“You have learnt your lesson quickly and well, my son,” said the Jkak in reply. “I will come with pleasure.” He walked aboard and was extremely interested in the vessel. “But how do you move it?” he asked. “How does it rise into the heights of the heavens?”
“This is the spirit,” said Alan, “but alas, it will not work in your atmosphere. There seems no power in it. Perhaps later on, we might experiment with your etheric current?”
The Jkak and his suite were enchanted with the fittings of the Argenta—the electricity, the furniture, the hangings. As they made their way toward the sleeping cabins, Masters suddenly spoke.
“Poor old Murdoch—he’s in there,” said he. “I am afraid I forgot all about him.”
“Poor chap,” said Alan, “so did I,” and he quickly barred the way. “May I suggest, my Jkak, that you do not go in there,” said he. “A very dear comrade of ours risked his life for us all. He is in there—dead.”
“Dead?” asked the Jkak.
Sir John bowed his head sadly. “Dead,” he repeated, “and one of the truest servants that man ever had.”
“But if he is in there,” said the Jkak with a puzzled frown, “why does he not come out?” He looked at the others in turn. “Why does he not enjoy life with you? Ah! He thinks the Argenta would not be safe without him? That is foolish. I will enter—I will assure him he has nothing to fear.”
“But he is dead,” urged Alan.
“Dead?”