An Interplanetary Rupture

An Inter-planetary Rupture

by Frank Lucius Packard

from The Blue Book Magazine, December 1906.

Digitized by Doug Frizzle, December 2016.

This may be the earliest Science Fiction story by any Canadian author. Frank Packard (February 2, 1877 – February 17, 1942). He is best known for his Jimmy Dale mystery series.

On the Eleventh Day of August, in the year of our Lord three thousand one hundred and two, the city of Washington, capital of the World, was the scene of unusual commotion. Rumors of the rupture with Mercury were current. It was true that Earth’s minister to that planet had not been recalled, and that Mercury’s ambassador was still in Washington; but this in no way disguised the fact that relations between the two planets were strained to their breaking point.

The enormous Edifice of Deliberations, erected at a cost of one billion of dollars, teemed with bustling humanity, and emanated a sense of tremendous activity.

The House of Delegates was in continuous session. Speeches of members from the States of Russia, Germany, France, and South America were warlike in their tone, rising to a white heat of eloquence to lose some of their intensity against the milder and more prudent counsel of the honorable members from England, America, China, and Japan. Yet from all, even to the smaller States of Holland and Belgium, there was an undertone that plainly evidenced the fact that the Assembly of the World would brook no humiliation.

In the circular chamber that occupied the eastern wing of the building the Supreme Council of Earth were seated: twelve men, the clearest, shrewdest brains upon the Globe. The room was bare of decoration save that from the ceiling hung festooned the national banner, the flag of the World, blood red with a white dove in its center, adopted A.D. two thousand five hundred and thirty-two, at the confederation of Earth’s divisions into one vast nation under one government and one Head.

The Head, Mr. Sasoa, was speaking with great calmness: “Gentlemen.” He said. “Interference with the astral Mizar is unquestionably a casus belli. Ceded to us by interplanetary treaty in two thousand nine hundred and seventy, Mercury’s present action cannot be considered in any light but one of impertinent intrusion upon our sovereign rights.” The members of the cabinet bowed their heads in grave assent.

The Most Honorable Mr. Sasoa then continued: “It has never been Earth’s desire to pursue a policy of colonization: to extend her lawful boundaries of empire beyond her own immediate sphere. You are all thoroughly conversant with the conditions that brought Mizar under our government and control. For over an hundred years this dependency has been wisely and prudentially governed, and today I believe we are justified in asserting that our rule has been efficacious, not only to our own commerce, but to the welfare of the universe at large.

“Mizar’s value as a strategical base is incalculable, and realizing this, Mercury has stopped at nothing to possess himself of this astral. The trickery that has at last resulted in Mizar’s petition to Mercury to be received as his dependency, and their coincident refutation of this government’s authority is but the culmination of the despicable policy Mercury has pursued.

“Gentlemen, you are here assembled for the gravest duty that has ever fallen to the lot of an Earther. I hold in my hand an ultimatum from Mercury, received within the hour, demanding that our forces be withdrawn from Mizar ex tempore. It now becomes your solemn duty to pass upon this document. The House of Delegates is awaiting our decision, and I believe I may say without hesitation that they will ratify any determination we may arrive at.”

The Most Honorable Mr. Sasoa resumed his seat in an unbroken silence.

During half an hour no word was spoken. The document passed from member to member, whose lips, as he handed it to his neighbor, set in a hardened line of grim determination. The examination completed and the paper again in the possession of the Head, all eyes were turned upon the Minister of War.

Acknowledging the unspoken request, General William K. Parsons rose from his seat. His face was drawn and haggard from a sleepless night, his voice, though stern, wavered a little from the stress of emotion that possessed him, as he said solemnly:

“Most Honorable Head, and Gentlemen, I vote for war.”

He raised his hand to quell the outburst of enthusiasm his declaration had evoked.

“I vote for war, Gentlemen,” he repeated; “but with perhaps a truer knowledge of exact conditions than is possessed by the majority of those present. Mercury has chosen his time well. At the first glance it would appear that in event of war it would be fought out around Mizarian space. That is not so. The battleground will be our own planet Earth and the space immediately surrounding us.

“Through pretext of extended maneuvers, Mercury has assembled within instant striking distance of Mizar four hundred of the heaviest ships in his aerial navy. Opposed to which are fifty of our vessels at present awaiting orders at Mizar’s capital.

“Roughly speaking, Mercury’s navy comprises 2,000 ships against our total available force of 1,000. He will not, however, dare to send against us more than 1,500, as the balance he will require for the protection of his astral colonies and his own planet. With this superior force arrayed against us, we cannot hope to defend both Mizar and Earth.

“I said that he had chosen his time well. We must bear in mind the fact that this year Mercury makes his transit, during which he will pass not only between the sun, and ourselves but equally between Mizar and ourselves.

“While I am of course aware that Mercury is greatly inferior in size to ourselves; still we must remember that the large number of colonies be­longing to him, coupled with his huge navy, make him a most formidable opponent In this respect I might liken him to your ancestors, Mr. Cham­berlain,” he said, bowing gracefully to the honorable member from the State of England, “when before the confederation England was a nation.

“I have but one more word to say. Should we declare for war our ships must be immediately withdrawn from Mizar until the transit shall be accomplished. Our fleets abroad at Saturn, Mars Jupiter, Venus, Uranus and Neptune have already been aerographed rendezvous with all speed at Tokio, St. Petersburg, London, New York, and San Francisco for supplies.”

As General Parsons ceased speaking, the honorable member on his left, and after him in rotation each member of the council, rose, and in solemn tones repeated the General’s formula:

“I vote for war.”

“The decision is unanimous,” announced the Head. “It but remains to transmit the result of our deliberations to the House of Delegates.”

With a mighty shout that body passed the vote. Members standing upon their desks in a frenzy of patriotism sang the national anthem. The die was cast—the Earth at war.

The Secretary of State, in his official aerocar and attended by his suite, landed upon the residential roof of the Mercurian ambassador to acquaint him with Earth’s reply to his government’s ultimatum. That astute diplomat suavely expressed “his unspeakable regret” at the unfortunate termination of the affair; turned the business of his embassy over to the Minister from Saturn, and left the Earth with all speed. Meanwhile the Earth’s ambassador to Mercury had received his instructions to transmit to that government the World’s emphatic refusal to comply with their demands; that duty accomplished to repair at once to Washington.

At the expiration of two days, the admiral commanding the Mizarian squadron had reported at the war office in Washington. Closely following him within a few hours were the fleets from Venus and Mars. That of Jupiter might be expected in eight days, while the few detached vessels doing duty in far Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune had their return orders countermanded as their combined strength would not be of material aid, and it was feared that they might fall into the hands of the enemy; besides, as their voyage would consume from three to six weeks, it was hoped that ere then the crisis would be passed.

