by Jerry
Besides the machines on the islands, others were sheltered by small buildings on the ground. At three corners of each island were short mastheads with powerful lights and at the fourth rose a taller masthead bearing a revolving airplane beacon. I knew that the Professor proposed to raise this great mass into the air by wireless control, to suspend it there and raise and lower it at will. Having had the theory dinned into my ears for many days I naturally absorbed some of the faith of its inventor, but as the work progressed I began to have misgivings and to fear that, after all, his mind was unbalanced.
Of course the public was not admitted to the grounds. I began to suspect that many doubted the iron machinery story, for several reporters and photographers finally came to visit us and were turned away with a sharp rebuke.
One of our first tasks consisted of clearing a landing field, after which Greta always brought the Professor and me over in her plane—a remarkable machine in its way. Although she did not understand these air islands any more than I, she criticized the Professor for evolving them and was sceptical of their success.
We heard and saw little of Van Beck, but Greta saw him often—as I afterward learned. Then one day she swooped down suddenly out of the sky, climbed from the cabin of the plane and was followed by Van Beck.
Professor Stiener glared, but Van Beck grinned amiably through his black, bushy beard.
“Sir, you must know that you are not wanted here,” fumed the Professor. He turned savagely to Greta. “What is the meaning of this, Greta?”
“Why Professor Van Beck is an old friend,” she said innocently. “I just landed here without thinking. I beg your pardon, Gustave. We will be going.”
Greta made for the plane. Just then McCann ran up with a blue print and asked the Professor a question.
“Certainly, certainly,” chimed in Van Beck. “We do not wish to trespass.”
The professor had been poring over a large blue print spread open in the sun when he rose to rebuke his Dutch friend. Now he walked away with McCann and I followed. We were absent but a few minutes, and when we turned back instead of seeing Van Beck getting into the plane I observed him turning away from the blue print and I thought I saw him hastily thrust a black object into the capacious pocket of his long black duster. There were no workmen near at the time and as I had no witnesses and could not be sure I resolved to say nothing about it. Smiling graciously Van Beck ambled to the plane, took his seat by Greta’s side and they were off with a wave of the hand.
The Professor was furious over the unexpected visit.
“What is Greta thinking about?” he stormed. “Has she no respect for her brother and his work? Please God he didn’t learn anything—but maybe he did,” he added fearfully. “He has a devilish way of learning things. What do you think?”
I assured him I did not think it likely any of our secrets had leaked out in so short a space of time. And I was in no amiable mood. Van Beck seemed to be exercising an hypnotic influence over Greta and I resented it bitterly. However, shortly afterward I had reason to be thankful for the episode and the resultant lecture which the Professor gave Greta. She was seen less often in Van Beck’s company and devoted herself closer to me and the work of her eccentric brother. Nor did we see any more of Van Beck nosing around. He was seen but little about town and seemed to keep pretty close to the class room. Near mid-summer we heard he had obtained a vacation and had gone abroad for a time.
The Professor breathed a sigh of relief. We are rid of him for a time,” he said gratefully. “Before he returns the danger will be past.”
A Disappearance
WEEK after week rolled away, the mellow days of September were at hand and the islands were nearing completion. Then one morning as the Professor and I stepped from the plane we were met by McCann with the startling intelligence that the office had been entered during the night, but a cursory examination had revealed nothing disturbed.
The Professor stared blankly a moment, then rushed away to the office. We followed breathlessly.
The outer door had been forced, its lock being broken, but beyond this no damage had been done so far as we could discover. Anxiously we ran over the papers—not a print was missing.
“Nothing gone,” said the Professor. “Yet the place has been entered. What for?”
“Perhaps the thief was frightened away before he could grab anything,” I suggested.
“I don’t see how he got in,” said McCann. “I have made sure that every guard was at his post throughout the night.”
“I hold you personally responsible, McCann,” said the Professor severely. “See that it doesn’t happen again.” And with that he turned and walked away leaving McCann with a crestfallen air.
I felt sorry for the Scotchman. He seemed devoted to the Professor, and I. believed the rebuke to be undeserved.
The ridge which the Professor had selected for his daring experiment was the center of an unbroken wilderness far remote from any human habitation. It was fifty miles from the university, and was a land of no roads and but few dim trails. The ridge dropped away to the north and to the south in a series of valleys heavily clothed in virgin timber. It was admirably situated for a secret enterprise. The vicinity was never visited save by hunters, and this was not the hunting season. Even the route of the mail planes was far to the north.
One night not long after the forced entrance to the office McCann disappeared. The chief electrician had called at his office as usual the next morning. He was not there. Nor could he be found anywhere on the grounds. As it was against the rules for any one to leave the premises under any circumstances, without a permit from the Professor, we stared in blank dismay. A careful search of the surrounding woods brought no clue. We followed up a rumor that he had been seen in his car driving out of the city at daybreak, but we could not verify it.
