ou're Winslow," he called in a steady voice, "you don't want me
to go away; you want to talk with me. There's a young friend of yours
in a bad jam. You are the only one who can help."

"I haven't any friends," said the rasping voice: "I don't want any!
Get out!"

"You had one," said the captain, "whether you wanted him or not. He
believed in you--like the other young chap who went with you to the
moon."

* * * * *

There was an audible gasp of dismay from the window beyond, and the
barrel of the rifle made trembling flickerings in the sun.

"You mean the flyer?" asked the voice, and it seemed to have lost its
harsher note. "The pleasant young fellow?"

"I mean McGuire, who helped give decent burial to your friend. And now
he has been carried off--out into space--and you can help him. If
you've a spark of decency in you, you will hear what I have to say."

The rifle vanished within the cabin; a door opened to frame a picture
of a tall man. He was stooped; the years, or solitude, perhaps, had
borne heavily upon him; his face was a mat of gray beard that was a
continuation of the unkempt hair above. The rifle was still in his
hand.

But he motioned to the waiting man, and "Come in!" he commanded. "I'll
soon know if you're telling the truth. God help you if you're not....
Come in."

An hour was needed while the bearded man learned the truth. And Blake,
too, picked up some facts. He learned to his great surprise that he
was talking with an educated man, one who had spent a lifetime in
scientific pursuits. And now, as the figure before him seemed more the
scientist and less the crazed fabricator of wild fancies, the truth of
his claims seemed not so remote.

Half demented now, beyond a doubt! A lifetime of disappointments and
one invention after another stolen from him by those who knew more of
law than of science. And now he held fortune in the secret of his
ship--a secret which he swore should never be given to the world.

"Damn the world!" he snarled. "Did the world ever give anything to me?
And what would they do with this? They would prostitute it to their
own selfish ends; it would be just one more means to conquer and kill;
and the capitalists would have it in their own dirty hands so that new
lines of transportation beyond anything they dared dream would be
theirs to exploit."

* * * * *

Blake, remembering the history of a commercial age,