"I told you," he almost shouted. "I never knew anyone named Goodwin! I don't care a hoot about your invention. And as for letting me die—why didn't you? That's a puzzle: you were about to kill me, anyway."
"No," said the other patiently. "I wasn't going to kill you."
"You said I'd never go back."
"I was going to take you with me."
"Take me where?"
"To the moon," said the drooping figure.
Jerry Foster stared, open-mouthed. The pistol lagged in his limp hand. "To the moon!" he gasped.
Then: "See here," he said firmly. "I've got you where I want you."—he held the pistol steady—"and now I'm going to learn what's back of this. I think you are crazy, absolutely crazy. But, tell me, who are you? What do you think you're doing? What was the meaning of that roaring blast?"
