The publication of the report of the Commission produced an effect of which it is impossible even to give an idea. There was nothing in it of a soothing tendency, it must be admitted. By J. T. Maston’s calculations, the problem had evidently been solved. The operation to be attempted by Barbicane & Co. would, it was only too clear, introduce a most regrettable modification in the diurnal movement. A new axis would be substituted for the old. And we know what would be the consequences of that substitution. The enterprise of Barbicane & Co. was thus judged, cursed, and demitted to general reprobation. Barbicane and Co. were dangers to society. If they retained a few partisans in the United States, the partisans were few indeed. From the point of view of their own personal safety, Impey Barbicane and Captain Nicholl had certainly done wisely to clear out. They would assuredly have come to grief if they had not done so. It was not with impunity that they could menace fourteen hundred millions of people, upset their habits and customs, and disturb their very existence by provoking a general catastrophe. But how had these two men managed to disappear without leaving a trace? How could they have got away unperceived with the men and material necessary for their project? Hundreds of waggons, if they went by railway, and hundreds of ships, if they went by sea, would be required for the transport of the metal, the fuel, and the meli-melonite. It was quite incomprehensible how the departure could have taken place incognito. But it had taken place nevertheless. Inquiries were made, but nothing was discovered as to any order being sent to any of the metallurgical or chemical works of the world. It was inexplicable! But the explanation would come—some day! Barbicane and Nicholl having mysteriously disappeared, were beyond immediate danger. But J. T. Maston! He was under lock and key; but were not public reprisals to be feared? Bah! He did not trouble himself about that in the least! Admirably obstinate was the calculator! He was of iron—like his fore-arm! At nothing did he quail! From the depths of his cell in the gaol of Baltimore the secretary of the Gun Club became more and more absorbed in the distant contemplation of the colleagues he had not accompanied. In his mind’s eye he could see Barbicane and Nicholl preparing their gigantic enterprise in that unknown region where no one could interfere with them. He saw them making the cannon, mixing the meli-melonite, casting the projectile which the Sun would soon count among its minor asteroids! That new star which was to bear the name of Scorbitta, as a delicate compliment to the millionaire of New Park! and J. T. Maston began to count the days that would elapse before the word to fire was given.