We went back to our pacing. There was nothing particularly unusual in seeing a meteor fall across the sky. But we were both silent, wondering. We had caught just a glimpse of the gateway to our renewed hope; we did not know it, but we both sensed it. An hour passed. From within the house, old man Cain called, "Oh, Dan--come here, listen to this." The radio announcer was relaying an item from Curaçao. In the twilight at Willamstadt they had seen what seemed to be a meteorite fall into the sea near the Venezuelan coast. "Another!" exclaimed Dan. An hour later, still another meteorite was reported. It had fallen somewhere in the region of Victoria Nyanza--in the lake, perhaps, or along its shores. Still, this seemed nothing remarkable. But about five o'clock the radio-phone rang with our private call. It was Freddie, in Miami. The gateway to our hopes swung wide to receive us. Dan answered the call; I stood at his elbow, trembling with excitement--at first premonitory, then justified. In the silence I could hear the tiny sound of Freddie's voice. "Oh, Dan? Dan Cain?" "Yes. That you, Freddie?" "Yes. Listen--I'm in Miami. A meteorite fell--they've got it--Okechobee region. Listen--it cracked open. Was pretty well burned--but a big one. Hollow inside! They cracked into it--they found--Oh, Dan, they phoned me from Moorehaven just a little while ago. They"--Freddie's voice broke with his excitement. "They--what, Freddie? Take it easy--can't understand you." "I'm coming, Dan. By plane--I'll get away about eight o'clock. Peter there? Good! See you about midnight--soon as they bring it here to me, I'll bring it to you." "Bring what? What, Freddie?" "The cylinder. Whatever it is--haven't seen it. They're bringing it--they've got it. Heat-proof, insulated metal cylinder--they say it's engraved 'Peter Vanderstuyft, Porto Rico--Rush.' I'm bringing it, Dan. Tell Peter. It's a message from Xenephrene! It must be! A message from Peter's father!" CHAPTER VIII FROM ACROSS THE VOID We helped Freddie unload the cylinder from his plane. He arrived about midnight, flying alone with his precious burden. It was a cylindrical metal container, some ten feet long by three feet in diameter--a strange looking, purple-brown metal, smooth and shining like burnished copper. White metal handles were on the cylinder--and down one of its bulging sides was crudely engraved the inscription "Peter Vanderstuyft, Porto Rico. Rush." The thing weighed perhaps two hundred pounds. It was warm, yet clammy to the touch, as though sweating. And though it appeared smooth, under my finger tips I could feel that it was pitted and scarred--blistered as though by tremendous heat.