“You know, Mike,” he said, “we’ve really messed this up. We are no nearer finding out what’s wrong with Dave. It was a good idea but it blew up in our face.”

Donovan’s glance was bitter with an intensity totally wasted on the darkness, “I hate to disturb you, old man, but quite apart from what we know or don’t know of Dave, we’re slightly trapped. If we don’t get loose, fella, we’re going to die. D-I-E, die. How much oxygen have we anyway? Not more than six hours.”

“I’ve thought of that.” Powell’s fingers went up to his long-suffering mustache and clanged uselessly against the transparent visor. “Of course, we could get Dave to dig us out easily in that time, except that our precious emergency must have thrown him off, and his radio circuit is out.”

“And isn’t that nice?”

Donovan edged up to the opening and managed to get his metal-incased head out. It was an extremely tight fit.

“Hey, Greg!”

“What?”

“Suppose we get Dave within twenty feet. He’ll snap to normal. That will save us.”

“Sure, but where is he?”

“Down the corridor—way down. For Pete’s sake, stop pulling before you drag my head out of its socket. I’ll give you your chance to look.”

Powell maneuvered his head outside, “We did it all right. Look at those saps. That must be a ballet they’re doing.”

“Never mind the snide remarks. Are they getting any closer?”

“Can’t tell yet. They’re too far away. Give me a chance. Pass me my flash, will you? I’ll try to attract their attention that way.”

He gave up after two minutes, “Not a chance! They must be blind. Uh-oh, they’re starting toward us. What do you know?”

Donovan said, “Hey, let me see!”

There was a silent scuffle. Powell said, “All right!” and Donovan got his head out.

They were approaching. Dave was high-stepping the way in front and the six “fingers” were a weaving chorus line behind him.

Donovan marveled, “What are they doing? That’s what I want to know. It looks like the Virginia reel—and Dave’s a major-domo, or I never saw one.”

“Oh, leave me alone with your descriptions,” grumbled Powell. “How near are they?”

“Within fifty feet and coming this way. We’ll be out in fifteen min— Uh—huh—HUH—HEY-Y!”

“What’s going on?” It took Powell several seconds to recover from his stunned astonishment at Donovan’s vocal gyrations. “Come on, give me a chance at that hole. Don’t be a hog about it.”

He fought his way upward, but Donovan kicked wildly, “They did an about-face, Greg. They’re leaving. Dave! Hey, Da-a-ave!”

Powell shrieked, “What’s the use of that, you fool? Sound won’t carry.”

“Well, then,” panted Donovan, “kick the walls, slam them, get some vibration started. We’ve got to attract their attention somehow, Greg, or we’re through.” He pounded like a madman.

Powell shook him, “Wait, Mike, wait. Listen, I’ve got an idea. Jumping Jupiter, this is a fine time to get around to the simple solutions. Mike!”