With a sigh the man collapsed back to immobility. He shook his head, groaned, gutturaled another sentence in German, then smiled a wan smile.
The squat men clustered on either side regarded the scene in unblinking silence. Their eyes, looking like twin lenses of a huge camera, turned from time to time as they exchanged glances.
“I’m afraid it’s hopeless. Was there ever such a tantalizing situation?” exclaimed Professor Wagner.
Again there was a commotion before the door of the hut, and then two of the squat natives entered bearing between them a human burden. It was Badger, bound hand and foot, his face gray with fright, his vest-button eyes fixed with terror.
“You speak German?” shouted the professor.
Badger nodded.
The pop-eyed man on the stretcher saw that nod, interpreted it correctly. His blue lips parted and rattled forth a long string of conversation.
And Badger settled the question of his linguistic ability by replying in smooth German, speaking rapidly, making gestures from time to time.
“Ah!” sighed Professor Wagner. “At last we have solved our difficulties. Ask him if these men intend to do us harm, Badger.”
But Badger paid no attention to the command.
For more than fifteen minutes the two chattered on. The little men sat hunched about, apparently without curiosity. Their huge, lidless eyes remained motionless. Their breathing was deep and regular. They showed no emotion, gave no faintest flicker of facial expression.
Then it became apparent that the conversation had drifted to the three who lay listening with such eager curiosity.
Badger pointed toward them, indulged in a rattle of conversation. The German nodded, looked at the three, and his eyes clouded with hostility.
Again he looked at Badger.
“Treachery!” snapped Click. “That bird’s double crossing us.”
“Hush!” whispered the girl. “We have got to make him our ally. Otherwise we won’t have any means of communicating with these people.”
The German rolled his head, turned his pop eyes upon one of the natives, and muttered a single sound. It was one of those crisp, explosive words such as the chief had used.
The native got to his feet, left the hut without a word of reply.
Badger turned to the others.
“Well, I guess you folks are wondering what it’s all about,” he said. “You see, it’s this way. This chap, Carl Gluckner, was working on a new type of aerial warship during the World War. He discovered a peculiar ray that had remarkable properties, but he couldn’t control that ray. At length he made himself a metallic house somewhat similar to ours, made it airtight, constructed it to withstand terrific pressure from within, and determined to explore the upper atmosphere.
“He’s a little indefinite about it, and I think he’s perhaps trying to confuse me on the nature of his invention. That’s only natural, anyway. But he, and four companions, started out. They tuned up their ray, directed it beneath them, and found they were ascending with such terrific velocity that they lost all control of the car. Gluckner says he was unconscious because of being thrown against the floor, the acceleration was so great.
“They were in the interplanetary regions for seven days. Then they managed to control the ray somewhat, and, by using it in short intervals with a greatly reduced current, were able to effect a landing. But the machine was pretty badly smashed when they landed. They came down not far from here, and the natives tried to capture them.
“They had rifles, and turned loose, killing more than a hundred. But the little beggars don’t seem to have any great fear of death. When they start to do a thing, they do it. Sheer force of numbers told the story, and they overpowered the expedition. They killed Gluckner’s companions, but held him for purposes of observation.
“He’s managed to learn their language. Says it’s a simple affair that’s like certain of the primitive African tribes. He’s sent for the chief. Here comes the chief now.”
The little man entered the hut, stood for a moment before Gluckner, regarding him in unwinking gravity. Then he muttered a single word.
Gluckner answered slowly, laboriously. He used five separate words, rolled his eyes, waited, then put together a slow, halting sentence, hesitating between each word as though to let the brain of the chief absorb the expression.
The chief turned his camera eyes to Badger, took from his robe a huge diamond that had been shaped into a knife, and slit Badger’s bonds with a single stroke of the razor edge.
“Good heavens,” exclaimed the professor; “that knife is a diamond; unpolished, but a diamond, nevertheless.”
The chief approached the others, bent over the girl, cut her bonds, then straightened and put the knife back in his girdle.
“But how about Father and Mr. Kendall?” asked Dorothy.
Badger shook his head.
The chief grunted again.
Two men armed with spears entered the hut.
The men each took an arm of the girl, led her outside the door.
Click glanced at Badger.
That individual was smiling, a loose-lipped, crafty smile.
The girl’s steps died away. The steady drip, drip, drip of the mournful forest rattled on the leaf roof of the hut. And then that fog-filled air was knifed by a single piercing scream.
Click struggled frantically with his bonds.
“The girl. She’s in danger. Quick, turn us loose, go see what it is!” he told Badger.
Badger went to the door of the hut. His manner was that of one who strolls casually. For an instant he stood within the entrance, then vanished. His feet could be heard on the ground, running.
Click struggled with his body, writhing, twisting, trying to get free, hardly conscious of what he was doing. One of the guards arose, picked up a spear and thrust the sharp end against Click’s throat.
Click glanced up into the expressionless eyes, jerked his head toward the doorway.
“Can’t you let me go to help her?” he asked, forgetting that the man could not understand his language.
His only answer was a tightening of the pressure where the spear pushed against his throat.
Click subsided. The spear had punctured his skin, was pushing against the tender spot of his throat. He concluded that he was to be murdered in cold blood.
“Nein, nein,” warned Gluckner.
The pressure relaxed. Shod footsteps came strolling along the packed ground outside the hut. Badger’s grinning face appeared in the doorway.
“She just saw a snake,” he remarked. “Said to forgive her for screaming.”
And then he turned to Gluckner and rattled off a long discourse. Gluckner shook his head once, then talked swiftly for more than a minute.
Badger yawned, stretched, nodded, turned to the professor.
“Pity you don’t speak German. Some of this information is well worth hearing. He says the heat on the central portion of the illuminated disk is unbearable. That no one lives there except a race of people that are close kin to the things we call apes. They’re hairy and live in the trees. This tribe represents about the highest order of civilization he’s seen; but he hasn’t made a complete exploration of the planet.
“The same face is always turned toward the sun, just as the same face of the moon is always turned toward the earth. That means there’s one side that has perpetual night. There’s a peculiar sort of mushroom growth that attains gigantic proportions in the night zone. And the borderland is peopled by a race of ferocious warriors.
“They use a sort of blowpipe and have a missile that’s got some toadstool preparation on it. It causes a painful death within about three hours of the time it’s absorbed into the system.