if he's interrupted. He's been very upset all

morning, but still continues at his work. What he's working on, I

haven't the slightest idea."

"Probably working on that rocket to the moon idea," I suggested,

smiling.

"Completely mysterious to me," she rejoined.

"You've heard, of course, of my brother's latest discovery?" I ventured.

"No," she replied. "I've heard nothing. My mind has been occupied

all morning wondering what's brought Orkins back to us. I've always

disliked and distrusted him intensely."

Not feeling free to explain the circumstances, or cloud, under which

Orkins had left our household, I glanced out the window. "Your house is

in a very lonely location," I observed. "I hope you do not go out much

alone. You seem to have some queer animals roaming about. I was chased

by a grizzly bear as I walked through your grounds."

Mrs. LaRauche shuddered. "Oh, that terrible beast!" she muttered.

"I never go out at night by myself on account of that bear. He's

not vicious at all, really a pet, but it's frightening to run into

him. Often I hear him, in the dead of night, clawing at our doors,

whimpering and growling, and trying to get in."

"Who owns the animal?" I inquired.

"He belongs to our disreputable neighbor, Antonio Ranzetti," she

replied, "an Italian animal trainer, who rented and took possession,

much against our wishes, of that old brick house in the hollow. Rene

would have bought the place, had we known, rather than suffer the

annoyance of living next to a menagerie."

"Is it as bad as all that?"

She nodded. "He has a large collection of wild animals in the house

and outbuildings, which he is training for the circus," she explained,

"and he's just about as secretive in his work as Rene in his scientific

researches. He's one of the most expert animal trainers in the world, I

believe."

Then she suddenly remembered the book I was after. "I'm sure my husband

did not keep your brother's book intentionally," she said. "He's

very forgetful of what he calls trivialities." She walked over to a

disordered desk, and with a sharp exclamation, picked up the book from

among a row of volumes on top of it. "There you are!" she said.

My back was turned towards the door into the hall as I took the book,

and expressed my thanks for its return. I was just on the point of

departure, seeing I had no further excuse to remain on the premises,

when I saw her start, and turn pale. Turning round quickly, I faced

Dr. LaRauche, as he entered the library. In looks, he was about the

angriest looking man I had ever encountered.

"Ah, Dr. LaRauche!" I said, without turning a hair.

He made no reply, just stood there, glaring, and inspecting me from top

to toe. Finally, he spoke. "I know what's brought you here, Livingston

Royce," he said. "I expected it."

Coming out of her cowering fright, and finding her voice, Mrs. LaRauche

broke in falteringly. "Mr. Royce came after the Lowell book on Mars you

borrowed from his brother, Henry, more than--"

A contemptuous exclamation cut her short. "Something more than the

borrowed book brought him here," LaRauche said.

"What, for instance?" I asked him, point-blank.

"There's no doubt in my mind that your cunning brother sent you here to

spy on me, on my work in its possible relation to his own, and to find

out why I reengaged Orkins. But you haven't learned very much, have

you?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't," I replied, nonchalantly. "I'm not

the sort of person gifted to see through a brick wall."

"Well, as you haven't found out anything," LaRauche thundered, "the

next best thing to do is to go home, and report to your meddlesome

brother that you haven't." As he concluded, he waved a hand towards the

door.

With a polite bow, I withdrew, and left the house. I had not gone

many yards down the gravel-path, when a woman's cry tore the air,

a smothered cry of terrorized anguish. The sound died away without

repetition. I passed on, convinced that some evil had befallen Mrs.

LaRauche. There was more mystery in this house than I had at first

imagined.

No success having materialized from the real motive of my visit, which

LaRauche, with uncanny intuition, had so rightly surmised, I returned

to the castle, and told Henry all that had occurred. He laughed

heartily when I narrated my encounter with the grizzly bear. As for the

secret work LaRauche was at present engaged on, and Orkins' possible

connection with it, I was bound to admit that I had made little headway

in obtaining any accurate information.

What seemed to Henry much the most important fact of the little

evidence I had gained, was Mrs. LaRauche's statement that her husband

was so engrossed in his work that he hadn't been sleeping properly at

night for several weeks, and that he was keeping it a secret even from

her.