On the morning of the 15th, reports had reached the war office from every officer commanding squadrons that his respective detachment was ready for duty. At 10 a.m. of that day orders were issued for immediate mobilization of all fleets at Washington. At 3:30 p.m. General Parsons entered the assembly hall in the House of Delegates, where the admirals were awaiting him. They rose respectfully as he took his place upon the dais.

“Gentlemen,” he said abruptly, “you will be seated. I have called you together that you may understand the general plan of campaign. We have reason to believe that the enemy’s attack will not be made before the 24th of the month, perhaps not until the 25th. In other words, at a time immediately preceding that period when his base is in closest proximity to Earth, thus placing him in a position to utilize every available unit of strength of which he is possessed. At his transit then, we must expect the crucial stroke. Should that fail him, he must be obliged to withdraw as his base recedes. This will leave us free to turn our attention to Mizar, as we in turn shall have the advantage in respect to distance with our stellar dependency, whose position relative to ourselves does not, as you are well aware, change.

“I desire to caution you on no account to risk unnecessarily a single unit that we can ill spare. You may rest assured that in any event you will have an opportunity of measuring strength with the enemy.

“You will at once take up position and governing yourselves by atmospheric conditions, maintain an altitude that will enable you to observe the enemy’s planet to the best advantage. By cruising at the same rate of speed as the Earth’s axial velocity, but in the opposite direction, you will, making such corrections as Mercury’s movements demand, preserve a position which will of necessity intercept the enemy’s attack. You will report at frequent intervals to the war office and final orders will be issued to you when the enemy’s approach has been signaled from the observatories. To your stations, gentlemen, and may the Supreme Power guide you.”

Within the hour 883 mighty engines of destruction rose like gigantic birds, and for an instant steeped the city in a dim twilight as they hung suspended over it; then forming in parallel columns they were swallowed up in space.

Immediately following the departure of the fleet, General Parsons made a rapid inspection of Earth’s fortifications. Surrounding each city of the World at regular intervals of the sixth part of a circle were the batteries, stored with ammunition, capable of throwing their enormous missiles of deadly destructiveness with equally deadly precision a distance in the perpendicular equal to the space governed by the law of gravitation; within which range the enemy must of necessity approach to make their attack effective.

On the 20th, General Parsons reported to the council that every method of defense was in perfect condition and that the result was in the hands of a Higher Power.

On the 22nd, a tramp freighter badly battered, her two forward aeroplanes shot completely away and her hull riddled like a sieve, reported herself from Mizar after an almost miraculous escape. Her captain, in his statement to the authorities, said that the enemy had occupied the entire astral and were busily engaged in erecting new fortifications. Private authentic advices via Venus and Hecklon, on the next day confirmed the report and added that Mercury was massing his entire fleet together with an enormous number of transports, preparatory to an extended and decisive movement.

Daily the excitement had grown, tremendous in its intensity, until it reached its height; gradually giving way to a patient and calm state of fortitude to accept the future as it should unfold itself. The thought transmitters of the great journalistic syndicate, with precision and dispatch, kept every Earther informed of each minute detail leading up to the momentous crisis soon to be experienced.

So by this means the world learned that on the 23rd the observatories had reported the face of Mercury obscured for a time as if somebody had come between it and the Earth’s line of vision. This could only be con­strued as signifying that the Mercurian fleet was in its way. Immediately following this announcement; the admiral commanding the World’s fleet reported a decided and increasing attraction of his polarity needles towards Mercury, indicating an immense aggregation of metallic bodies in space rapidly approaching.

General Parsons received this dispatch with a grim smile. All that man could do he had done. Massed aboard 5,000 transports, distributed at the different World centers and capable of being mobilized at a few moments notice, was an army totaling ten million men. Should the enemy effect a landing they would at least experience a stubborn resistance. He ran the various details rapidly over in his mind, then in a few sharp, clear sentences he dictated his final orders to his chief of staff for transmission to the admiral commanding.

At 3 a.m. on the morning of the 25th, reports began to pour into the war office. At 4 a.m. it was established beyond question that the invading host would make contact with the Earth’s boundary of gravitation at a point directly over the city of New York. Obviously it was the enemy’s intention to make that the point of attack.

For the first time in many weary, anxious hours General Parsons permitted a smile of satisfaction to light up his countenance. To attack New York would bring the Mercurian fleet within range of all batteries bounded by Boston, Providence, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. No more auspicious move could be made for the defenders of Earth.

Messages were instantly dispatched to the transport fleets to mobilize on the Jersey shore, and there General Parsons, accompanied by his staff, at once repaired to assume personal command.

At ten minutes before five, a dispatch from the admiral commanding stated that he was within striking distance of the enemy, whose fleet consisted of close to 1,400 men-of-war, convoying an enormous number of transports.

The first gray streaks of dawn were suddenly obliterated. The chief of staff swirled from the instruments.

“The enemy is within range, sir.”

The next instant General Parsons pressed the key connecting with the district batteries. A moment later and the World trembled as if in the throes of a mighty earthquake. The batteries of twenty cities had opened fire, launching one hundred thousand tons of vast explosive full in the face of the advancing host. For two minutes Earth’s miniature volcanoes belched forth their deadly hail.

“What is the effect of the fire?” Demanded the General.

“Observers report heavy damage, sir,” replied the chief of staff, “a number of vessels sunk and many in apparent distress. The enemy is seeking refuge in a lower altitude and is already out of range of all batteries but New York’s.”

One by one the batteries had ceased firing as their range was exhausted, until only the guns from New York continued the bombardment. General Parsons from the deck of his dispatch boat swept the scene before him with his glasses. The enemy had changed their formation. Their battleships were now above to cover their transports as they landed beneath them.

Less than a mile and a half away Earth’s merchant ships, swarming with men, were drawn up on the qu vive for action, while, in a huge circle around the enemy, Earth’s men-of-war were sweeping with incredible speed, silently, grimly, waiting only the command that should launch them into a conflict of frightful carnage.

As the Mercurian transports touched the ground preparatory to dis­gorging their men, General Parsons swung sharply round:

“Order New York to stop firing and the fleet to attack from above,” was his quick, decisive command.

Even as he spoke, in execution of his order, there was a lull as New York’s batteries became silent, another instant, and a continuous and steadily increasing roar as the guns of ship after ship of Earth’s navy came into action.

The Mercurian admiral, seeing the damage that his transports would of necessity sustain from the battle raging over their heads, and secure in the belief that they were well able to take care of themselves until he could dispose of Earth’s navy, so heavily outnumbered by his own, fell into the trap that General Parsons had skillfully laid for him. And as if to remove any hesitancy from his mind, at that moment Earth’s fleet broke and fled incontinently. The enemy pursued them in hot haste.

The moment General Parsons had been waiting for had arrived. If the enemy’s navy outnumbered his own, their transports were numerically inferior to Earth’s, an advantage he meant to utilize to the utmost.

