Chapter I
The Wonder Machine
Engines roaring a thundering symphony of speed, exhausts streaming thin trails of blue flame, the three motor-cyclists were haring down the narrow country road.
Heavy competition coats strapped about them, helmets and goggles covering their heads, they looked like some strange speed demons loosed on an innocent, unoffending countryside.
Astride a big Brough, Peter Handley was humming a joyous tune. Fair, curly-headed, twenty-three, Peter was enjoying himself. Just beginning a journalistic career, he had laid down his pen for a brief holiday.
Roaring along beside him on a B.S.A. was short, dumpy, Philip Joyce. In spite of his size he had big, square shoulders, and he got about as easily as most. Twenty-one, still at Public School, he was expecting shortly to enter his father’s business as a chartered accountant.
Behind them rode Victor Standish, a slim young man of twenty—happy-go-lucky Vic. Nothing ever upset him, and he made a good companion.
His bike was a bit of a crock—age uncertain—and that was why he hung behind the others.
But he knew his old bike inside out, and just now he was listening intently to the roaring machine beneath him.
Something was wrong. There was a different note in the rattle and clatter.
Then, without warning, Vic’s machine packed up. It gave one coughing splutter and then expired.
“Hi!” Vic’s roar followed the motor-cyclists in front, and they drew to a sudden screeching stop.
“Why don’t you pawn it?” Philip Joyce yelled as he looked back. He was inclined to be snappy at times, but behind his brusque manner was a good heart.
The two motor-cyclists turned their machines round and came slowly back to where Vie was bent over his machine tinkering about. But the machine seemed to have given up for good now.
The three spent a quarter of an hour over the machine, getting thoroughly black and oily, but she refused even to splutter.
“Better find a garage,” suggested Peter. “Reckon it’s the mag.”
“Reckon it’s the whole blooming collection of old iron,” put in Philip.
“She’s all right,” defended Vie. “Never let me down until now. How far is the village?”
“It’ll be about half a mile,” returned Peter as they started to push their machines along the road in imitation.
The three were on holiday, so time was no object, but it was warm work pushing their heavy cycles, and after two or three minutes they propped their machines against a hedge and sat down on the grass verge.
Philip suddenly noticed a big shed some distance from the road.
“By Jove!” he cried. “That looks like some kind of a workshop. There may be a mechanic there who can put the jigger right. I’ll go and have a squint.”
The other two nodded lazily, and their eyes followed Philip as he got up and walked across the field.
He disappeared behind the shed as he searched for a door. A moment later, while Vic and Peter were chatting, a shout came across the road and they both looked up quickly.
“Hi, you chaps!” came Philip’s yell, and he now came into view again.
“He must have found someone,” said Victor.
“Seems pretty excited about it,” Peter returned as they slowly walked towards the shed. “What’s he running for?”
Philip was certainly coming back at a good pace. He arrived breathless.
“What’s all the excitement about?” asked Peter.
Philip spluttered and caught his breath. “It’s the most weird contraption you’ve ever set eyes on,” he said.
“What is?” demanded Vie.
“It’s in that shed,” Philip said hurriedly. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s—it’s like one of those things you see in the pictures. Come on.”
Before the other two could stop him, Philip was tearing back the way he had come. The other two followed and came to the door of the shed. It was wide open, and an amazing sight met the gaze of the three young motorcyclists.
Standing before them in the shed was a high, narrow object which looked like a mixture of a rocket-ship and a balloon. The upper part seemed to consist of aluminium. It glistened brightly. This aluminium rested on a queer-looking kind of base, the top of which formed the floor of the cabin. “Gosh!” gasped Philip. “What on earth is it?”
Victor, youngest but boldest of the three, walked up to the balloon.
“Goodness, it’s nearly all aluminium,” he said. “What is it for? Look! There’s a ladder leading up to the cabin door. Come on, chumps, I’m going to have a squint at this.”
And with this invitation he began to climb up the ladder.
Peter and Philip watched him rather doubtfully.
“Supposing the owner should come along,” said Peter. “He wouldn’t like to see you poking about this thing, whatever it is.”
Philip was curious too, however.
“It’s all right,” he said, and he followed Victor up the ladder and into the cabin.
Peter heard an exclamation of surprise come from the two fellows above him, and without more ado he followed them.
It was an amazing place, crowded with queer gadgets of all kinds. There were curious wires and cylinders, an object that looked like a honeycomb, steel tubes, endless switches, a sort of aluminium cage and, it seemed to their bewildered minds, a hundred other instruments.
“Like a wonder house of the future,” said Philip. “Gosh! what’s this?” and he grabbed one of the many intricate gadgets.
“Looks like some scientific wheeze,” returned Vic.
Peter was gazing curiously at the roof of the cabin. “Listen; what’s that?” he said suddenly.
His two companions stopped to listen, and all three heard, very softly at first, but gradually growing louder, a low hissing noise.
“What on earth——” exclaimed Philip, looking round. “What is it? Where is it coming from?”
“I say,” said Peter doubtfully, “let’s get out.”