"This is damned queer business," Henry said at last. "Let's suppose

that Orkins, using the knowledge he gained of my recent discovery, is

mixed up in this work on which LaRauche is spending so many exciting

days and sleepless nights."

"Now, just what information Orkins obtained, as your butler, would be

valuable to LaRauche?" I asked.

"If you're asking me for an answer, Livingston," said Henry, "all I've

got to say is, I haven't got one. I can't think of any important reason

why LaRauche should barge this way into my private affairs. Beats me

altogether."

"Well, you can be certain of one thing," I said, "that he had an

object--"

"Yes, but what object?" Henry demanded. "What? He couldn't possibly

profit by anything Orkins gained by snooping round. LaRauche knows more

about science than I shall ever dream of knowing."

"Well, there is this to be thought of," I remarked, after thinking a

bit: "Perhaps, in relation to your latest achievement, he's going to

come forward with something he hopes will throw your accomplishment in

the shade, like a rocket to the moon, and we both know that's been a

bee in his bonnet for some years. Or he's going to try to prove that

your discovery is not genuine, and will denounce you as a fakir, as you

exposed him, unwittingly, in those faked motion pictures of the African

midgets, he claimed to have discovered."

"Either way there may be something in what you suggest," Henry

answered. "Both are possible. But I think--"

"But why think," I interposed; "why trouble yourself, or ourselves, any

longer about LaRauche's affairs, now that things have turned out as

they have? Why should you fear his opposition? The last connecting link

has been broken, now that you've got your precious book on Mars back.

Let him do his damnedest! Good riddance. I don't care; you don't, I'm

sure."

Henry saw the value of my proposition at once; and so matters were

settled as far as LaRauche and Orkins were concerned. We never spoke of

them again. They passed out of our consciousness as though they never

existed.

Other things became of greater concern. So many things, strange things,

happened, I didn't know whatever to expect next. It was as if the world

was being turned upside down. I never knew such times, nor expected to

know such.

X

McGinity had lunch with us, on Henry's invitation, on the day following

my visit to Dr. LaRauche's house. In the preparation of his story in

advance, it was necessary that he should obtain from Henry all the

scientific technicalities relating to the discovery. It was his task to

make copious notes while Henry talked.

Seated at his desk in the library, Henry talked on and on for several

hours; he never seemed to tire. While I sat by an open window, the

weather being exceptionally hot, reading and smoking by fits and turns,

and occasionally listening in to what Henry was saying. Whenever I

turned to gaze at him, it was with frank bewilderment.

Ever since he had announced his discovery, my mind had been led by

diverse paths, hither and thither, seeking, not an outlet, but rather

a snug corner wherein to rest in the conviction that his and Olinski's

claims of having established radio communication with Mars were true.

Somehow I just couldn't grasp the idea of an intelligent exchange of

ideas with another race of people so far away from us; it was too

stupendous. As a matter of fact, I was still a little cynical and

suspicious. And yet I knew if anyone had discussed the possibilities

of the radio, as we know it today, in the time of General George

Washington, as Henry was now agitating wireless communication with

Mars, the people of the Colonial era would have thought such a person

stark mad.

As McGinity's pencil flew across his note-book like a busy shuttle in

a loom, transcribing Henry's utterances, I kept saying to myself: "How

can this reporter accept facts that to him must seem perfectly crazy?"

Then, suddenly, it came to me that to a reporter all things are either

news or nothing. No matter if Henry was inventing something unreal,

which, of course, he wasn't, he was giving the reporter news of the

greatest magnitude; news backed by the potentialities of Henry's vast

wealth and the reputation he had already achieved as a scientist.

Watching them closely, I marveled at that inherent physical virtue in

each of them, by which they were enabled to shake off any thought, or

mention, of the very recent and unfortunate incident in our midst.

McGinity must have found the library infinitely more comfortable than

solitary confinement in our cellar. It was also very evident to me that

he was going up in Henry's estimation by leaps and bounds.

In repose, McGinity had a shy, reserved look about him that suggested

the student. He had proved a perfect guest at lunch. It puzzled me that

he should seem so much at home, so much part of our company and our

setting. Once the first shock was over, Jane had found him a person of

immediate interest and excitement. When she discovered that he loved to

poke round art galleries, and liked canary birds and goldfish, as she

did, she invited him to lunch with us soon again.