From where they had lain hidden in the rear, one hundred of the heaviest battleships of Earth’s navy rose like vultures, and swinging into line swept forward with irresistible ferocity upon the enemy’s troopships. The effect of the maneuver was fearful in its result. The battleships plowed through and through the densely packed transports, their heavy armor plate crushing vessel after vessel, transforming them into hideous, misshapen sepulchers. Once, twice, and again, with pitiless fury, the battleships dashed into the midst of the enemy throwing them into disastrous confusion, leaving behind them a havoc indescribable: a vessel torn in twain; an unrecognizable conglomeration of wreckage, from whose depths emanated the heart-rending shrieks of the dying, shrill out-cries of pain and terror, anguish and horror from tortured souls, and in fearful contrast the awful stillness of the mangled dead

And now General Parsons had ordered a general-advance. The breaches made in the enemy’s ship ranks were speedily filled by Earth’s advancing transport line, so that before any considerable body of the Mercurian army had effected a landing, the Earthers were locked ship to ship with their adversaries, the crews and troops engaging in a hand-to-hand melee. In front and rear, on either flank, swarmed the remainder of Earth’s transports, welding the whole into one compact mass of bloody carnage.

The strategy of the movement was apparent. In response to the urgent appeals for aid from the commander of the Mercurian army, the enemy’s fleet, now hotly engaged by the admiral commanding the Earth’s warships, made back to protect his transports. Finding it impossible to make any attack on his enemy without endangering his own army, the Mercurian admiral signaled his confrere to join him.

In response to this command the vessels not already disabled rose slowly, while Earth’s ships clung to them like barnacles, fighting desperately for a mastery that spelled their very existence.

Above the battling transports as they rose was a scene beyond the power of man to pen. Fighting with unparalleled savagery, Earth’s navy was pressing the attack with splendid brilliancy.

The huge engines of destruction rushed at each other with terrific speed, to recoil from the shock battered and stunned and helpless, to reel and turn and sink in hideous gyrations from the dizzy height, crushing themselves into unrecognizable shapes on the ground beneath.

And above the roaring and flashing of the guns, the wild, hard, pitiful cries of the dying, came the deeper toned note of nature’s protest as peal on peal of thunder shook the air. Across a sky now turned to inky blackness, great forked tongues or lightning leaped and twisted and turned, lighting up in awful splendor a ghastly hell of unutterable chaos.

With the advent of the transports, the Mercurian line of battle was thrown into disorder. General Parsons, with the advantage his superiority of numbers gave him, had cleverly maneuvered to force them into the midst of the enemy’s battleships.

The admiral commanding Earth’s fleet, now joined by the detachment that had already done such gallant service with General Parsons, swept down upon the confusion. Above, below, on either side the Earthers swarmed, picking out their antagonists to pour a withering fire upon them. Desperately the Mercurian admiral struggled to withdraw his ships and reform his line of battle. The transports blocked every move. Most of the enemy’s troopships were now in General Parsons’ hands, and in their vast numbers and stubborn disregard for life were hemming in and separating the Mercurian men-of-war from each other. As these huge fighting machines in their fury turned upon their puny antagonists to sweep them from their path, another and ever after that another transport would take the place of its disabled mate; now rising in the air above to allow themselves to fall crashing full across a warship’s deck, now ramming from below and now from either side, until here and there, succumbing to the attack, a mighty battleship, wounded, disabled, battered and stricken, heeled slowly over and pitching forward went hurl­ing Earthwards; a testimony of the indomitable valor of General Parson’s command.

Again and again, with bewildering rapidity, General Parsons would withdraw from the attack to allow Earth’s fleet to dash into the fray. Again and again the same tactics were employed and with each onslaught the savage fury was redoubled, the slaughter multiplied a hundredfold.

All through that awful day and into the still more fearsome night the conflict waged with unabated vigor. In its trail across the American continent the storm-blown fleets scattered blood, tributes to the grim earnestness of war.

There in the drear recess of a mountain canon, or perchance upon a wide and desolate plain, a once proud ship had fallen. And as its poor frame quivered in the throes of death, so its imprisoned dead joined with it as sacrificial offerings upon the dear altar of patriotism.

Here full across a city street, or mayhap upon the roofs of houses, settling where they had plunged in headlong flight, lay queer ghostly shapes well befitting their new use as casements for the dead. Hideously twisted walls of pale phosphorescent metal that in the night-light shimmered balefully; things that once had vaunted proudly their planet’s flag.

The people huddling together in little knots and crowds, exposed to the storm that beat them pitilessly, gazed upon the scene that passed above their heads with a fear that blanched men’s faces to a ghastly white, while women sobbed and moaned in a delirium of fright. The children clinging at their knees sought comfort from the nameless dread that paralysed their very lips, and seeking comfort, found in their mothers’ faces a cause for terror beyond any they had ever known.

And, as if in mockery of the mimic show of man, the battle of the elements grew apace until the watchers drew back with shuddering, soul-sick awe before the manifestation of Almighty Heaven’s wrath, and turning from it, ran, hiding their eyes to shut out the terror that gripped their souls, and with trembling, bated breath prayed God to bring the dawn.

At last the morning broke, and with it came the beginning of the end. The enemy’s last sullen stand was all but over, their resistance almost done. Suddenly, even as the Earthers’ cheers acclaimed the hour of victory, a little dispatch boat rose high in the air, turned rapidly, and made with all speed for Washington. Upon her deck the surgeons were bending anxiously over the unconscious form of General Parsons.

Hours later the weary physicians sighed in relief. The General’s eyes opened to glance questioningly at the faces around him.

“Tell me,” he said.

They took his hands and pressed them. The surgeon-general stooping over him whispered the one word: “Victory!”

General Parsons’ countenance lighted up for an instant with a gleam of joy. Then he turned his head away. The features that had been set in inexorable determination in the battle softened with infinite sadness; the eyes that had so sternly viewed the frightful slaughter, brimmed with tears.

“At what a cost,” he murmured.

“Oh, God! At what a cost.”

Three months later in the circular chamber that occupied the eastern wing of the Edifice of Deliberations, the Council of Earth were seated. Upon the table before them was spread an official document.

The Head, Mr. Sasoa, was speaking:

“Gentlemen,” he said, “you are here assembled to pass upon the proposed treaty with Mercury as prepared by our commissioners. You are familiar with the contents. Those points insisted upon by our delegates have been ceded to us. Will you ratify this treaty? Will you vote for peace or war?”

General Parsons rose slowly to his feet.

“Most Honorable Head, and Gentlemen,” he said, quietly, “I vote for peace.”

The honorable member on his left, and after him in rotation each member of the council, rose, and in solemn tones repeated the general’s formula:

“I vote for peace.”

In the silence that followed, Mr. Sasoa drew the document toward him, then the scratching of his pen proclaimed the ratification of the “Second Treaty of Washington.”

Marcus the Mysterious!

Marcus the Mysterious!

