round long enough to
taxi around and head into it. The plane acted like a frightened bird
as Bill struggled with the controls, darting this way and that, and
once missing a crash by inches as the tail was lifted by the
treacherous ground wind. Then they were clear, and slowly gained
altitude in a steep climb.

"Whew!" Van exclaimed, mopping his red-splattered forehead with his
handkerchief. "That was a narrow squeak, boys. And we haven't got the
seeds yet--unless we can find a few on our clothing."

"Who said so?" Bart gloated. "Look at this."

He opened his clenched fist and disclosed one of the pods, unbroken
and gleaming horribly scarlet in the dim light of the cabin. Bill
heaved a sigh of relief as he banked the ship and swung around toward
the south. He had dreaded another landing near the sea of moon weed.
Van chortled over their good fortune as he examined the mysterious
pod. One good thing the bombers had done, anyway! Blew one of the
things into his friend's hands.

* * * * *

Bart and the young pilot found themselves very much out of the picture
when they reported with Van at the Research Building in Washington.
The Government had no use for them in this emergency: it was the
scientist they wanted, and he was immediately rushed into conference
with the heads of the Bureau. His two friends were left to shift for
themselves, and they joined the crowds in the street.

The name of Carl Vanderventer was on everyone's tongue. Cursing and
reviling him, they were, for the hare-brained experiment which had
been the cause of the terrible disaster. Fools! Bart seethed with rage
and nearly came to blows with a number of vociferous agitators who
were advocating a necktie-party. Why hadn't the officials published
the entire story as Van told it over the Secret Service radio? There
was no mention of Dan Kelly in the broadcast news, nor of the fact
that the police were searching for him in every city and town in the
country. Another instance of the results of secrecy in governmental
activities!

"We'd better find ourselves a room and turn in," Bart growled. "Let's
get out of this mob before I slam somebody."

Bill Petersen was only too willing. He was suddenly very tired.

In the Willard Hotel they were assigned to an excellent room, and Bart
insisted on switching on the broadcasts and listening to the news. Far
into the night he sat by the loud-speaker, or paced the floor as an
exce