The absurd antagonism of Henry and Jane against reporters now seemed

a thing of the past. But not everything of the past, on McGinity's

part, was forgotten. There was no mistaking that he missed Pat, who

was absent from lunch because Henry had devised a means of preventing

a second meeting between them. He had packed her off, with Prince

Matani, to a luncheon party at the Sands Cliff Club, after which they

were to attend a polo match.

There is, after all, no use trying to go contrariwise to fate. Pat, it

seems, was fated to come home alone from the match, after a tilt with

the Prince--they quarrelled constantly--and Henry had a bad moment

when she breezed into the library a few minutes after he had finished

dictating to McGinity.

She was all exclamations and astonishment and delight on seeing the

reporter. "Dear old Uncle!" she said, as she hugged and kissed Henry.

"Why, on earth, didn't you tell me we were going to have a visitor?"

Henry didn't answer. He sat silent, even when Pat went up to McGinity,

and said: "What a piece of luck!" Then: "Lets go out on the terrace,

where it's cool."

Thereupon Henry found his tongue. "But it's quite comfortable in the

library," he said. "Why not talk to Mr. McGinity here?"

"But I want him to see the Sound and the boats from the terrace," Pat

replied. "It's such a beautiful scene."

It wasn't beautiful at all, as she knew, at this time. A mist had come

up, and cloaked everything in indistinctness. It wasn't even cool

on the terrace; the slight, west breeze that had been stirring, had

changed to the south. Nevertheless, she marched him off to the terrace.

Presently, they walked round the terrace extension at the end of the

castle, and stood conversing near the open window by which I sat.

Fortunately, they did not see me, and I made no move to indicate my

near presence. I felt free to listen to their conversation as a matter

of protection for Pat. Like my sister, Jane, I watched her out of eyes

and listened with ears that saw and heard a great deal more than they

pretended.

Pat spoke very fast, so as to leave the reporter little time to

interrupt her. "Afraid you wouldn't see me again, you say? Well, I was

afraid you'd never want to see me again, after what happened the other

night."

"I--I'm glad it happened, now, aren't you?" McGinity ventured.

"Oh, ever so glad," replied Pat. "I'll never forget that night, not

as long as I live. Fancy meeting a person for the first time in one's

cellar. And, oh! I'm so glad I came home ahead of Prince Matani. We

had a terrible spat at the polo game--over you. He detests reporters.

Hasn't the slightest sense of humor, and I see fun in everything. And,

oh, yes!" she raced on; "there's something I want to ask you. Will you

be at Uncle Henry's demonstration in the city, next Tuesday night? Oh,

of course, you will! And, please, I'd love to see how a newspaper is

made. It must be very thrilling. You want to show me, don't you?"

"I should like to very much," said McGinity. "But I can't understand,

with all the interests you have in life, what it is you want of me. I

can't understand yet why you take so much interest in me, or trouble

yourself with me at all."

She gazed at him, half laughing. "Are you really so stupid as all

that?" Then she quickly added: "Perhaps I don't want anything. What

then?" And, before he could reply, she flew at him: "At least I want

you to stop calling me 'Miss'."

"What am I to call you?"

"Pat."

"Very well--Pat," he smiled, "let me talk to you a little about myself,

of what I want of you." But he got no further; he became curiously

bereft of speech.

"Well--Bob?" Pat said, after a period of silence.

"It's no good," he said at last. "Since I met you the other night, I've

been thinking of what I'd like to say to you--and, now, it's best that

I forget it."

He turned half away from her as he continued to speak. "I'd better go

now."

Pat looked at him in astonishment. "Oh, please, Bob! Get it off your

mind, whatever it is," she begged.

"The truth is," he began, "what embarrasses me most--"

"There you go!" she interrupted. "I know exactly what you're going to

say, and to me it's such a silly thing."

"Will you explain just what you mean?"

"I mean, well, that I'm not a snob. I've never boasted about my

position, about having everything I want. The most exciting thing in

the world to me is meeting new people--nice people--and expecting one

doesn't know what. I don't expect you to hand me any credentials; that

would be odious. Of course, to you, I must appear disgustingly idle

and useless. But it just happens that I like you very much, and--and I

would like to be your friend."

McGinity grinned. "I think I can arrange that all right," he said.