A greater peril than has ever gone before confronts Captain Justice. With the whole world in total and utter Darkness, he is menaced by a mysterious enemy who has planned to establish himself as Emperor of the Earth!

Complete—by Murray Roberts Honestly it does say 'Complete'!drf

From The Modern Boy, May 26, 1934, No. 329, Vol. 13. Contributed by Keith Hoyt; digitized by Doug Frizzle, Mar. 2013.

Big Trouble Brewing!

“DARKNESS," said Captain Justice, speaking from a gloom as thick and clinging as black treacle, “is a stimulant to the imagination. Actually we can see nothing, but our thoughts paint pictures in our mind like a brush on canvas. At the moment I have a very clear impression of Professor Flaznagel—perched on top of a gigantic tower, peering along the beam of an invisible light-ray and preparing to launch some sort of a craft to come to our assistance!”

“Bedad, I hope yo’re right!” said Dr. O’Mally, Captain Justice’s second-in-command, fervently “ ‘Tis tired I am of squatting here like a mummy in a sealed tomb?”

Midge sniffed.

“Blinkin’ fine mummy you'd make!” he muttered. “Like a stuffed elephant in bandages! You’d need a tomb as big as a swimming-bath, and then they’d have a job tucking your feet in!

“At the moment,” went on the captain’s slow drawl, “I have a very clear impression of a thumping great dish of ham and eggs, with hot coffee, buttered toast, and lots of marmalade. My hat, I’m as hungry as a python! If the professor doesn’t soon breeze along, I'm going down can rustle some grub!”

"Lay off, for the love o' Pete!" implored Len Connor. "I don't say I couldn’t do with a spot of food myself, but there wouldn't be much satisfaction in eating in the dark. Any sign of the professor, captain?”

“Not yet,” answered Justice quickly. “Give the old fellow a chance. He’ll get here as quickly as he can, and we'll know all about it when he arrives. He must be anxious to know if we received his message or not. He can’t be any too certain that we’re still alive, as we haven't been able to answer his signals.”

“Sure enough.” agreed Len Connor moodily. “I only wish he'd switch on that beacon again. This darkness gives me the hump! It’s like being buried alive!”

“Faith. ‘tis better than being dead and buried!” said O’Mally resignedly. “And we’re no worse off than millions of other folks who are wandering about in this pestiferous fog without a glimmer of light of any kind!"

His voice sounded flat and muffled in the terrible blackness that enveloped Justice and his companions. The events of the past three days seemed like a nightmare to the little band of adventurers. They had been cruising in the South Atlantic, aboard Justice's yacht, the Electra, with a crew of four, when the whole world had been suddenly plunged in darkness by a mysterious cloud of dense black gases, millions of miles in extent that had arrived from the outer realms of Space, completely obscuring sun, moon, and stars, and blotting out every vestige of light.

It was a darkness that nothing could disperse. It covered every part of the Earth's surface, and saturated the atmosphere to a height of over a mile, forming an impenetrable barrier to the light and heat of the sun.

It was the most extraordinary and terrifying phenomenon known in the history of mankind. All ordinary forms of illumination were rendered useless. There was no light. The world groped in utter darkness. All transport travel, and industry was at a standstill.

A wave of panic, born of blind helplessness, swept from continent to continent. Nations were plunged in frenzied fear. Civilisation tottered. Only the big radio stations continued working, jamming the ether with ghastly tales of rioting and confusion, and urgent appeals for assistance that none could give. Scientists were baffled. The Black Menace—as the world darkness was called—was something utterly beyond their ken.

One man alone had been prepared for this grim, sinister visitation. Six months previously, Professor Flaznagel, the famous scientist and inventor, had foretold it, and had advised his fellow scientists to devise some means of fighting the plague of blackness. But his warning was ignored.

All attempts to get in touch with the eccentric old fellow since that date had failed. Flaznagel had made one of his periodical disappearances, retiring to some secret workshop, where, undisturbed, he could carry on with his weird and wonderful inventions and experiments.

AND now the black disaster had come. From the bridge of their magnificent, all-electric yacht, Justice and his fellow voyagers—Len Connor, Midge, and Dr. O'Mally—had witnessed the terrifying spectacle of a swooping black cloud that had spread across the heavens, extinguishing the light of the sun and leaving them afloat in a world of darkness.

By locking themselves in the airtight metal turret that housed the yacht's controls, they had, for a time, been able to keep the evil black fog at bay, and prevent it from blotting out their precious lights. Meanwhile, a radio message from the professor gave assurance that they would soon join him at his new headquarters.

But even Professor Flaznagel had not been prepared for a gigantic tidal-wave, caused by the prolonged obscuration of the moon, that had careered devastatingly across the South Atlantic, leaving the yacht beached high and dry on a desolate island, with her back broken, her hull breached and battered, and her powerful motors hopelessly wrecked. And the engineer and two stewards who had been below when the yacht piled up had perished.

The radio failed, the lights went out, and for the first time Justice and his friends, imprisoned in the metal turret with Ham Chow, their Chinese cook, experienced all the horrors of utter darkness.

But their confidence in Professor Flaznagel was not misplaced. Far away in the distance a brilliant orange beam suddenly slashed through the surrounding blackness, circling the horizon till it picked out the tiny island where the yacht lay wrecked.

"Have located you," was the encouraging message that the professor had flashed in morse to his stranded friends. "Am coming to your assistance. Be on your guard. You are probably in danger."

Then the light had vanished, leaving Justice to speculate on the mystery of the professor's whereabouts, the queerness of the orange beam, and the vagueness of his warning of lurking danger. They could only connect the latter caution with a strange, ghostly vessel that had crept up under cover of darkness, betraying her presence by a rattle of cable as she had dropped anchor off the island.

The period of waiting for the promised arrival of the professor was an anxious one. Every moment seemed like an hour to the little party in the black turret. They had had no food for many hours—as Midge constantly reminded them—and the dangers of venturing into the dark bowels of the wrecked yacht in search of a meal were too great to be lightly undertaken, though the red-haired youngster was willing to risk it.

"Bedad, ye'll stay where ye are!" said O'Mally severely. " ‘Tis as dark below as the inside of a black shark. Ye'd only be losing your way of tumbling downstairs and breaking your greedy neck. Sit still, ye spalpeen, and don't argue. Sure, and the professor'll soon be along."

"I'd like to know how the dickens he's going to get here, and where he's coming from!" sniffed Midge, who had already succeeded in locating the sliding-door to an emergency hatch that, in addition to an electric lift, led to the lower regions, where the cook's galley and larder were situated. "According to the captain, that orange light we saw was anything up to twenty miles away.

"Crumbs, I'm hungry enough to eat a boiled bedpost!" he muttered under his breath. "I'll bet I could find my way down to the blinkin' larder, grab an armful of grub, and be back again before anyone knew I'd gone."

