CHAPTER. III

It was with considerable relief and expectancy on both sides that Robert and Professor Palmer shook hands in the big, high-ceilinged parlor of the old Sprague manor.

Their footsteps echoed eerily through the house as they tramped back through the long dark hallway to a big barnlike addition which had long served as a workshop. Here Robert’s father had spent countless weary hours, to the despair of his good wife, who had already followed him to his reward.

As they entered the doorway the professor became aware of an immense gray-black sphere in the dusk of the far end of the shop. The top of this sphere reached within a few inches of the lofty ceiling. It was probably twenty-five feet in diameter, and rested upon a short scaffold. What appeared to be curious round windows in its side, like portholes in a ship’s hull, gave it the appearance of a gigantic diver’s helmet.

Robert approached the Sphere. Without hesitancy he selected and pressed upon what appeared to be an ordinary rivet-head like hundreds of others over the Sphere’s shell. A round hatch, large enough to admit a man, swung open, disclosing a black and uninviting interior. Flustered, he courteously invited Professor Palmer to enter first.

For an instant the professor hesitated. The weirdness of the whole affair suddenly struck him forcibly. This young man’s queer claims, the big manor with its eery echoes and atmosphere of dismal loneliness—all seemed to cry out to him to beware. The dull gray shape looming above them in the gathering twilight looked disquietingly like some freak prison, such as a madman might invent.

Robert, sensing the professor’s misgivings, apologized for not having considered his difficulty in negotiating the unfamiliar interior in the darkness, and relieved him by entering first. A sharp click, and a comfortable glow of light suffused the interior. They passed up a brief, winding stairway into a long chamber.

“This is the gyrostatic control which neutralizes the force of gravity,” Robert began, calmly, as if this assertion were the simplest thing in the world. He indicated a complicated mass of glittering machinery in the center of the compartment in which they stood. He reached for a small lever, and pulled it toward him. Simultaneously there was a soft whirring sound. For a moment the floor tilted slightly, then steadied again.

“And the power for this?” queried the professor.

“Furnished by storage batteries,” Robert explained. “The batteries are recharged by petrol-driven dynamos.”

“But your supply of petrol? Where have you sufficient space for a supply that will last any considerable length of time?”

“All round us.”

The professor swept their surroundings with his sharp eyes. No receptacle was visible. Two full-size doors and several small ones appeared in the partitions; but nothing suggested a receptacle for a large supply of fuel. Then quite suddenly it dawned upon him that there was a vast amount of space unaccounted for between the partitions, floor and ceiling, and the Sphere’s outside shell. His respect for Robert’s claims was growing. So far, at least, the young inventor seemed quite confident.

“What is this?” asked the professor, indicating what resembled the breech of a dreadnaught’s gun protruding from the floor. Electric wires, dials, and other curious devices were connected to it.

“That’s the Norrensen Tube, so named by my father after its inventor, an old friend of his, now deceased. It is capable of terrible destruction. It will produce a bolt of lightning rivaling the elements, which will strike up to twelve miles away—and it can be aimed with startling accuracy. I remember seeing a giant oak blasted into pulp with it in a test across a valley four miles wide, when I was a boy.”

“But, how is it that the world has never heard of this remarkable invention?”

“Norrensen was an eccentric character whom the world had wronged grievously. He insisted on conducting the tests with greatest secrecy. Overtaken suddenly by a fatal illness, he exacted a promise from my father to retain the secret of this weapon till his death.”

“What a terrible weapon that would make in the hands of a man bent on destruction!” mused the professor.

The compartment they were in looked to be about twelve by twenty-five feet, and some ten feet in height. There were three round ports at either of its rounded ends; these, being located below the bulge of the Sphere’s greatest girth, enabled one to obtain a good view downward as well as outward. The straight sidewalls and ceiling were windowless, but a vertical well extending from the floor, beside the controls, to the outer shell, with heavy, circular glass panes at either end, enabled the operator to see out directly below. The compartment was flooded with soft, mellow light from a dozen frosted incandescent lamps.

“Deducting for this compartment, two small storerooms, the cupboards, and the water and oxygen tanks,” Robert was saying, “the net capacity of the petrol reservoirs is more than 40,000 gallons. That and the full storage power of the batteries is sufficient to operate the high-speed, but delicately balanced gyrostats, more than fifty days and nights continuously.”

“You say that gravity is completely neutralized?”

“Almost entirely so, even with all reservoirs filled to capacity. The stability of the gyrostatic device is so powerful that weight becomes a negligible factor. If you will follow me I can prove this to you.”