"I'm very glad you can," she said. "And, please, get the other thing

off your mind, whatever it is, and don't let it come back again, at any

rate, not so--so overwhelmingly." She laughed out loud as she stretched

forth her hand.

It was pretty hard to believe my eyes in the unexpected scene which

swiftly followed. Prince Matani must have been in very bad humor to do

what he did. I gathered that he had been standing in concealment, round

the corner of the castle, for several minutes, listening in to the

conversation, and nursing his jealousy and suspicion.

McGinity had just taken Pat's hand in his own when I saw the Prince's

slim figure come round the corner suddenly, and upon them. Without

uttering a word, he struck at the reporter. Of all expressions in the

English language, I think "come-back" is one of the most significant.

The Prince had no sooner planted a glancing blow on McGinity's jaw,

still slightly discolored from Niki's knockout punch, when the

reporter, with a quick come-back, swung a mighty right that sent the

Prince backwards, reeling. It excited me almost to laughter to think

that the reporter felt the same impulse towards the Prince as I.

Pat could be as cool as a cucumber when it was necessary. Turning to

the Prince, she said, her face painfully drawn: "Why did you do this?"

The Prince made no reply. He gave her a sullen look and walked away.

McGinity met the situation good-naturedly. "If this keeps up," he

remarked, working his jaw, "I'll have to wear a baseball catcher's mask

whenever I come here, or ask for special police protection."

"It's extraordinary," said Pat, laughing in spite of herself, "that you

should get two smacks in the face in succession. You must think we're

a crazy lot. Anyway, that was a beautiful crack you gave His Highness,

and he deserved it."

That practically ended the conversation. As they walked off, I turned

in my chair to see the Prince in whispered conversation with Henry,

obviously airing his grievances in connection with Pat and McGinity. I

was rather surprised, but delighted, to hear Henry say to him: "This

is your funeral, Your Highness. Your eye looks terrible. Better go

upstairs, and have Niki put a cold compress on it."

The Prince had no sooner left the room to carry out Henry's suggestion

when Pat and McGinity strolled in. I was uneasy for a moment, but

Henry gave no indication that he knew what had just happened on

the terrace. In matter-of-factness, he gave McGinity some final

instructions, and dismissed him. Then the reporter left, and there was

silence. Henry looked very grave.

"What's on your mind, Uncle Henry?" Pat asked, as she subsided into a

chair.

Henry blew his nose, a trick he had when his feelings were disturbed.

"I'm not angry, my dear," he began, and then paused to blow his nose

again. "It isn't that I mind so much this extraordinary encounter

between His Highness and Mr. McGinity--the reporter had every right to

strike out in self-defense--but you cannot go on in this way. I know--"

"Oh, so the Prince told you, did he?" she interposed. Then she added:

"What do you know?"

"That you are in love with this young reporter."

Pat gasped. "Oh, you ought not to have said that, Uncle! You've spoiled

it all now. It was such a beautiful thing--our friendship."

"It has been said, and very truthfully so," Henry observed, "that mere

friendship is impossible between a man and a woman. Now, Mr. McGinity

is a very smart and capable young person," he went on, "and I have

nothing to say against your being friendly with him, but I do object to

your flaunting him, on such short acquaintance, made under such unusual

circumstances, in the face of His Highness as a possible rival."

"What do you mean?" Pat asked, as she rose out of her chair, and moved

slowly towards Henry.

"I mean it is intolerably annoying to me that you should allow

a nondescript person to come between you and this distinguished

representative of the Georgian principality."

"Mr. McGinity is not nondescript," Pat retorted, "and--and I have no

intention of marrying Prince Matani." There was a look of fear growing

in her eyes. "Why, I don't love him, Uncle, well enough to marry him.

I'd rather marry a counter-jumper in a Broadway haberdashery store. Oh,

I couldn't--couldn't!"

"You know, and I know," said Henry, firmly, "that you've given the

Prince every encouragement. My principle heretofore has been to

leave you alone. But, now, it has become a different matter. Your

growing interest in Mr. McGinity makes it necessary for me to show my

authority."

"You mean that I can't see as much of Mr. McGinity as I have a mind to?"

