This other thing's more important to me right now."

"What's the dope? Can you tell us now?"

"Sure. I've got one of the machines in the car and I'll explain when we're on our way to Canada."

This wasn't like Van. Never secretive and always in good humor, he was treating his friends like annoying strangers.

"You can't land in Canada," Bill ventured, as they pulled up at the gate of the airport.

"Like h.e.l.l I can't! You watch my smoke, and let any b.l.o.o.d.y Canuck up there try and stop me!"

He was lifting a small black case from the luggage carrier of the car as he replied. Bart silenced the airman with a look.

When they had taken off and were well under way, Van opened his black case and set a vacuum-tube apparatus in operation. They were nearing the fringe of the glowing sea of red that was the vast blanket of moon weed. It now extended to within a few miles of Baltimore and stretched northward as far as the eye could see.

"It was a cinch," Van was explaining. "When I first saw that the growth slowed up under the arc-lights at Tomkins Cove it gave me the glimmering of an idea. Then, on the following day, when we learned that the weed spread more slowly in sunlight, I was convinced. The stuff is dormant on the moon, you know."

"Why?" Bart asked breathlessly.

"Because there is no atmosphere surrounding the moon, and the sun's rays are not filtered before they reach its surface as they are here.

The invisible rays, ultra-violet and such, are present in full proportion. And the moon weed can not flourish when subjected to light of the higher frequencies. It died out when the moon lost its atmosphere, and only revived on being brought to earth--probably a million times more prolific in our dense and damp atmosphere and rich soil. The thing's a cinch to dope out."

"Yeah!" Bart commented drily. Van was now talking and he could have bitten off his tongue for interrupting him.

This machine of Van's was a generator of invisible light in the ultra-indigo range, Van explained. You couldn't see its powerful beam, but they had proved in the laboratory that it was certain doom to the moon weed. They had grown the stuff from seed in steel cages, and played with it until they were all satisfied. Now would come the final test. Ten thousand planes were being equipped with the new generator, which was merely an adaptation of standard directional television transmitters, and to-night these would start out to fight the weed. It was a cinch!

Beneath them the red cauldron seethed and tossed as they sped northward; the crimson blanket of death that was steadily covering the country.

"Drop to a thousand feet, Bill," the scientist called, "and then watch below. But, don't slow down. We've got to get to Toronto!"

The ship nosed down and soon leveled off at the prescribed alt.i.tude.

Van's vacuum tubes lighted to full brilliancy, and a black spot appeared on the glowing surface just beneath them, a black spot that extended into a streak as the plane continued on its way. They were cutting a swath of blackness fifty feet wide through the heart of the growth!

"See that!" Van gloated. "It's killing them by millions! And the best of it is the effect it leaves behind. The soil is permeated to a depth of several inches and the stuff will not germinate in the spots where the ray has contracted. Oh, it works to perfection!"

Bill was exuberant; his hopes revived miraculously. He gave his motor the gun and got out of it every last revolution that it could turn up.

He must get Van to Canada! Not such a bad idea, this going after Kelly, at that!

Bart was voluble in his praise, then caught himself short as he remembered that he had doubted Van but a half hour previously: doubted him and despaired. Now Van, lapsing into gloomy silence after his triumph, was again thinking of nothing but revenge. The getting of Dan Kelly meant more to him now than the extinction of the moon weed.

When they landed at the Toronto Airport they were welcomed with open arms instead of with rifle fire as Bill had antic.i.p.ated. The news had gone forth. Already a thousand planes flying over the United States were driving back the sea of destruction. The invisible ray was a success, and the name of Carl Vanderventer was now a thing with which to conjure, rather than one on which to heap imprecation and insult.

Van grimaced wryly at this last bit of news.

Danny Kelly? No one at the airport had ever heard of him. Van telephoned in to the city; to Police Headquarters. Yes, they had apprehended the fugitive American at the request of Washington, but he was a slippery customer. He had escaped. Van raged and fumed.

Of what use were the congratulations of the night flyers who still loitered in the hangar; of what consolation the radio reports of the success of the ultra-indigo ray in the States and in Europe? He had come after his man and he'd failed. Defeat was a bitter pill.

The news broadcasts from the States were jubilant and became increasingly so during the night. The moon weed was being driven back on a wide front and by morning would be entirely surrounded. There would be no further loss of life and little more destruction of property. Carl Vanderventer had saved the day! Van grunted his disgust whenever an announcer mentioned his name.

When daylight came they prepared to return. Little use there was of searching the highways and byways of Canada for the fugitive. He'd simply have to wait until the Canadians were able to get a line on Dan Kelly again.--It was maddening! But Bart was glad. The light of reason was returning to his friend's eyes in the reaction.

Then there was a telephone call from the city for Van. Police Headquarters wanted him. The fanatical glint returned to his eyes when he ran for the hangar to answer the call. Perhaps they had already captured Kelly! And he had an order in his pocket for the man's return to the States. He'd been made a deputy, and with Kelly released to him anything might happen. Something would happen.

But the police were reporting the unexplainable reappearance of the moon weed just outside the city limits at a point near Cookesville.

Would Mr. Vanderventer be so kind as to fly over there and destroy it before any lives were lost? He would.

The growth had covered an acre of ground by the time they reached the spot designated. But it was the work of only a minute to blast it out of existence with the ultra-indigo ray. Van surveyed the blackened and shriveled ma.s.s with satisfaction.

"Let's land and take a look at it," he said.

Bart thought he saw a look of exultation flash over his careworn features.

Soon they were wading deep in the blackened remains of the moon weed.

The stems and tendrils snapped and crumbled into powder as they pa.s.sed through. The stuff was done for, no question of that.

Bill Petersen yelled and pointed a shaking forefinger at an object that lay in the blackened ruin. It was a human skeleton, the bones bare of flesh and gleaming white in the light of the early morning sun. Van was on his knees, quick as a flash, feeling around the grewsome thing: pawing at the shreds of clothing that remained.

Then he was on his feet, his face shining with unholy glee. In his hands were a half dozen small, smooth objects which looked like pebbles. The diamonds!

"I thought so!" he exclaimed. "It's Kelly. Only way the seed could have gotten up here. He had some on his clothes and didn't know it. I couldn't get him myself--but anyway I'm satisfied."

He staggered and would have fallen, had not Bart caught him in his arms. Poor old Van! Nearly killed him, this thing had, but he'd be himself again, after it was all over. No wonder he'd gone out of his head with the horror of it, and the blame that had been so cruelly laid on him! No wonder he'd become obsessed with this idea of getting square with Dan Kelly! But now he was content: sleeping like a babe in Bart's arms.

Tenderly they carried him to the plane and laid him out on the cushions in back. They'd let him sleep as long as he could; return him to Washington where he'd receive his just dues in recognition for his services. Then would follow the work of reconstruction and rehabilitation. Van would glory in that.

Bart regarded his sleeping friend thoughtfully as they winged their swift way toward the American border. The harsh lines that had showed in his face during the past few hours were smoothed away and in their place was an expression of deep contentment. He was at peace with the world once more. Good old Van.

What a difference there would be when he awakened to full realization of the changed order of things! What satisfaction and relief!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Advertis.e.m.e.nt]

The Port of Missing Planes

_By Captain S. P. Meek_

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"That portion of the wall has gone back in time exactly three seconds," he announced._]