e country-folk throughout the region, nor the townfolk of
Pleasant Garden and Morganton were in danger of volcanic eruptions or
earthquakes. No subterranean forces whatever were battling within the
bowels of the mountains. No crater had arisen in this corner of the
Alleghanies. The Great Eyrie served merely as the retreat of Robur
the Conqueror. This impenetrable hiding-place where he stored his
materials and provisions, had without doubt been discovered by him
during one of his aerial voyages in the "Albatross." It was a retreat
probably even more secure than that as yet undiscovered Island X in
the Pacific.

This much I knew of him; but of this marvelous machine of his, of the
secrets of its construction and propelling force, what did I really
know? Admitting that this multiple mechanism was driven by
electricity, and that this electricity was, as we knew it had been in
the "Albatross," extracted directly from the surrounding air by some
new process, what were the details of its mechanism? I had not been
permitted to see the engine; doubtless I should never see it.

On the question of my liberty I argued thus: Robur evidently intends
to remain unknown. As to what he intends to do with his machine, I
fear, recalling his letter, that the world must expect from it more
of evil than of good. At any rate, the incognito which he has so
carefully guarded in the past he must mean to preserve in the future.
Now only one man can establish the identity of the Master of the
World with Robur the Conqueror. This man is I his prisoner, I who
have the right to arrest him, I, who ought to put my hand on his
shoulder, saying, "In the Name of the Law--"

On the other hand, could I hope for a rescue from with out? Evidently
not. The police authorities must know everything that had happened at
Black Rock Creek. Mr. Ward, advised of all the incidents, would have
reasoned on the matter as follows: when the "Terror" quitted the
creek dragging me at the end of her hawser, I had either been drowned
or, since my body had not been recovered, I had been taken on board
the "Terror," and was in the hands of its commander.

In the first case, there was nothing more to do than to write
"deceased" after the name of John Strock, chief inspector of the
federal police in Washington.

In the second case, could my confreres hope ever to see me again? The
two destroyers which had pursued the "Terror" into the Niagara River
had stopped, perforce, when