"Just so long as it is within the bounds of discretion," Henry

answered. "But I repeat, you shall not allow this reporter to come

between you and the young nobleman you're destined to marry. I'll admit

that I've encouraged the Prince's attentions towards you. In fact, I

think it's about time that I announced your betrothal to him. Now, as

we've both given him encouragement, we can't break faith with him as

easily as all that--now, can we?"

"Very well, Uncle." Pat's voice sounded tired and bored. After giving

me an appealing, helpless look, she went briskly out of the room.

That night, Thursday, to be exact, Henry woke me out of the deepest

slumber. He had stayed up late, at his telescope, and had come to tell

me of a meteoric shower, the most amazing he had ever witnessed, he

said. I dressed quickly, and accompanied him to the observatory. There

I saw the most astounding spectacle. Swarms of fire-balls, they looked

like, sweeping across the heavens. Many were hissing to the earth. It

was like a celestial bombardment of the world.

The meteoric showers, transiently brilliant, continued the next night,

and the next. Astronomers all over the country were mystified; Henry

equally so. No one could seem to account for them; they were out of

season; the whole thing was freakish.

The last shower of meteors of any note occurred in November, 1833,

when swarms of shooting stars fell in North America. They fell then, I

found in our encyclopedia, like flakes of snow, to the number, as was

estimated, of 240,000 in the space of nine hours, varying in size from

a moving point to globes of the moon's diameter.

The earth in its orbit is constantly encountering meteors, which are

accepted by scientists as the debris of comets, Henry explained, but

this encounter was--well, inexplicable and bewildering. Remnants of

the metallic bodies were falling in all sections of the United States,

Canada, and Mexico. Some were dropping in populous centers, bringing

death and disaster; some at sea, and in the Great Lakes, sinking ships.

Seemingly there was no let-up to this weird and dangerous phenomenon of

the heavens.

On the following Sunday night, while the presses of the Daily Recorder

were grinding out, by the hundreds of thousands, McGinity's exclusive,

front-page story on Henry's and Olinski's scientific feat, which meant

the linking of the earth and Mars by radio, a discovery almost beyond

human conception, a great ball of blinding, bluish fire, giving off

a trail of sparks, hissed down out of the heavens, and fell in Times

Square.

A messenger of death from space, this red-hot metallic wanderer of the

skies, crashed into the small triangle, formed by the intersection

of Broadway and Seventh Avenue, between Forty-fifth and Forty-sixth

Streets. It tore through the surface into the subway, just missing a

passing train, and was imbedded in a mass of tangled steel rails and

cement ten feet under the level of the underground railway.

Smaller fragments in its wake rattled down like hail on streets and

housetops within a radius of a mile. Hardly a window-pane within this

area that was not shattered to bits by the explosion, which lighted

the entire city in a bluish glare. All taxicabs parked, or moving, in

the square were overturned and wrecked; pedestrians were thrown to the

ground, stunned, many lying unconscious. Sixteen persons were killed

outright.

The gilt minute hand of a huge, electrically-illuminated clock

overlooking the scene of disaster, was torn off by the explosion; the

hour hand was untouched. When the mechanism of the clock was put out

of business, the hour hand was pointing exactly at two. Had the meteor

fallen a few hours earlier, the loss of life no doubt would have been

appalling.

The scene of terror and confusion that followed the fall of the

meteor, according to eye-witnesses, was indescribable. Many persons on

Broadway, women of the street, mendicants, fell down on their knees,

and prayed, believing that the end of the world had come. One man went

raving mad. He ran through the streets, shouting: "The stars of heaven

are falling unto the earth! Hide yourselves in the mountains! Hide from

the wrath of the Lamb!"

The whole city was aroused. Thousands came pouring in from the outlying

districts by subway, and in motor cars, to visit the scene of disaster.

The police were helpless. Many women and children were trampled to

death in the crush of the thousands who fought and pressed their way

into Times Square. Efforts were made to bring the crowd to its senses,

to distract the people's attention from the scene of the catastrophe;

sirens sounded, the deep, booming note of bells came from the church

towers, but to no avail.

When dawn broke at last, it was estimated that one million persons were

massed in and about Times Square. All the diverging cross-town streets

were choked with people and traffic. While above the silent hush of the

terrified masses, milling about in the sepulchral gray light of dawn,

rose the strident voices of news-boys:

"Wuxtra! Wuxtra! Planet Mars speaks to the earth! All about radio

communication between earth and Mars! Wuxtra! Wuxtra!"