Justice's eyes ached from the constant strain of attempting to penetrate the gulf of blackness that yawned before him. He had never left his post at the open observation window in the side of turret, facing in the direction where Len Connor had heard the rattle of a running cable and a sullen splash as some strange vessel had dropped her anchor off the bleak island. Since then no other sound had reached his ears, save the moan of the sea and the grinding of wrenched plates as the wrecked yacht settled lower on the rocks.

A cold breeze slapped his tanned cheeks and lifted the hair on his out-thrust head. The luminous dial of his wrist-watch told him that it was nine o'clock in the morning. The tropical sun should have been glaring brazenly from a clear blue sky. Actually it was shining somewhere overhead, but the sinister fog from outer Space intervened like a black canopy, cutting off all light and heat.

HOW long would the all-pervading gloom endure? wondered Justice uneasily. In time the earth would cool, all vegetation would die, and the wide seas would freeze as the ice spread downwards from the Poles. Man—if man survived—would have to adapt himself to a state of eternal darkness.

All the great cities of the world would gradually crumble in ruins; boats rusting in empty harbours; locomotives standing derelict where they had last stopped; still, silent factories: aeroplanes rotting in their hangars—a dead, dark world, peopled with crawling, blindly groping shadows of men.

Justice bit his lip. But perhaps he was looking too far ahead!

The danger so vaguely hinted at by Professor Flaznagel in his last message, was probably something quite apart from this weird solar phenomenon. Remotely, dimly, yet with persisting conviction, he found himself connecting it with the strange, stealthy ship that was now lying at anchor within a few hundred yards of the mist-shrouded island.

A ghost-ship! These were the words with which Dr. O'Mally had described the unknown vessel on a previous occasion when they had seen her glowing, spectral shape limned against the darkness. But there was nothing ghostlike about the cable and anchor that now held the craft at its moorings. Nor was it to be supposed that Professor Flaznagel was aboard her. He would not have failed to give some indication of his arrival. Yet—

“Confound it, I'm letting my imagination run away with me!" muttered the captain. "It's probably some unfortunate vessel, like the Electra, that got badly battered by the tidal wave and has dropped her anchor to see what damage she has suffered. May have sprung a leak or lost one of her screws."

"I'll bet you're wrong there, captain," whispered Len Connor, who had overheard the softly spoken words, "There's something queer about that ship. How is it that she carries lights enabling her to see her way in this confounded darkness? And why come slinking along here immediately after the professor flashed us that message? I've got a hunch she's here for a purpose, and we shall hear all about it when old Flaznagel arrives on the scene."

"Then the sooner he poles along the better!" growled Justice, as he dropped a hand to the automatic in his pocket. "This business has got me guessing, Connor. The professor always was a mysterious old bird, but I'm hanged if I can get a line on his latest stunt. He knew this black plague was coming six months before it was due. He warned us what to expect just before he disappeared, and that's the last we heard of him till the other day. What's he been doing in the meanwhile?"

Len Connor shrugged his shoulders in the darkness.

"Not wasting his time, I'll wager," he said confidently. "If he hasn't got a thumping big surprise in store for us I'll eat my hat. The man who can build a giant rocket to carry us to another planet and back again, as the professor did, isn't going to allow this black fog to baffle him. Somewhere over there where we saw that orange beam flashing, is the secret hangout where Flaznagel has been hiding himself all these months."

“He couldn't have picked a more desolate spot," mused the captain, "There's not a ship passes within hundreds of miles of here once in a blue moon. That light we saw was mighty high up, Connor—thousands of feet above sea level."

"Almost high enough to be above this belt of darkness," suggested the lad meaningly. "Putting two and two together, it's my opinion the professor's annexed one of these islands and built himself a thundering great tower, where he's perched like a crafty old eagle, sitting pretty till the clouds roll by and the sun shines again."

"The idea of a gigantic tower occurred to me two days ago," said Justice quietly. "Flaznagel actually mentioned the word ‘tower'—‘Titanic Tower,' he said—when he told us he was above the zone of darkness, where the sun still shone and the skies were clear."

Len Connor drew a deep breath as he tried to visualize a huge metal structure, ten times the height of the Eiffel Tower, rearing up from this lonely waste of waters in the heart of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a stupendous undertaking for any man to lay his mind to, but nothing was impossible to Professor Flaznagel.

"As for that strange ship lying out there," said Justice, suddenly changing the subject, "I'm hanged if I know what to think. It's queer to find another craft in these waters, and still queerer that she should have anchored herself off this particular island."

"Well, if there's any trouble brewing, we're safe enough in here." jerked Len Connor grimly. “This turret’s a tough nut. If anyone tries to break in here they're going to need a siege-gun or a couple of tons of dynamite."

"I'm not thinking of ourselves," remarked Justice. "I'm wondering if the fellow aboard that boat is setting a trap for the professor, knowing he's on his way here to lend us a hand. He could have easily read the message we received. It wasn't even in code. Flaznagel has a heap of rivals and enemies greedy to steal his secrets. He may have made some discovery or perfected a new invention during the past few months that will set the whole world by the ears."

Len Connor grunted doubtfully. "There are no flies on the professor. He warned us of danger. If it's anything to do with that ship he’s bound to know all about it himself, so he's not likely to walk into any trap. I only wish the old boy would hurry up and—"

"Bedad, and what's that?" Dr. O'Mally's startled voice rang hollowly in the black turret. "Faith, it sounds like someone knocking at the door!"

Tap, tap, tap!

Flaznagel's Magic!

JUSTICE swung round from the open window, his shoulders hunched, his tensed fingers clamped tightly about the butt of his automatic. The baffling, blinding darkness pressed about him like walls of yielding black rubber, relieved by not the slightest glimmer of light. He sensed his friends' positions, and the general lay-out of the control-room was clear in his memory, like a photograph, but he could see nothing,

Tap—tap—tap! Light, quick, impatient raps, like spirit-knocking at a fake séance.

"By gosh!" breathed Len Connor in an awed whisper. "Where does that noise come from? Not inside the turret, is it?"

"Can't be certain. Where's Midge?" asked Justice suspiciously. "Not up to any of his tricks, is he?"

"Gone down below for a snack, I expect!" grinned Len. "There it is again!"

Tap—tap—tap!

The tiny beats of sound impinged sharply on the captain's ears. There was something insistent and urgent about the tapping. Someone—or something—stood on the empty deck outside the locked turret, knocking against the metal casing with some metal instrument that might be a key,

"Bedad, mebbe ‘tis the professor!" jerked O'Mally.

"Or someone from that confounded ghost-ship," warned Len Connor. "Watch your step, captain."

"Leave it to me," breathed Justice grimly. "If there's any hanky-panky business going on, I'm ready for it." He slid his palm along the smooth, rounded wall of the turret. Step by step he advanced, feeling his way cautiously till his fingers met and traced the oblong outline of the bolted door that gave on to the main deck.

