“I see.” Tony sat down. “The Midianites have foreseen our scheme, then, and put watchers here.”
“I think so.”
“Do you believe that we can find them to-night?”
“You know better than I.”
“I doubt it,” Tony answered. “It would take months to cover every room, every subterranean chamber.”
“Of course,” said Ransdell, “it might be some one else. The Midianites might have explored here—and left. The Other People had bread—like ours more or less; and this isn’t familiar—exactly. It looks like whole wheat—”
Tony grinned. “You aren’t seriously suggesting that the Other People may be alive here?”
“Why not?”
“Well—why not? Anyway—some one is. Spies—ghosts—some one.”
It was growing light when the trucks came back from the other camp. They were crowded with cheering people, who grew silent when they heard of Hendron’s death. Tony and Ransdell went to greet them. Breakfast was ready; it was served from caldrons borrowed from the Other People’s kitchens.
Tony was busy with hot soup when Peter Vanderbilt approached him. “Where’s Von Beitz?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t he see you?”
“No.”
Vanderbilt scowled. “Funny! Quarter of an hour ago I saw him a few streets from the square here. He was on his way to tell you something about the power. He turned a corner. I thought I heard the first faint part of a yell—choked off. I hustled around the same corner, but he was out of sight. It seemed odd—he’d have had to run pretty fast to make the next corner. So I jammed along looking for him. No sign of him. Thought he was reporting to you. But I went back. Nothing to see at the spot where he’d left me. I—”
Tony was calling. “Taylor—Williamson—Smith—Alexander—look for Von Beitz. Arm yourselves.”
But two hours later Von Beitz had not been found.
CHAPTER XIII
FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN
DAY broke with its long, deliberate dawn, while the strange, eerie glow of the night light that illumined the city faded. There was no sound in the streets but the scuffing feet of the sentinels whom Tony had posted, and the echo of their voices as they made occasional reports to each other or called a challenge.
Now the night watch was relieved; and with the brightening day, searching parties set out again under strict order not to separate into squads of less than six, and to make communication, at regular intervals, with the Central Authority.
This was set up in the offices near the great hall in which Hendron lay dead—the Hall of Sciences of the Other People.
So the enormous chamber manifested itself. It had been, one time, a meeting-place of august, noble-minded Beings. The dimensions and proportions of the great hall, its modeling and decorations, declared their character. It was most fitting that the greatest scientist from Earth—he who attempted and triumphed in the flight through space—lie here in this hall.
Thus Hendron lay in state, his face stern and yet peaceful; and his people, whom he had saved from the cataclysm, slowly filed past.
Eve, his daughter, stood at his side.
Dodson had begun the vigil with her, but he had retired to a couch at the end of the great hall, where he had dropped down, meaning to rest for a few moments. Exhaustion had overcome him, and he slept, his huge chest rising and falling, the coat-sleeve of his armless shoulder moving on the floor with the rhythm of his breathing.
As the people filed from the hall, they passed Dodson, gazing at him but never disturbing him. His empty sleeve brought keenly to mind the savage battle in Michigan in the horrible hours when the mob there assailed the camp near the end of the waiting for the escape from earth. Where was Michigan? Where was the earth now?
The people passed more slowly for gazing back again at the catafalque of the Bronson Betans, whereon Hendron lay.…
Maltby, the electrical engineer, together with four others was exploring behind the walls of the building. Power was “on.” Impulses, e
lectrical in character, were perceptible; and Maltby was studying the problem of them.