The Professor, wild with suspense, anxiety and remorse for having criticised his faithful aid, rummaged among his papers and discovered that the blue prints covering secret parts of one of his giant condensers were missing.
The scene that followed I will not attempt to describe. The Professor lost his head. He raved like a madman, condemning everybody, threatening everybody. He said he would give up the work, commit suicide and be through with it all. But at length he grew calm, asked my pardon for the outburst and ordered the work to go on.
“I simply can’t believe that McCann is a traitor, Bob,” said the Professor. “I’d stake my life on his faithfulness. He may be ill. He may be wandering about with an unbalanced mind. You know this work always did affect him profoundly. He has a great brain, and I really believe that he understands this work as well as I do. It is a pity if he has become unbalanced. But sane or not I fear his absence means trouble for us.”
The revelations of the next few days seemed to justify the Professor’s alarm. The press of the city carried big black headlines announcing that Professor Stiener, the great German scientist, was at work on a theory calculated to upset one of nature’s laws. The exact nature of the scheme was not known, but it was said to portend a mighty revolution in air travel.
The Professor read the news and smiled grimly. He was pleased by the compliment, yet fearful of the public’s premature praise.
It was about the middle of October when one morning the Professor and I, walking along the street near the university campus, suddenly came face to face with Van Beck.
“My dear old pal,” said the Dutchman, taking the Professor’s hand which had not been offered and squeezing it cordially. “I have just returned from a visit to my old home across the sea. Yes,” he went on eagerly without waiting for the question, “I had a fine time—a very fine time.” The Professor smiled sourly. “And now may I ask how you are coming on with your—that is—er—this new scheme of yours?”
The Professor frowned. “I remember your uninvited visit, Van Beck,” he said icily.
“Beg pardon, Professor Stiener. Greta took me to that wilderness retreat. It was a mere accid
ent on my part, I assure you. But now that I know something tremendous is being evolved by your great brain I naturally am anxious over it and I wish you well.”
“Thanks, Van Beck.”
“Often you and I have worked together and together have reaped the reward.”
“You mean you have reaped it,” rasped the Professor.
“You wrong me,” remonstrated Van Beck.
“I don’t want your help, Van Beck. My good friend here, Bob Bookman, is furnishing the funds and—”
“To be sure, to be sure,” cut in Van Beck pleasantly. “I am glad for your sake and for Mr. Bookman’s sake. It is a rare privilege to aid in any work of yours.”
“We are busy,” said the Professor ignoring the compliment. “You must excuse us.”
“Certainly, Professor Stiener. But if at any time you feel the need of assistance you know you can count on me.”
“Damn that infernal Dutchman,” said the Professor as we walked on. “He has a great mind, a wonderful mind, but he is a rogue. And yet,” he added reflectively, “he has served me in the past though he also has beaten me. I despise him and still like him. But I wish he’d let me alone now,” he finished irritably.
This was a vain hope, for during the next few days Van Beck crossed the Professor’s path frequently, became more insistent, more diplomatic in his search for information, taking the Professor’s rebuffs with a smile and maintaining an air of the utmost friendliness. And at length he wormed the main secret from the Professor—the momentous admission that the latter was striving to overcome the laws of gravitation.
CHAPTER III
Into the Air!
IT WAS not long afterward that the location of our plant became known to the public. A strange plane, flying low, circled the field and took its own time getting away. People eagerly responded to its news. During the next week automobiles by the thousand braved the rocky trails leading to the plant, and folks by the hundreds peered curiously through the wire fence at the manifold and mysterious preparations to harness nature’s mighty forces.
The newspapers of the entire country teemed with conjectures and declarations as wild and fantastic as the Professor’s scheme itself.
Airplanes began to circle and maneuver above us during every hour of the day and night. But we spread canvasses over the most important machinery where the men worked unobserved.
By the fifteenth of November everything was at last complete. I shall never forget the day, the crazy delight of the Professor as he went about testing the intricate machines, the air of awe and mystery that kept the workmen silent, and my own wonder, enthusiasm and yet doubt that the experiment would succeed. Thus far the project had cost me a mint of money which I did not begrudge, if the thing only proved a success. But how could such a thing succeed?
I roamed about over the great artificial island, looking over the wonderful oscillators, condensers, transformers, and so on. I knew their office but vaguely, knowing only that they transmitted the power to operate the gravity deflector. Their number and size were bewildering surrounded as they were by divers other machinery whose nature I could not guess.
At each corner and in its center the island rested on a solid copper pier ten feet in height and about a foot in diameter, and at the points of contact on the island itself were magnet-like apparatus. On the ground near each pier was a dynamo whose current was supplied by a central power-house. There were also many amplifiers and projectors of peculiar construction. The whole fabric beneath my feet with its network of wires and steel and machinery was so heavy that the idea of projecting it into the sky and holding it there suspended like a great captive balloon without the aid of gas or lifting wings appalled me. Only my faith in the Professor’s uncanny power made me hope it might succeed.