Tap—tap—tap! He had located the sound. Only a few inches of metal separated him from the unknown unseen knocker. Justice lifted his automatic, using the morse code, and tapped swiftly.

"Who's that?"

Immediately came the reply—sharp, impatient beats.

"Flaznagel. Open the door!"

The captain hesitated. He was not convinced, and he was taking no chances. He demanded a secret code word, known only to himself and his friends. At once it was given, and a dizzy wave of relief surged through Justice's veins as he pocketed his gun and fumbled with the bolts of the sliding door.

"O.K., chaps. It's the professor right enough," he exclaimed, his voice vibrant with excitement and delight.

"The professor! Great snakes, where on earth has he sprung from?" exclaimed Len Connor, in amazement. "How did he get here? Must have dropped from the clouds."

"Bedad, and are ye sure it is the professor?" asked O'Mally uneasily.

"No doubt of that," declared Justice. "I'm taking no risks. Confound these bolts. They're jammed as tight— Ah, that's done it!"

It was as black as pitch inside the turret, and it became no lighter as he manipulated the last lever and slid open the metal door, A gush of icy cold air fanned his checks. He stepped back a pace, eyes probing the darkness, his automatic held on a level with his waist.

"Kindly put that dangerous weapon away. It's pointing straight at me!" spoke the familiar, irritable voice of Professor Flaznagel. "And your hand is none too steady. Nerves. I suppose. You look dead-beat, captain.''

Justice uttered a gasp of wonder. It was evident that the professor could see him quite clearly in the darkness; yet he himself was utterly invisible. A hand reached out, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Well, I've managed to get here at last," grumbled the old scientist. "Mind if I shut the door? There's a dickens of a draught, and I think I've caught a slight chill. I must ask the doctor to mix me a dose of quinine."

HE spoke as calmly as if he had just alighted from a bus in the heart of London, instead of having appeared miraculously on a desert island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean after an absence of six long months.

"Faith, 'tis the old boy, sure enough," boomed O'Mally thankfully. "Begorrah, 'tis pleased I'll be to set eyes on him again, for it's not an inch in front of my nose I can see at the moment. Isn't it a light of any kind ye've brought with ye, professor?"

"A light? I think it inadvisable to show a light at present," answered Flaznagel mysteriously. "Dear mc. I was forgetting that you fellows are unable to see in this darkness," he added, with a dry chuckle. "That can be soon remedied. Just a moment, please."

Justice and the others waited in puzzled silence. It was evident that the blinding black fog did not inconvenience the professor in the slightest degree. It had not deprived him of his powers of vision. They sensed his presence, and could hear his swift, sure movements as he closed the turret door and returned to the middle of the room, sure-footed as a cat in his avoidance of all obstacles.

"You may be certain I did not come unprepared for such an emergency as this," he said calmly. "There you are. Justice—slip those on. They may feel a trifle awkward at first, but you will soon realise their advantages. O'Mally—Connor!"

Something was thrust into Justice's hand. It felt to him like a pair of motor-goggles, with unusually thick eye-pieces, an elastic head-strap, and two vulcanite cylinders, the size of small flashlamp batteries, that rested snugly behind each ear,

"Begob, and what have we here?" muttered O'Mally, in a puzzled voice. "Why will we be needing goggles to protect our eyes when there's not a glimmer of light to be seen?"

"Put them on, and don't talk so much," snapped the professor impatiently. "Where's Midge?"

Justice balanced the strange gadget on the bridge of his nose, and clipped the elastic band over his head. The immediate effect was so astonishing and unexpected that a sharp cry, almost of pain, escaped his lips.

A sudden glare of light stabbed into his brain. He closed his eyes and opened them again, wondering in what magical manner Professor Flaznagel had conjured light from darkness.

But there was no light. Yet he could see, just as if his gaze was directed along the bright path of a sunbeam. The interior of the turret swam clearly before his vision. It was a cold, pale illumination, like the reflection of a concealed light shining through frosted glass. But it had no visible source. The mysterious ray that enabled him to pierce the darkness seemed to spring from his own optic nerve.

Wonderingly, Justice stared round, glimpsing the squatting figure of Dr. O'Mally, and Len Connor in the act of adjusting a similar pair of clumsy-looking, big-lensed goggles.

The Q-Ray, which made the sides of the yacht transparent, was switched off, but through the open observation window he could see a limited expanse of leaden-grey ocean, and a stretch of rock-strewn beach, with a black wall of darkness beyond. Suddenly he realised the truth. The power of vision was contained in the weird contraption that was fastened over his eyes. The thick lenses, and vulcanite tubes attached to the head-strap, radiated an uncanny electrical force that enabled him to see, despite the mysterious black fog that covered earth, sea, and sky.

"By the beard of St. Patrick!" exploded O'Mally, as he managed to get the amazing goggles perched astride his prominent nose. "Faith, 'tis getting lighter. The darkness is lifting! Sure, and this infernal fog is clearing away like the morning mists on the green hills of Connemara. The old sun will soon be shining again. Hooroosh!"

A snort of annoyance sounded close to Justice's right ear. It was the first time he had caught sight of Professor Flaznagel for many months. The old scientist presented a grotesque figure. He was wearing a padded-leather flying jacket, long boots that reached to his thighs, and a queer crash-helmet that gave him the appearance of some strange invader from another planet.

He was wearing similar goggles to those he had issued to his friends. His features were obscured, save for his ears, the tip of his long thin nose, and the ragged grey beard, and his eyes were invisible behind the thick glass optics.

"O'Mally is talking nonsense!" he snapped. "It is getting no lighter, and is not likely to get any lighter. The whole world is in utter darkness. It is the appliance he is wearing that enables him to see, giving the impression that the black fog has lifted."

“By gum, I guessed as much as that," blurted Len Conner, steering wonderingly around "What sort of a gadget's this you've sprung on us now, professor? Mean to say we can actually see in the dark, without light of any kind?"

The professor nodded. "Infra-orange rays," he explained vaguely. "I have no time to go into technical details at the moment, but the secret is contained in the miniature storage batteries and the type of lens through which the rays are diffused. They project a non-luminous gleam that—to use a simple word—dissolves the darkness, giving the human eyes visibility up to a range of several miles."

Len Connor uttered a low whistle of astonishment. He was beginning to realise the kind of experiments Professor Flaznagel had been engaged with during the past six months. He had not intended that the coming of the Black Menace should catch him unprepared and unequipped with weapons with which to fight the wave of darkness that had submerged the world.

"Infra-orange rays. An improvement on infra-red rays?" suggested Justice shrewdly. "They have been used to take photographs in the darkness, and to enable ships to navigate safely in the thickest fog. You have adapted the idea to the human eye!”

