laboratory on Earth is of no particular
importance. Will it destroy the space-serpents? If it does this, our
hats are off to Mr. Walter Harkness; almost will we be inclined to
believe the rest of his story--or to laugh with him over one of the
greatest hoaxes ever attempted."

Chet had been too intent upon the newscast to heed an opening door at
his back....

* * * * *

"How about it, Chet?" a voice was asking. "Would you call it a hoax or
the real thing?" And a girl's voice chimed in with exclamations of
delight at sight of the patient, so evidently recovering.

"Diane!" Chet exulted, "--and Walt!--you old son-of-a-gun!" He found
himself clinging to a girl's soft hand with one of his, while with the
other he reached for that of her companion. But Walt Harkness' arm went
about his shoulders instead.

"I'd like to hammer you plenty," Harkness was saying, "and I don't even
dare give you a friendly slam on the back. How's the side where they got
you with the spear?--and how are you? How soon will you be ready to
start back? What about--"

Diane Delacouer raised her one free hand to stop the flood of questions.
"My dear," she protested, "give Chet a chance. He must be dying for
information."

"I was dying for another reason the last time I saw you," Chet reminded
her, "--up on the Dark Moon. But it seems that you got me back here in
time for repairs. And now what?" His nurse came into the room with extra
chairs; Chet waited till she was gone before he repeated: "Now what?
When do we go back?"

Harkness did not answer at once. Instead he crossed to the newscaster in
its compact, metal case. The voice was still speaking softly; at a touch
of a switch it ceased, and in the silence came the soft rush of sound
that meant the telautotype had taken up its work. Beneath a glass a
paper moved, and words came upon it from a hurricane of type-bars
underneath. The instrument was printing the news story as rapidly as any
voice could speak it.

Harkness read the words for an instant, then let the paper pass on to
wind itself upon a spool. It had still been telling of the gigantic hoax
that this eccentric American had attempted and Harkness repeated the
words.

"A hoax!" he exclaimed, and his eyes, for a moment, flashed angrily
beneath the dark hair that one hand had disarranged. "I would like to
take that facetious bird out about a thousand miles and let him play
around with the serpents we m