Dunderheadus, picking up some sort of package.

“Strange . . . most extraordinary . . . what a surprise!” the doctor mumbled.

Inside the package were the writings of a certain Prince Meshchersky, composed in some barbarian language, probably Russian.

“How could these writings have ended up here?”

“A thousand damnations!” Dr. Dunderheadus shouted. “Have others beaten us to these islands? Who could it be? Tell me, who, who? Damn them! O thunderbolts of heaven, dash my—rather large—brain to smithereens! If I get my hands on him, if only I could get my hands on him! I’ll tear him to pieces, along with his works!” And raising his hands in the air he laughed a terrible laugh. A disquieting glint flickered in his eye. He had gone mad.

CHAPTER VI

The Return

“Hurrah!” the inhabitants of Le Havre called out, crowding onto all the quays of the town. The air was filled with shouts of joy, tolling bells, and music. The massive black object in the sky that had threatened everyone with death was about to fall not onto the town but into the harbor. All the ships were hurrying out into the open sea. The massive object that had covered the sun for so many days splashed heavily into the bay, inundating the waterfront, to the accompaniment of thundering music and the triumphant hullabaloo of the people. It began to sink, and within a few minutes the bay was free again, waves surging through it in every direction. In the middle of the bay three men were floundering. These were mad Dr. Dunderheadus, John Lund, and Tom Snipe, who were quickly pulled out of the water by a nearby boat.

“We haven’t eaten in fifty-seven days,” muttered John Lund, who was as thin as a starving artist, as he told the people what had happened.

The island of Prince Meshchersky no longer exists. Bearing the weight of three intrepid men, it grew heavier, and leaving its orbit fell into the earth’s gravity and plummeted into the harbor of Le Havre.

Conclusion

These days, John Lund is once again occupying himself with the question of drilling through the moon. The day is nigh when the moon will be graced with a hole, a hole that will belong to Great Britain. Tom Snipe is currently living in Ireland, where he has dedicated himself to farming. He raises chickens and apportions good hidings to his only daughter, whom he is bringing up in spartan fashion. He is not a stranger to scientific matters, and is quite angry at himself for having neglected, while on the flying island, to gather seeds of the tree whose sap is redolent of Russian vodka.

10 A smell invented by chemists. They say one cannot live without it. Fiddlesticks. It is only without money that man cannot live. (A.