ngs, for he
is--he surely must be--eh?"

Forefinger covertly tapped forehead, for there was no time granted for
further explanations. Edgecombe turned again, speaking in hard, even
strained tones:

"Fifteen years ago this month, on the 27th, to be exact, a balloon with
two passengers was carried away on a terrific gale of wind which blew
from the southeast. This happened in Washington Territory. Can you tell
me--has anything ever been heard of either balloon or its inmates?"

Professor Featherwit shook his head in negation before saying:

"Not to my knowledge, though doubtless the prints of the day--"

Cooper Edgecombe shook both head and hand with strange impatience.

"No, no. I know they were never heard from up to ten years ago, but
since then--I am a fool to even dream of such a thing, and yet,--only
for that faint hope I would have gone mad long ago!"

Indeed, he looked little less than insane as it was.

CHAPTER XII. THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE.

This was the idea that occurred to both uncle and nephews, but they had
seen and heard enough to excuse all that, and Professor Featherwit spoke
again, in mildly curious tones:

"Sorry I am unable to give you better tidings, my good friend, but, so
far as my knowledge extends, nothing has come to light of recent years.
And--if not a leading question--were those passengers friends of your
own?"

"Only--merely my--my wife and little daughter," came the totally
unexpected reply, followed by a forced laugh which sounded anything but
mirthful.

Uncle Phaeton, intensely chagrined, hastened to apologise for his
luckless break, but Cooper Edgecombe cut him short, asking that the
matter be let drop for the time being.

"I will talk; I feel that I must tell you all, or lose what few wits
I have left," he declared, huskily. "But not right now. It is growing
late. You must be hungry. I have no very extensive larder, but with my
little will go the gratitude of a man who--"

His voice choked, and he left the sentence unfinished, hurrying away to
prepare such a meal as his limited means would permit.

While Edgecombe was kindling a fire in one corner of the cavern, opening
a pile of ashes to extract the few carefully cherished coals by means
of which the wood was to be fired, uncle and one nephew left the den to
look after the flying-machine and contents.

Bruno remained behind, in obedience to a hint from the professor, lest
the exile should dread desertion, afte