“I have gone a great deal further than that.” assured the professor proudly. "This darkness has no terrors for me, Justice. It may last for a long time—months, or even years—but it will not interfere with my work. I have achieved much since I saw you last, Justice. And there is still a great deal to be done. Total darkness is not the only horror of this mysterious black cloud. There are other dangers infinitely greater. But this is not the time or place to discuss them!"

The Whole World's Enemy!

THE old scientist straightened his stooped shoulders, and made a characteristic gesture to adjust the clumsy-looking goggles on his prominent nose.

"These glasses are extremely useful, but confoundedly uncomfortable," he said irritably. "We shall be able to dispense with them when we get back to my headquarters. There we shall find plenty of light, and the sun rising as usual every morning."

"Well, by the kink in the tail of the Widdy Flanagan's blind pig!" exclaimed Dr. O'Mally. "Bedad, 'tis incredible! And how did ye get here?" he added.

"Never mind that for the moment," replied Flaznagel. "Where's Midge?"

He craned his long neck, staring searchingly around the turret and twirling an odd pair of his magic, darkness-destroying goggles that dangled from one lean finger.

"It is strange that I have not yet seen or heard anything of our young friend with the red hair, the shrill voice, and the voracious appetite.” he remarked.

"Where the dickens has young Midge got to?" said Len Connor. "He was here a few moments ago, grousing like one o'clock because he'd had nothing to eat for a couple of hours."

"Faith, and here's the pestiferous spalpeen sound asleep!" chuckled O'Mally, indicating the figure squatting in a corner. "Wake up, ye snub-nosed son of a two-legged talking tadpole! Sure, the professor's here as large as life, with a grand pair of X-ray spectacles for ye to see your way in the dark!"

"Goodness gracious, what is the matter with the boy?" exclaimed Flaznagel, blinking his short-sighted eyes in amazement and concern. "He seems to be suffering with a violent attack of yellow jaundice. And why has he shaved his head?"

"Shaved his head? Sure, and ye must be—Great jumping jellyfish!"

O'Mally's heavy jaw sagged. He uttered a strangled yelp of consternation as he suddenly realised that it was not the diminutive Midge squatting in the gloom. Peering up at him was the wrinkled, yellow countenance of Ham Chow, the Chinese cook, a blank, bewildered expression in his beady black eyes.

"Bedad, and how did ye get there, ye pigtailed atrocity?" spluttered the doctor indignantly. "Faith, I thought it was young Midge! Where is the boy? What mischief is the red-haired gosson up to now?''

Ham Chow gabbled unintelligibly. He had not the vaguest idea what all the confusion was about.

A frown of uneasiness deepened on Captain Justice's face as he made a quick circuit of the room, peering behind machines and motors and under the compact chart-table. There was no sign of the missing Midge. The truth suddenly dawned on him as he glimpsed the half-open hatch leading to the interior of the stranded yacht.

"By James, the scamp's gone below!" he jerked. "He must have sneaked off on his own before the professor turned up."

“The greedy omadhaun!" growled O'Mally. " ‘Tis down to the kitchen he’s gone to stuff himself so full of food he won't be able to stir an inch, bedad!”

Professor Flaznagel made an impatient gesture.

"We have no time to waste. The sooner we get away from here the better," he said grimly. "I shan't feel safe until we have reached headquarters. We shall be beyond harm there. But here—everywhere else—there is danger!"

"Danger?" echoed Justice. "Anything to do with the strange ship that is anchored off this island?"

"A strange ship? Anchored off here?" The professor started violently. His lean frame tautened like a steel spring. "I saw no ship. What kind of vessel?"

Justice described the mysterious craft as best he could.

"A trifle bigger than the Electra—high bows—no funnels. And she was showing lights when we first saw her—lights that were visible in this black fog; like your orange beacon.”

The professor tugged nervously at his shaggy beard.

"I caught a glimpse of a man on the bridge," added Justice. "Big fellow with fierce eyes and a square, black beard. He jammed our television and radio when you were sending us a message, just after the darkness fell."

Flaznagel nodded, his fists clenching.

"That would be Marcus."

"Marcus?" echoed the captain. "Who the dickens is Marcus?"

"I don't know," was the blunt reply. "I can only tell you that Marcus is the name of a mysterious, dangerous, and powerful enemy—an enemy not only to myself, but to the whole world. He has planned to take advantage of this plague of blackness, and to establish himself as a kind of Emperor of the Earth while helpless humanity is plunged in terror and darkness, and unable to protect itself!"

Justice and the others stared incredulously at the old scientist.

"Emperor of the Earth! The fellow must be crackers!" exclaimed Len Connor.

"Sounds like the dream of a madman; but it is not so preposterous when you consider all the circumstances," said the professor meaningly. "When I first broadcast my prophecy of impending world darkness, this fellow Marcus was the first to foresee the possibilities of such a situation, with all its attendant horrors and handicaps.

"He realised that one man possessing the power to see in the darkness and the means of travelling from continent to continent and city to city would have all the treasures of the world at his mercy."

"By James, and so he would!" said Justice, in a graver tone than Len Connor had ever heard him use. "I am beginning to get the hang of things, professor. Danger exists in the fact that this fellow Marcus is trying to steal the secret of your infra-orange rays, as contained in these glasses?"

It was a shrewd guess. But he was only partly correct.

"Marcus already possesses the secret of the infra-orange rays," said Flaznagel bitterly. "He obtained it by treachery—by bribing one of my most trusted assistants. But he is not satisfied. He is after other appliances and inventions that I have perfected within the last six months.

"He wants to share Titanic Tower—my headquarters here in the middle of the Atlantic—as a base for his future operations against the world. Continually I am receiving wireless messages from the scoundrel. I refused to have any dealings with him, tried bribery, offering me a half-share in the wealth and power he hoped to obtain. Finally he came down to threats.

"And that is the present state of affairs. Marcus has declared war on me. He has sworn to seize by force all that I possess. He is cruising somewhere in these waters, listening in to my wireless, intercepting my television, and trying to locate my headquarters. And now you suggest that his ship is lying off this island, less than thirty mixes from Titanic Tower. If that is the case, we are in graver danger than you can possibly imagine!"

Captain Justice drew a deep breath. The word "danger" set his nerves tingling and the blood singing through his veins. If there was one man he would have liked to meet face to face at that moment, it was the mysterious Marcus—the bombastic, self-styled Emperor of Earth and Napoleon of Darkness.

"Yes, there's danger, professor," he agreed, almost eagerly. "Ten to one that is Marcus' yacht we spotted. And possibly he knows you are here. He must have read the message you flashed to us with your orange beacon, and knew you were coming to pick us up. Perhaps you have walked into a trap? Why else would his ship be anchored off this island?"

Flaznagel shrugged his shoulders.

"I have seen no ship. Where is it?”

Justice walked to the observation window, and stared out across the bleak grey ocean now plainly visible through the magic glasses he was wearing.

