There was a soft jar, and the Earth began dropping away. The altimeter registered three thousand feet when Robert opened the second shutter. Immediately the landscape began receding at a disconcerting rate. With a moment of involuntary hesitation, Robert pushed the third button, entirely baring the disk’s surface. An answering roar from without indicated the terrific speed at which they were leaving the Earth’s surface. “Twenty thousand,” read Professor Palmer. Almost as he finished speaking the instrument registered another thousand feet. They were rising at virtually the same rate as they had been traveling parallel to the Earth’s surface during their original trial trip. The moon, nearly full, was now in full view because of their height. It had also risen sufficiently to cast long, grotesque shadows of trees and other objects on the Earth’s surface. Roads appeared as narrow, winding ribbons; houses as mere faint blots. A minute later they had reached a level of 62,000 feet. Doltaire’s remarkable and recently established airplane record of 46,800 feet was already eclipsed by more than 15,000 feet! The dusky landscape began to take on a blurred appearance. As yet Robert had not turned the current into the disk, fearing excessive air friction. Time enough for that when they had arisen beyond the belt of atmosphere which enveloped the Earth some 200 miles deep. This figure had been approximated from observations of falling meteors, which become white-hot from air friction as they fall with terrific speed from space into the envelope of atmosphere. * * * * * “Ah--pardon me, gentlemen,” a quiet voice said suddenly. Robert and the professor wheeled sharply, thoroughly startled. To their astonishment, they beheld a man walking toward them! “W-where did you come from?” stammered Robert, the first to recover his speech. The newcomer, however, did not seem to share their surprize in the least. Rather he appeared to be very much at ease. His brilliant red hair, the easy and pleasant smile on his intelligent features, stamped him as an ordinary, normal person. But how had he come there? “My apologies, gentlemen,” spoke the stranger. “I determined to cover this trip for _The Chronicle_, and hid in a storeroom. Hugh Taggert’s my name.” He advanced and shook hands with them both heartily. “Thought I might as well get acquainted right away,” he ran on, “since we are going to be companions all the way to Mars. Nifty little ship you’ve got.” Until now their astonishment had kept Robert and the professor speechless. With the disclosure of the identity of the nervy young reporter, however, the humor of the situation struck them both. “We hadn’t counted on company,” said the professor, “but now that you’re here, I can’t say that I’m sorry. Kind of livens the trip up, eh, Robert? Not so lonesome. But you’ve got your nerve, young man!”