“Don’t be a frightened ass,” said Victor. “I think it’s jolly interesting, all of it, but I should like to know what that blessed noise is.”
It all happened because the Professor was hungry!
Even professors must eat, but it was unfortunate that Alfred Joseph Slater, M.D., M.B.E., should have chosen his lunch hour at this time.
On the day this story opens the Professor went home to his lunch as usual, but in no sense was it, for him, a usual day. Indeed, it had been mapped out for a big event, the greatest happening in Slater’s life, and one of which he had long. dreamed—the day for the ascent of the Aeronauticus.
All his dreams and every penny of his money were concentrated in the amazing unit of scientific possibilities—this wonderful balloon.
The prospect of sailing in the unexplored spaces of the sky, of snatching from the stratosphere the secrets it had held since time began, lured the Professor beyond all others.
He had the greatest faith in his balloon. Every detail represented years of thought and work; there was almost an inspiration in every bolt and piece of soldering. But the Professor’s great brain sometimes overlooked important details, and it was so in this case.
Although he had checked and re-checked the design, equipment and accessories of the balloon, there was one thing that he forgot—and that was to lock the door of the hangar before he hurried to his house a short distance away for his lunch. Slater had planned to make the attempt alone and in great secrecy. Besides his wife, only two other people knew of the details of the balloon and of the projected attempt.
These two were Dr. Harrison, an old school mend, and Professor Marsden, who had assisted Slater in the construction of the balloon, which had actually been built in the hangar in which it now stood.
The Professor had arranged to make his momentous start immediately after lunch.
It was a hurried, nervous meal, for Slater was greatly excited. He would not sit down as he swallowed his sandwiches and gulped down a glass of wine, and even as he ate he talked excitedly to his wife.
Looking out of the dining-room window he pointed to the blue sky. “In less than half an hour I shall be up there,” he cried, with the glee of a schoolboy about to start on his first railway trip.
“I shall come down with some of the greatest scientific secrets of all time. At one blow I shall make possible the transatlantic air route.
“For years these half-efficient muddlers, who call themselves scientists, have been tinkering about, trying to discover how an aeroplane could fly from London to New York in a few hours. They have been fiddling with weather reports and studying conditions in the Arctic.
“But it is up there the secrets lie and I will find them. I know I shall.”
Having finished his lunch, Professor Slater prepared to leave the house for the hangar. There was, in fact, little to do, for the balloon had been prepared to perfection for its ascent.
About the only thing he had to do was to scribble a note to the Royal Society informing them officially that his epoch-making attempt was about to begin.
He handed the letter to a servant and then bade his wife “Goodbye”.
At her own wish, Mrs. Slater was remaining in the house, as a natural anxiety for her husband created in her a strong dislike to the idea of seeing the balloon actually ascend.
She bade the Professor an affectionate “Good-bye”, and he left the house.
At the front gate he looked up and down the road for his two friends, Dr. Harrison and Professor Marsden, who were to see him off.
In a few minutes the two men appeared, and then all three walked towards the hangar, Professor Slater talking excitedly about his imminent adventure.
When the three men were about two hundred yards from the hangar, Professor Marsden suddenly stopped.
“Listen! What’s that?” he exclaimed. The others halted and listened intently. There was no mistaking the sound. The loud hissing was clearly audible.
“Good heavens!” shouted Slater, breaking into a run. “Someone’s touched the ascending valve. Quick, or we shall be too late.”
The other two then joined in the scramble for the hangar.
When they were about fifty yards away, they saw the fragile shed being lifted bodily from the ground, at first quite slowly, and then with a sudden rush.
The stratosphere balloon was going up!
As they watched, it was already forty or fifty feet in the air, and the wood and canvas of the shed had fallen from the balloon back to the ground.
Professor Slater stood horrified as he watched. He was unable to say a word, although his lips trembled.
“Stop!” Involuntarily, Professor Marsden lifted up his hand and shouted to whoever might be in the balloon.
Then the three men on the ground had another moment of breathless horror.
Not far from the hangar—or what had been the hangar—was an enormous radio mast, almost a thousand feet in height.
Caught by the wind, the balloon, obviously out of control, was carried swiftly towards the mast, spinning round like a top as it did so.
“Look!” cried Slater, who had now recovered his speech, “it’s going to hit. . . . It’s going to hit. . . . It’ll be smashed like an egg!”
He buried his face in his hands.
Inside the balloon itself there were three terrified and unwilling passengers.
It was the idle curiosity of Philip that had landed them in this astonishing predicament.
He had touched the ascending valve, and Peter, having become thoroughly alarmed by the continued hissing, was about to get out, insisting that the others should do so, when the balloon had suddenly gone up.
Actually he had his hand on the cabin door when the Aeronauticus began to rise.
Then it was too late.
The excitement of the Professor and his companions below had been clearly observed by the boys.
Vie was pale with fright. It was he who saw the radio mast and shouted to the others.
None of them knew anything about the balloon, and Peter looked round the cabin for some kind of control-wheel or lever— something that would enable them quickly to avoid the huge steel pylon.
