The air was pure—that they noticed first of all when they had doffed cautiously their helmets. Pure and warm. Quickly they took off the clumsy suits and looked about them. No one was in sight; no greeting came to them. “Hello!” yelled Nick. No answer. It was not as large as the _Columbia_, this ill-fated craft, but a big ship nonetheless. Hearts beating out ill omens, they searched room after room, finding no one. “Hello! Hello!” cried Dorothy. Edgar grasped her arm. “Wait,” he murmured. “I think I heard an answer.” Silently they followed him, as he led, to a small room. There was a bed, a set of controls—from this point the mechanisms for opening the double doors had been set in motion—a small heating unit, and a large armchair. As their eyes roved about the room, a figure arose unsteadily from the chair and faced them—a tall, gaunt man, white-haired, his eyes looking as if he had been lost for a thousand years. Wordlessly he stared at them, as Nick stepped forward, his voice husky. “Steve!” * * * * * The older man looked at him, a sort of dull bewilderment spreading across his face. “Hello, Nick,” he said softly. “I was sort of wondering when you’d come. Who are your friends?” “I’m Dorothy Gilbert,” spoke up that person coming forward, “and I think I’d better fix something for you right away, Steve. You look as if you haven’t had a square meal since Sinbad went sailing.” The older man grinned wanly. “Guess I haven’t been eating any too regularly. Haven’t had much company, you see since—” “Tell us about it later,” interrupted Dorothy. “Edgar, break out the rations and help me with this thing. Looks like an old model.” “Nothing to it,” murmured Vickers. “I’m Edgar Vickers,” he added in Hartnett’s direction; “my brother, Bob, is the slack-mouthed individual you see behind me. There’s three other fellows in the party, but they stayed back in the ship.” Hartnett sat down on the bed, his eyes wandering from one to another. “Nice girl you have there, Nick,” he whispered. “You’re not letting any of these other lads get the jump on you, eh?” “Not a chance,” replied Dorothy without looking up, “I’m after the Hartnett fortune because there’s no one else I know who is worth marrying, even for the kind of lab I want.” “Did you write the book you always said you would if you were ever marooned, Steve?” asked Nick. Hartnett nodded. “Guess that’s all that kept me from going nuts. All alone here—not strong enough to do much more than take care of myself, write, and send signals out. Didn’t go outside much after—” Dorothy faced him, her eyes misty. “Don’t try to soften it Steve—I knew as soon as I came in the ship. Harry’s dead, isn’t he? Like all the others?” Hartnett nodded. “Yes—like all the others.” * * * * *