The professor quivered with suppressed excitement as he followed Robert down the flight of steps leading to the outer manhole through which they had entered. At last he was about to know beyond doubt whether the remarkable claims made by his guide had any foundation. If they had, a new era would be unfolded. Again his common sense reacted against hope, blasting his short-lived credulity. That either this boy or his father should have mastered the problem of the fifth dimension after experts of centuries had failed, seemed unbelievable. And yet—

In the deepening twilight the Sphere seemed to loom above them larger than ever. Its lighted portholes, contrasting strangely with its shadowy bulk, gave it a weird, fantastic, almost unearthly aspect.

“The Sphere is now in almost perfect equilibrium from every direction,” Robert explained, pride creeping into his voice unconsciously. He indicated two iron rungs near the bottom of the Sphere. “If you will take hold here, you will be able to move it in any direction without effort. Softly though—keep a firm hold upon it.”

Doubting still, Professor Palmer grasped the rungs, fully expecting to find the vast bulk an immovable weight.

To his intense surprize it rose from the floor as if it were an air-filled balloon! He had exerted himself not the slightest bit. The Sphere had simply risen at his first slight lift, and had continued to rise until a slight tug upon his arm stopped it. He extended his right arm, still gripping one rung. The Sphere followed easily, its only resistance apparently that of the atmosphere surrounding it.

“Now release it,” suggested Robert.

The astonished professor did so, half expecting to see it crash to the floor.

But nothing of the sort occurred. For several seconds the giant ball continued to rise very slowly, like a sluggish soap-bubble. Doubtless he had unwittingly allowed his hand to waver slightly when releasing it.

Then very, very slowly the Sphere began to descend, finally settling softly and with scarcely a sound. Though it had been but a few feet above the floor, it required fully a minute to come to rest. One noticeable feature was its vertical stability. It neither rolled in its descent nor wobbled in settling, but simply came down with a paradoxical combination of majestic ponderance and zephyrlike softness.

“Remarkable!” ejaculated the professor, feeling the inadequacy of the word when applied to this marvelous achievement.

“The rigid stability,” Robert explained, “is automatically controlled by a delicate device attached to the central upright gyroscope.”

“I was under the impression that the entire apparatus was unaffected by gravity.”

“This device is the exception. The Sphere’s weight is neutralized to an absolute minimum by the gyroscopic control, but it was necessary to maintain one point of gravitational contact in order to establish some permanent upright stability; otherwise, the Sphere would revolve at random when in midair.”

“Manifestly.”

“This device also makes it possible to maintain the observation ports at the ends of the main compartment in any desired direction horizontally. It may surprize you to hear that this device was the last part perfected. My father’s final prostration was largely due to its intricacies. He passed away just as he was about to achieve its perfection.” A slight quaver in Robert’s voice betrayed his grief and his deep regard for his departed parent.

Professor Palmer’s eyes kindled sympathetically.

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I can readily understand the difficulties encountered.”

A silence ensued during which each was busy with his own thoughts. Robert was thinking of the most important feature of all—the propulsion of the Sphere, and its control. This principle had been worked out on a small scale, but owing to its prohibitive cost on a larger scale he had been unable to perfect its application to the Sphere. Professor Palmer, with his personal resources and backing, could finance it, but even then, Robert estimated, it would tax his total resources heavily. Robert held no illusions on this point, and he was wondering how best to present his plea for financial aid.

Professor Palmer was trying to visualize the possibilities in the Sphere. In it he saw a possibility of proving his own theories regarding the planet Mars, and this brought him round to the very feature on which Robert’s thoughts were concentrated at that moment.

“Hm-m,” mused the professor. “And you claim to have worked out a scheme of magnetic propulsion requiring a minimum of internal energy?”

Robert drew a full breath and prepared to retrench.

“Only on a small scale, professor. I have a miniature model over here, illustrating the practicability of the idea.”

He switched on the light over a work-bench, revealing a curious contrivance about five inches high. A dull black rod, terminating in a tiny blunt bell-like device, hung suspended from a universal joint. The whole was supported by a small frame bolted to the table. Examination of the bell-like bulb showed that its larger end was flat, and composed of a dull, whitish metallic substance similar in appearance to aluminum. Its outer surface was a brilliant silver. This bulb seemed of extraordinary weight for so small an object, swinging heavily back to its former position when released, where it came to rest quickly over the center of the disk almost as if bound in that position with a strong, invisible elastic band.

