There was an air of inactivity about the scene. Turber came presently and stood in the cabin doorway of the aero. His familiar hunched figure, with the starlight on him and a yellow-red glow from the camp fire. Turber, waiting here for something! The dial marked 1664 A.D. Powl was trembling with eagerness. Lea and San snapped off the instrument. San had recognized the location of the scene. It was the Hudson River shore of Manhattan Island, no more than a mile from the tower-space. Powl said hurriedly: "San has the exact reading--the year, month and day. Turber will not expect you, that night there in the forest. If you can creep up on him with your revolver--" It might be possible, in the gloom of the forest, to get up to the aero unobserved. They made a few hurried preparations. San and Lea would not be able to talk with Alan; they made their plans now, with Powl for interpreter. Back at the tower, Powl stood by its steps. "Good-by. Do your best." He gripped Alan's hand. The tower door closed upon Alan, Lea and San. A moment, and they had started. The room reeled, but this time Alan was prepared for it. He recovered in a moment. He stood by Lea and smiled. He said: "Not so bad this time." "No," said Lea. "All right." There was a sound in the humming, vibrating room. A rustling behind them. From a shadowed corner a figure rose up. Lentz! His swart face was smiling. He was by the door. He had followed them in. He said to Alan: "I thought better I come, so I can talk for you and them. We must plan carefully what we do. I want to help you." CHAPTER VIII UNFATHOMABLE SCOUNDREL I must go back now to that time at dawn in Central Park, when we were set upon by Turber and his men. I recall that something struck me and I fell. Turber was holding Nanette. I caught him by the legs as I went down, but he kicked me off. Then I was struck again and everything went black. When I recovered consciousness I was lying on a bunk in a small cabin of Turber's aero. I seemed not greatly hurt. I sat up, wholly confused at first; then lay down again, listening to the hum of the room, feeling the metal bunk vibrating beneath me. My head was roaring; my hair was matted with blood from a ragged scalp wound, and I was sore and bruised all over. But I lay and felt my strength coming back. I was alone in the tiny cabin. It was not much more than twice the size of the bed. There was a vague silver glow in it; I could see a small window with a transparent pane. And a door. The door stood ajar. I got to the floor on my feet and stood swaying dizzily. I felt queerly light-headed--as though I were about to float away. My revolver was gone; so were my overcoat and hat and outer jacket. I lurched to the window. The aero seemed poised a hundred feet or so above the ground. I gazed, incredulous, at a blurred, shifting, melting landscape.