Islands in the Air | Page 5

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 accident 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