“This pendulum,” Robert explained, in response to the compelling and unconcealed curiosity in the professor’s eyes, “contains a rare, and hitherto unknown, element which my father named ‘mythonite.’ A good part of his life was devoted to the accumulation of this small quantity for experimental purposes. It was obtained bit by bit through a difficult and costly process from vast amounts of river-gravel, in conjunction with platinum, to which, strangely enough, it has a strong antipathy. This condition is responsible for the most curious discovery of all. The effect of gravity upon mythonite is almost entirely annulled through platinum!”

“Remarkable,” said the professor; but there was a trace of incredulity in his voice which was not lost on Robert’s alert ears.

“This casing,” resumed Robert, tapping on the polished side casing of the pendulum, “is a very thin layer of platinum. With the pendulum inverted, the earth’s attraction is intercepted by the casing. At the same time the attraction of any other heavenly body within the radius of the uncovered surface of the mythonite is unchanged. Further, I have discovered that the free attraction of mythonite is greatly intensified by electricity, without any corresponding increase in its gravity through the film of platinum.”

He clicked on a small switch attached to the base of the frame. An odd phosphorescence suffused the disk-like surface of the pendulum.

“Now, professor, will you raise the pendulum to a vertical position? Take hold of the insulated rod, here.”

Professor Palmer raised the pendulum slowly. Its original weight, extraordinary as it had seemed before, was now several times greater, to his astonishment. It now seemed almost as if it were riveted into position. But gradually, as the glowing disk was pointed upward, its weight decreased. At an angle of ninety degrees its weight had virtually ceased to exist. As it neared an upright position it felt as light as a feather. In an upright position it seemed poised between the professor’s fingers as if about to take flight.

He released it softly. It wavered unsteadily for a moment like a flower balancing in a light breeze, then steadied. The professor’s fingers, clumsy from pent-up excitement, collided with it. With a sudden swoop, it dropped heavily into its former pendent position, coming to rest abruptly.

Professor Palmer drew a sharp breath excitedly.

“Young man,” he said, extending his hand, “you have convinced me, even as I hope to convince a lot of other doubting Thomases and scoffers some day. Apparently you have evolved the greatest discovery of all time; I congratulate you.”

There was no doubting his distinguished visitor’s sincerity. Robert’s voice was husky as he stammered his appreciation.

“Now, let’s get down to brass tacks,” continued the professor. “This device installed on a large enough scale in the Sphere would make it possible to propel it anywhere in space. The possibilities for research would be virtually boundless. Have you estimated the probable cost of such an apparatus?”

“Often. Even with the aid of improved equipment and sufficient workmen, it would require considerable time and a great expenditure. Fifty thousand dollars is a low estimate—and seven months’ time.”

Professor Palmer looked thoughtful. Though he was known to be comfortably fixed, his total resources did not quite meet this sum. Slave to science though he might be, he hesitated to gamble his entire fortune on a visionary venture that might prove to be impracticable. As to the deficiency, he could get that as a loan or a gift from one or more of his many wealthy friends who had every confidence in him. Should the scheme fail, he would be penniless—possibly friendless.

“Do you believe a flight to another planet and back could be made successfully in the Sphere so equipped?” he asked.

Robert considered carefully. He did, but the professor’s question renewed many doubts. Most of all, he hesitated to involve his would-be benefactor in a disastrous venture.

“I do,” he answered truthfully, at last.

“So do I,” supplemented the professor, stoutly, as if to help convince himself. “Would you be willing to undertake such a journey?” he asked suddenly, fixing his eyes keenly upon his host.

“Yes, sir!” responded Robert quickly.

His prompt reply and evident sincerity convinced Professor Palmer that he was in earnest. The professor had decided. Nothing risked, nothing gained. As for Robert, nine months of trench warfare in France had steeled him against fear of anything except women and the devil.

“It is settled, then,” concluded the professor, unconsciously authoritative. “You will come to my home, and together we will supervise the completion of the Sphere.”

“But the Sphere—,” began Robert, surprized by the professor’s quick decision.

“We will have it conveyed to my estate, where the light and space will be much better; and where I can look after you better, my boy.” His face softened. Ah, an old bachelor had not all the advantages. What would he not give to have a son like this!

Something about Robert’s hesitation reminded him abruptly of an important consideration.

“I am forgetting,” he apologized. “Your interest must be fully protected. We will draw up a contract whereby full possession of the Sphere and all its equipment, now and always, will remain yours. I will undertake to complete it, defraying all expenses, in return for which I ask the use of the Sphere in a flight to Mars and back if possible.”

“That is more than fair,” Robert replied, feeling ashamed of a shortlived, though natural, apprehension.