There was no sign of any ship. He switched on the Q-Ray, and swept the circle of the horizon with keen, searching eyes. The sea in the vicinity of the rugged island where the Electra lay high and dry was as empty as the palm of his hand.

The mysterious craft had vanished. She had disappeared as suddenly and as stealthily as she had crept in out of the world of darkness!

Vanished Without Trace!

“FAITH, 'tis a ghost-ship she surely was,” declared Dr. O'Mally impressively. "Bedad, and she's vanished entirely, like a banshee at the full of the moon."

"Then there is no possibility of a trap!" jerked Len Connor. "If that was Marcus' yacht, and it has gone, he couldn't know that the professor is here!"

Flaznagel turned quickly, his lean, gaunt figure vibrant with energy and alarm.

"More likely Marcus has gone because he knows that I am here, and not at my headquarters!" he exclaimed, grabbing Justice by the arm. "Possibly he is on his way to Titanic Tower! There is not a second to be lost, captain. We must get away from here at once!"

"Glory be, we can't go without young Midge," declared O'Mally, suddenly remembering that the red-haired youngster was no longer with them.

“Send for the boy immediately!" snapped the professor, handing over the spare pair of infra-orange ray glasses. "Tell him if he's not here in one minute, he'll be left behind."

O'Mally thrust his bald head in the open hatch.

"Mi-i-i-idge! Midge, ahoy!" he yelled.

If Midge was anywhere within half a mile he could not have failed to hear O'Mally's strident hail.

But there was no response. Again and again O'Mally shouted. Len Connor added his voice to the clamour, but the result was the same. There was no reply from the missing youngster.

O'Mally bit his lip. It was pitch-dark in the interior of the ship, and Midge was unable to see an inch in front of him.

"Bedad, belike the boy's met with an accident." he muttered huskily. "Fallen downstairs and cracked head, or got himself trapped by a jammed door."

In silence he and Len Conner adjusted their big, clumsy-looking goggles, and disappeared into the dark depths of the open hatch, leaving Justice and the professor to guard the turret.

White-faced and shaken, Len Connor and O'Mally returned to make their report. There was no sign of the red-haired youngster. He had utterly vanished. They had searched every inch of space in the yacht from stem to stern, from deck to bilge-keels.

"But it is utterly impossible for the boy to have vanished without trace!" declared the professor. "He must be somewhere in the ship!"

Justice was of the same opinion, until, in company with Len Connor and Ham Chow, who was wearing Midge's glasses, he made a thorough and systematic inspection of every possible corner and cranny into which the missing youngster might have slipped.

All they discovered was that the yacht's motors were beyond repair, her keel snapped like a carrot, and there was a hole in her side that would have admitted a brewer's dray. But the mystery of Midge's disappearance was more insoluble than ever. The baffled searchers returned despondently to the control-room on the main deck.

"And don't forget he can't see," reminded Len Connor gloomily. "He isn't rigged out with a pair of these infra-orange goggles, the same as we are. He was as blind as a mole when he went down below!"

Justice shrugged his shoulders. His tanned face was haggard with fatigue and anxiety as he stared out across the cold grey sea.

He had had no proper sleep for many nights. The experiences of the past few days would have sapped the endurance of any man. But he knew that his companions were depending on him to find some solution to the problem of Midge's disappearance.

Professor Flaznagel was displaying signs of impatience and uneasiness. He was anxious to get back to his headquarters—the colossal Titanic Tower that reared up thousands of feet above sea-level, infinitely higher than any other man-made structure that had ever been built.

JUSTICE'S tired eyes swept the expanse of empty water surrounding the bleak, rugged island where the yacht was stranded like a dead whale. The little patch of rock and sand, projecting from the bed of the ocean, had an area of no more than a square mile. There was no sign of life; not so much as a solitary gull or a single cormorant.

The ingenious glasses that he was wearing had an extreme range of seven or eight miles. Beyond that limit, visibility merged into towering walls of darkness that curved up and over the sky like the interior of an inverted black bowl.

But for the confining darkness, the professor’s gigantic tower would have been clearly visible, even from thirty miles away.

"We're getting all the tough breaks, captain," said Len Connor, rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his tousled hair. "The professor is anxious to get back, but I reckon we've got to stay here till—till—"

"Till Midge is found. Exactly!” snapped Justice. "There is one thing we haven't done yet, and that is to search the island itself. There isn't much cover, but Midge may have wandered away in the darkness, slipped down a crack in the rocks, and broken a limb, or knocked himself senseless."

"Search the island, by all means," encouraged Flaznagel. “It shouldn't take you long, and the sooner this mystery is cleared up the sooner we shall get away from this place. I am going to try to get a message through to headquarters. The radio is wrecked, but I may be able to rig up a makeshift set with the aid of a few storage batteries and some spare parts."

"Bedad, ye've only to give the old boy a packet of pins, a bundle of firewood, a foot of wire, and an old safety-razor blade, and he'd be telephoning to Kamchatka in five minutes," declared O'Mally.

Ham Chow had vanished. Proud of his magic glasses that enabled him to see in the dark, he had slipped down to the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches and hot coffee for the castaways. He had an idea at the back of his pigtailed cranium that the aroma of food might lure Midge from wherever he happened to be.

Justice opened the sliding door in the side of the turret and stepped outside, with O'Mally and Len Connor close behind him. The yacht was wedged firmly on the rocks, canted to one side, with her deck sloping at an angle of thirty degrees.

The tidal wave had slung her high and dry. She was fully a hundred yards from the nearest point where the sea lapped the sandy beach, with her bows flattened like a crumpled tomato-tin, and her twin screws showing beneath the lifted stern.

"Poor old Electra—she's made her last trip!" said Len Connor, a lump in his throat as he picked his way across the cluttered deck.

The rails were twisted and snapped; the lifeboats smashed to matchwood; and the yacht's single central telescope column had gone over her side like a felled tree. It was this piece of metal bridging the gulf between ship and land that enabled the three friends to descend to terra firma.

The island was even smaller than Justice had supposed. It was roughly triangular in shape, with a base no more than four hundred yards in length. It was as bleak and bare as a desert, bisected with a ridge of rock like a spine, on which the fury of the tidal wave had crashed the doomed Electra.

There was no vegetation, and no sign of life save numerous hideous, hairy-legged land-crabs that scuttled, clicking and rattling, to their holes as the searchers opened out in expended order, and worked their way gradually up from the base of the triangular island, steadily converging as they neared the peak.

The comrades searched diligently for signs of the missing youngster, but found nothing. Every moment each of them expected to hear a shout telling of success from one of the others. But no shout came. Of Midge there was not the slightest sign.

Uneasily, Captain Justice was thinking of their ambitious and unscrupulous enemy—Marcus the Mysterious!

Peril and Mystery pile still higher and higher for Captain Justice and his comrades—and the missing Midge!—and Next Week's splendid story by Murray Roberts is going to GRIP you as only MODERN BOY stories can!

Part 2