Thus, upon a sky-minded people, made conscious for the first time,

it seemed, of the strange and powerful forces that lurk in the upper

regions, by the awe and terror caused by the falling stars, descended

the news of Henry's triumphant accomplishment.

A new world of people had been discovered. The inhabitants of Mars

were no longer a mythical race. Radio, girdling the earth as quick

as thought, had drawn all nations closer together; now, bridging the

abyss of outer space, it had drawn into its friendly relationship a new

human race. To a nation-wide, or world-circling, hook-up of the radio,

Mars could now be included. Mars was now our neighbor, as convenient

to reach by wireless as London, Rome or Peiping; made more accessible

really than either the Arctic or Antarctic zones.

Our telephone at the castle began to trill about eleven-thirty o'clock,

shortly after McGinity's story had been run off the presses and the

paper was on the street. The central operator reported "no answer"

to hundreds of calls, made by curious-minded people, until a little

after two in the morning, when she reported "Busy." Henry, it seems,

had seen the meteor fall in New York through his telescope. Immediately

he had phoned to Olinski, who was in the city, and Olinski had hurried

to Times Square to investigate. The next day, when he came down to

the country, to assist Henry in his preparations for the public

demonstration, he was able to give us first-hand information of the

occurrence.

As early as eight o'clock that morning, reporters swarmed about our

lodge-gate. Having no head, or inclination, for handling the press

representatives en masse, Henry phoned to McGinity to come down and

help him out. McGinity came in a hurry, and took control of the

situation in a masterly way. The other reporters, including many

foreign correspondents, all seemed to like him.

Pat remained aloof from all the hurly-burly and excitement. Once she

got a good look at McGinity from the head of the staircase, as he stood

talking to a group of reporters in the entrance hall; but she took

care that he did not see her. The situation in which she now found

herself was like something read in childhood, a romantic fairy-story;

and Henry, to her, was the ogre. What saved her in the whole miserable

affair was her superb common-sense. Henry didn't have to explain things

to her any further; she instantly realized that, still under his

authority, she must obey him, and marry Prince Matani.

Late in the afternoon she came downstairs, on the pretense of getting

a book, to have a better look at him, so she told me afterwards, just

to make sure he was no different from the time when she first had got

him by heart. All the reporters had gone, and McGinity was sitting at

the big desk in the library, engaged in writing his follow-up story of

Henry's discovery. He was alone, Henry having gone to the observatory.

She looked at him through the open door, from the far side of the

dining room. He had his face to her, and his head was bent over his

work. Presently he looked up and saw her, but that was all. There was a

worried expression on his face; he seemed afraid to smile. What a fool

she was to expect anything to happen in the way she made it up in her

own mind! So she turned away, and started to leave the room.

When he called after her, she stopped and looked back. He had risen,

and had come to the library doorway. "Don't run away like that,

please," he implored.

"You seem to be awfully busy," said Pat. "I didn't mean to disturb you.

I was just coming in to get a book."

"What book?"

Pat was puzzled for a moment. "Oh, just a mystery book--anything," she

said, finally.

"Did you read my story in this morning's Recorder?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes; it was fine. Uncle Henry said it was magnificent.

Just enough play of the imagination to give it color, and told with

such simplicity that everyone could understand."

"Thanks," he said. "I'm glad you liked it. At first, I was afraid the

falling of that meteor in Times Square would kill it. But it didn't. It

has made the New York public more open-minded for what your Uncle Henry

is going to spring on them tomorrow night, at Radio Center. You'll be

there, of course. Shall I see you?"

"If I'm free," Pat replied.

"Meaning that you're not free," he remarked. He passed into a

thoughtful mood but quickly snapped out of it. "Yes; I--I understand

perfectly. Your Uncle Henry told me about the Prince and yourself this

afternoon--about your coming engagement--and I'm afraid I'm not able to

take it in yet. I don't see why you ever bothered about me at all." He

stopped short, and began staring at the floor in deep contemplation.

"I don't know myself why I ever did--why I ever bothered about you,"

she returned, in a low, tremulous voice. "I had a feeling--well, I had

a sort of feeling--" She, too, stopped short.

When McGinity glanced up, she was walking away. Then he heard Henry's

voice, and went quickly back to his work.