Not a plane was to be seen in the sky save Greta’s which kept diving and circling far above us, and it was still too early for the curious crowds from town. Except the workmen, the Professor and myself there was not a soul in sight. The Professor confided to me that he was glad we were alone. I understood. If the thing should fail he would save himself from the ridicule of the world.
When all was in readiness the Professor, looking very grave and a little pale, beckoned to me silently, and I followed him up the ladder on board the island. He had just been over the whole thing thoroughly and had given last minute instructions to his engineers.
“If anything happens, Bob,” he said quietly, “Greta will pick us up with the plane. But I don’t look for anything untoward to happen,” he added confidently.
We paused near the center of the island. The Professor gave a final look around and over this marvelous child of his brain.
“God, how I wish McCann were here to share the glory with us,” he said sadly. “Poor McCann, some dire tragedy must have overtaken him. I would give anything now to recall my harsh words.”
Then he put a whistle to his lips and blew shrilly. For the fraction of a second nothing happened, then the fabric beneath us trembled. There was a hiss, a sputter, an upward flash of fire, a shower of sparks through the frame-work, a drone of the dynamos, like the hum of a million bees, and we began to move. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, then we shot upward with sickening suddenness. Up, up we went on a level keel. I felt but a slight tremor and only the rush of air proclaimed that we were rushing heavenward with terrible speed.
The Professor grabbed me and hugged me in a frenzy of joy, for the time being too much overcome to speak. And all I could do was to stare at him in speechless wonder. Suddenly he drew back and touched a button on the corner mast.
Instantly our motion was arrested. The island rocked gently a few times, then came to rest without a jar. The altimeter showed us to be up one thousand feet. Looking down through the steel work I saw the workmen staring up at us. There we rode in the air as steady as a duck on a millpond, sustained by the invisible force of gravitation.
Greta landed her plane, rushed up and embraced her brother.
“Oh, Gustave,” she cried, “I did not think you could do it—I am so sorry that I ever doubted you; that I—” She paused as she looked away a dark shadow in her eyes.
“Never mind,” said the Professor.
“Oh, Bob, isn’t this wonderful?” she said turning to me.
“It is more than that. At a time like this, words fail us.”
“I am wondering whether I dare try a little stunt,” said the Professor. “And do you folks know that we could go on up to the moon if we wanted to?” he added mysteriously. “But enough for today. We will return to the earth. I see other and greater marvels just ahead of us.”
As the girl and I gazed in awe at this remarkable man he manipulated the machinery again and we descended slowly and easily landing exactly on the points of the piers. The workmen clustered around their employer showering him with congratulations.
The Professor Triumphant
WELL, that night I couldn’t sleep for thinking of that wonderful exploit and the fact that the Professor hinted at other wonders hidden up his sleeve. Would man ultimately conquer all the laws of the universe? Was there no limit to his power? Preposterous as it seemed I answered these amazing questions in the affirmative. Fulfilling the scriptures, man was to become as gods.
And now the Professor, athrill with triumph and enthused over the future outlook of his aerial islands, invited everybody to come out into the wilderness and witness man’s latest conquest over mother nature.
The day was set and widely advertised. Scientists from all over America were tendered special invitations, as well as many statesmen. The professor sent Van Beck a messenger urging him to be present.
The whole nation was dumfounded by the announcement, but almost every one treated the matter as a huge hoax and questioned Professor Stiener’s sanity.
But they came by thousands—coming by plane and automobile, on horseback and on foot. The woods surrounding the high fence was black with people. But, of course, no one was permitted inside the fe
nce. Even Professor Van Beck, who seemed to consider himself a special guest, was forced to peer through the fence and reach between its wires to give the Professor the handclasp of congratulation.
“My dear Professor,” he said with an injured air, “one would think you would make an exception in the case of an old pal.”
“There can be no exceptions,” replied the Professor tartly.
“Do you expect forever to keep this great secret locked in your own breast?”
“Until every feature is protected by patent,” returned the Professor meaningly.
I could see that this answer cut Van Beck to the quick, but he said nothing and in a minute he moved away shaking his head and mingled with the crowd.
The demonstration was a success in every way. Both islands were raised simultaneously. They were partly lowered, then raised again alternately, shot into the air until they appeared as small dark specks in the blue sky. And finally they were landed safely and noiselessly on their piers.
The Professor was wild with enthusiasm and joy. He bowed again and again as the milling crowds cheered madly. Often he ran over to Van Beck where he stood with his face pressed against the wire and boasted of the complete success of his great venture. It was plain to be seen that the Professor was gloating over the Dutchman. At last he had succeeded in making and utilizing a great discovery without his butting in. But Van Beck did not stint his praise.