But he could see nothing that he understood.
In desperation he yelled out: “Hurl yourselves against this side. Quick—as hard as you can.”
Not knowing why they did it, the others obeyed.
The balloon stopped spinning and began to bump its way slightly to the right. Peter’s sudden idea had been an inspiration and, for the moment, they were safe.
They drew a deep breath of relief as they glided past the pylon, which was now so near that they could almost have touched it with their hands.
The balloon was rising steadily, and with anxious faces the trio looked down at the receding earth.
No longer could they make out the figures of the three men; houses and buildings were assuming minute size.
Realizing that if they were to get down again something would have to be done quickly, Peter and his companions made another survey of the contents of the cabin.
But it was all such a fearful jumble. Not one of them could make head or tail of it.
There were several levers in line, but except for one bearing two words “Balloon release” there was nothing to indicate what they were for, and the young men dared not touch any of them for fear of the consequences.
“ If we pull one,” reasoned Peter, “it might deflate the confounded balloon, and we*d drop to earth like a stone.”
“ Why didn’t the fellow who built it label his gadgets?” put in Vic.
“Who knows?” returned Peter hopelessly.
“We must be at least five thousand feet up now “said Philip, who had remained quiet all this time. “We’re probably rising at the speed of one thousand feet a minute. I wonder if the thing will stop itself?”
The others shook their heads gravely and peter once more began an inspection of the bewildering equipment.
“I wish we’d never got into the darned thing,” said Vie. “We’ll probably never get down again.”
“Don’t talk rot,” snapped Philip irritably. “Whoever built this to go up must have made it to come down again. We’ve just got to find out how to do it.”
“Yeah! That’s all!” answered Vie. “And—”
At that moment the cabin of the balloon plunged into darkness.
“Gosh!” cried Philip. “What’s happened?”
Peter laughed.
“It’s all right.” he told them. “We’ve reached a big cloud and we’re passing upwards through it, that’s all.”
Moisture, which collected quickly on the thick windows of the cabin, gave confirmation to Peter’s explanation.
A few seconds later the balloon emerged from the cloud and light poured into the cabin once more.
“ I was just thinking,” said Philip. “ What was this balloon built for? It was obviously meant for some definite purpose. A great deal of time and money must have been spent on it.”
“ There’s no doubt,” replied Peter,(t that it’s one of the balloons built for exploring the stratosphere. We’ve been doing a lot in the old rag lately about experiments to see if it isn’t possible for an aeroplane to fly in a few hours across to America by first of all reaching the stratosphere.”
“I’ve read about it, too,” interposed Vie. “ But—but—I say, those people go up ten miles or more, don’t they? You don’t think we’re going up ten miles, do you?”
“Not if we can help it,” replied Philip. “ The question is, how are we to stop ourselves?” Peter looked at the others.
“I remember reading in another newspaper about some secret attempt that was going to be made on the stratosphere,” he said. “Our senior reporter was talking about it in the office the other day. He said it was all being hushed up. It was to be something on a big scale and that Professor—Salter or Slater, I think the name was— was said to be building a secret balloon somewhere. Heavens, I wonder if this is his balloon!”
He had hardly finished speaking when the balloon suddenly came to a complete standstill.
The trio looked at one another in astonishment that was not unmixed with fear.
They held their breaths, wondering what was going to happen next.
The minutes went by and all three remained still and tense, but the balloon showed no signs of any further movement.
More than an hour had passed and the balloon still remained motionless.
The hour had been filled by intense discussion on the part of Peter, Philip and Vic.
They had taken careful stock of the interior of the cabin and had made notes and diagrams of it.
As they now stared at the row of levers they wished that some heaven-sent inspiration would help them to decide which was the right one to pull to make the balloon descend to the earth as steadily as it had risen. All the levers looked exactly alike.
At last Peter came to a sudden decision.
“Now listen,” he said.
“We’ll have to take a chance. I suggest that we pull back the first lever just an inch or two at first to give us time to discover what its effect will be and if possible, by pushing the lever back quickly, avoid any unpleasant consequences.”
The others agreed to the suggestion and watched breathlessly as Peter, with intense caution, took hold of the first lever and attempted to pull it slightly.
It would not budge, and he applied more pressure. Still the thing refused to work.
Then Peter gave it a tug. Instantly the lever drew back to its full extent. The balloon trembled violently and all three looked at each other with frightened faces.
A moment later there was a roar from below the floor of the cabin and a great sheet of flame leapt out. The cabin itself became filled with smoke.
The trembling of the balloon increased in violence for a second or two and suddenly Peter shouted hoarsely.
“It’s a rocket balloon. I’ve fired off one of the rockets! Lie on the floor and hold tight!”
Almost at once the balloon shot madly into the air.
Lying, clutching the floor of the smoke-filled cabin, the three men were being hurled into the stratosphere at the rate of a thousand miles an hour.
A deafening, thundering noise was in their ears and they were thinking desperately of their lives and safety. Strong as their fear was, they had no conception of the perils which lay before them in the uncharted regions of space.