“What’ll we do, anyway?” she wailed when she had recovered her position. “Everything wants to fly all over the place!”
“Put another tray on top of it and hold them together,” suggested Margaret. “I wish we had a birdcage. Then we could open the door and grab a sandwich as it flies out.”
By covering the trays the girls finally carried the luncheon out into the main compartment, where they gave DuQuesne and Perkins one of the trays and all fell to eating hungrily. DuQuesne paused with a glint of amusement in his one sound eye as he saw Dorothy trying to pour ginger ale out of a bottle.
“It can’t be done, Miss Vaneman. You’ll have to drink it through a straw. That will work, since our air pressure is normal. Be careful not to choke on it, though; your swallowing will have to be all muscular out here. Gravity won’t help you. Or wait a bit—I have the control board fixed and it will be a matter of only a few minutes to put in another bar and get enough acceleration to take the place of gravity.”
He placed one of the extra power bars in the chamber and pushed the speed lever into the first notch, and there was a lurch of the whole vessel as it swung around the bar so that the floor was once more perpendicular to it. He took a couple of steps, returned, and advanced the lever another notch.
“There that’s about the same as gravity. Now we can act like human beings and eat in comfort.”
“That’s a wonderful relief, Doctor!” cried Dorothy. “Are we going back toward the earth?”
“Not yet. I reversed the bar, but we will have to use up all of this one before we can even start back. Until this bar is gone we will merely be slowing down.”
* * * *
As the meal progressed, Dorothy noticed that DuQuesne’s left arm seemed almost helpless, and that he ate with great difficulty because of his terribly bruised face. As soon as they had removed the trays she went into her room, where she had seen a small medicine chest, and brought out a couple of bottles.
“Lie down here, Doctor DuQuesne,” she commanded. “I’m going to apply a little first-aid to the injured. Arnica and iodine are all I can find, but they’ll help a little.”
“I’m all right,” began the scientist, but at her imperious gesture he submitted, and she bathed his battered features with the healing lotion and painted the worst bruises with iodine.
“I see your arm is lame. Where does it hurt?”
“Shoulder’s the worst. I rammed it through the board when we started out.”
He opened his shirt at the throat and bared his shoulder, and Dorothy gasped—as much at the size and power of the muscles displayed, as at the extent and severity of the man’s injuries. Stepping into the gallery, she brought out hot water and towels and gently bathed away the clotted blood that had been forced through the skin.
“Massage it a little with the arnica as I move the arm,” he directed coolly, and she did so, pityingly. He did not wince and made no sign of pain, but she saw beads of perspiration appear upon his face, and wondered at his fortitude.
“That’s fine,” he said gratefully as she finished, and a peculiar expression came over his face. “It feels one hundred per cent better already. But why do you do it? I should think you would feel like crowning me with that basin instead of playing nurse.”
“Efficiency,” she replied with a smile. “I’m taking a leaf out of your own book. You are our chief engineer, you know, and it won’t do to have you laid up.”
“That’s a logical explanation, but it doesn’t go far enough,” he rejoined, still studying her intently. She did not reply, but turned to Perkins.
“How are you, Mr. Perkins? Do you require medical attention?”
“No,” growled Perkins from the seat in which he had crouched immediately after eating. “Keep away from me, or I’ll cut your heart out!”
“Shut up!” snapped DuQuesne. “Remember what I said?”
“I haven’t done anything,” snarled the other.
“I said I would throw you out if you made another break,” DuQuesne informed him evenly, “and I meant it. If you can’t talk decently, keep still. Understand that you are to keep off Miss Vaneman, words and actions. I am in charge of her, and I will put up with no interference whatever. This is your last warning.”
“How about Spencer, then?”
“I have nothing to say about her, she’s not mine,” responded DuQuesne with a shrug.
An evil light appeared in Perkins’ eyes and he took out a wicked-looking knife and began to strop it carefully upon the leather of the seat, glaring at his victim the while.
“Well, I have something to say.…” blazed Dorothy, but she was silenced by a gesture from Margaret, who calmly took the pistol from her pocket, jerked the slide back, throwing a cartridge into the chamber, and held the weapon up on one finger, admiring it from all sides.
* * * *
“Don’t worry about his knife. He has been sharpening it for my benefit for the last month. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
At this unexpected show of resistance, Perkins stared at her for an instant, then glanced at his coat.
“Yes, this was yours, once. You needn’t bother about picking up your coat, they’re both gone. You might be tempted to throw that knife, so drop it on the floor and kick it over to me before I count three.
“One.” The heavy pistol steadied into line with his chest and her finger tightened on the trigger.
“Two.” He obeyed and she picked up the knife. He turned to DuQuesne, who had watched the scene unmoved, a faint smile upon his saturnine face.
“Doctor!” he cried, shaking with fear. “Why don’t you shoot her or take that gun away from her? Surely you don’t want to see me murdered?”
“Why not?” replied DuQuesne calmly. “It is nothing to me whether she kills you or you kill her. You brought it on yourself by your own carelessness. Any man with brains doesn’t leave guns lying around within reach of prisoners, and a blind man could have seen Miss Vaneman getting your hardware.”
“You saw her take them and didn’t warn me?” croaked Perkins.
“Why should I warn you? If you can’t take care of your own prisoner she earns her liberty, as far as I am concerned. I never did like your style, Perkins, especially your methods of handling—or rather mishandling—women. You could have made her give up the stuff she recovered from that ass Brookings inside of an hour, and wouldn’t have had to kill her afterward, either.”
“How?” sneered the other. “If you are so good at that kind of thing, why didn’t you try it on Seaton and Crane?”
“There are seven different methods to use on a woman like Miss Spencer, each of which will produce the desired result. The reason I did not try them on either Seaton or Crane is that they would have failed. Your method of indirect action is probably the only one that will succeed. That is why I adopted it.”
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” shrieked Perkins. “Are you going to sit there and lecture all day?”
“I am going to do nothing whatever,” answered the scientist coldly. “If you had any brains you would see that you are in no danger. Miss Spencer will undoubtedly