Presenting the transcription feature, Superman. It's a plane. It's Superman. Yes, it's Superman. Strange visitor from the planet Krypton, who came to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. Superman, who can leap tall buildings at a single bound, race a speeding bullet to its target, bend steel in his bare hands, and who, disguised as Clark Kent, a mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper, fights a never-ending battle for truth and justice. But before we join Superman, listen. And now to our story. With its controls mysteriously jammed, Perry White's strata ship soars higher and higher to almost certain disaster. Inside the plane, Lois Lane, Bronson the pilot, and Perry White are slowly sinking into unconsciousness because of the lack of oxygen. Gasping for breath, Perry White turns on the plane's shortwave transmitter and sends a distress call. Meanwhile, not having been able to join White and Lois in their search for the American engineers who disappeared somewhere in the Andes Mountains, Clark Kent has returned to Washington to begin his duties in the Secret Service Division of Hemisphere Administration, a department of the government concerned with defense and goodwill between North and South America. We join him as he enters the radio room where Evans, the operator, is seated at a control panel. Oh, hello, Mr. Kent. Hello, Evans. Anything doing yet? Oh, no, sir. Not a word from G-33. Oh? Say, what's the matter with your voice? What do you mean? Oh, just a bit hoarse from dictating too much war news over the phone. Now, what's the situation here? Well, all we've been getting is code from South American freighters. Uh-huh. I guess that third expedition is lost, too. I call them on the hour. It's almost time now, isn't it? Yeah, about two minutes. Say, why don't you put the call through? Maybe you'll have better luck. Okay. How do you work it? Well, you turn to 1780 on the middle dial. That one. Oh. Uh-huh. Oh, fine. Why don't you go out for a smoke or some fresh air? Thanks, I will. Be back in five minutes. Right-o. Let's see. 1780. There it is. Mr. White will probably use that G-33 wavelength, too. I wonder if he's transmitting. I'm going to try a little more volume. Still climbing. Need oxygen. What's that? Control still jammed. What? Strange noises outside cabin. Can't hold out much longer. Location, 1,800 miles south, southwest of Metropolis. Hey, Scott. Calling official 177. Hurry, White, calling official 178. Why don't they bail out? They're probably too high. What am I waiting for? This is no time to be sitting here. Only a few seconds left to make it. I see now 1,800 miles south, southwest of Metropolis and still climbing. That means an extra hard spurt for Superman. Hope it isn't too late. Up. Up. And away. Piercing the air with the speed of a thunderbolt darting through mile-high clouds. Onward and onward, almost too fast for the human eye to see him. Superman charges through space. Battering winds tear at his wide red cape. But nothing stops him. Nothing swerves him from his course. 1,000 miles with the unflagging speed of a bullet. 1,400. 1,500. Wait. What's that? It's the plane. Perry White's straddle ship, like a mad monster bird still climbing into the heavens. Hold on. They've cut the engine. The plane falters. The nose is beginning to point down. She's going into a spin. Down and down. She'll never come out of it. Her wings will tear off. She'll... Wait. What's that speck in the sky? It's Superman. Can he see the falling plane? He's circling around and around. Yes, he sees it. He's plunging down. He's caught up with the plane. There, he's on the fuselage, crawling toward the tail. But what's happening inside? Are Perry White and Bronson still conscious? Like a float. Almost as though it caused this trouble. Bronson. Bronson. How are your controls again? No. Still stuck. I can't move them. That's like noises. It's stopped. The controls are free. They work. It's not a level out of the spin. We've got plenty of altitude. We ought to be able to make it. I'll turn on the ignition. We're pulling out of it. We've leveled off. We're safe. Thank heaven. There's plenty of air down here. Better rub her wrists to restore circulation. Lois. Lois. The color's coming back to her cheeks. Lois, everything's all right. We're safe. What happened? Well, Bronson cut the engine and we started to spin. Then the controls became free. Landed as soon as possible and checked. That noise. It stopped. Yes, yes. We're all right now. Now breathe deeply. Oh, I feel better already. Look outside the cabin face. Where? Oh, I don't see anything. Take it easy, Lois. You're a bit unstrung. No, I'm not, Mr. White. I saw a face. I'm sure I did. Easy, Lois. Easy. The straddle ship flies safely on toward the horizon. Superman turns and streaks back to Washington, carrying with him a strange piece of wood that had been jammed into the control cables of the plane. In the office of the administration director, John Ives, disguised once more as Clark Kent, he shows the piece of wood to Dr. Coulson, curator of the National Museum. Now, where did you get this flute, Mr. Kent? Flute? Is that stick of wood a flute, Dr. Coulson? That's exactly what it is, Mr. Ives. Well, I bet you haven't answered my question, Mr. Kent. Now, where did you get it? I'd rather not say, Doctor. Now, look here, Kent. You've got to be more cooperative. I asked Dr. Coulson over here at your request. He was good enough to drop all his work at the museum to meet with us, and now you refuse to answer a simple question. But, Mr. Ives... Besides, there's a rather strange coincidence about all this. I didn't tell you because I regarded it as being unimportant, but all three of the expeditions that were lost in the Andes reported hearing eerie flute-like noises just before we lost contact with them. What? And now you walk in with a flute. That's amazing. Where did you get it, Mr. Kent? Well, I don't want to appear stubborn or uncooperative, but I just can't answer that question now. Well, then why are you wasting Dr. Coulson's time with a ridiculous toy flute? I'd hardly call it a toy, Mr. Ives. Well, this happens to be a very good copy of an ancient Inca tribal flute. If it were authentic, it would be one of the greatest historical discoveries of all time. Oh? Why, Dr. Coulson? Kent, this happens to be a very busy department, not a personal history class for you. Now, now, that's a logical question, Mr. Ives. Let me answer it. Oh, very well. Now, as you see, Mr. Kent, this flute is made of wood of the Cypress's macrocarpa family. Hard but perishable. I see. After 400 years, it couldn't possibly remain in this condition. Part of it would have brought it away. Now, don't you see that if this flute is authentic... Go on, Dr. Coulson. It means that it was made less than 400 years ago. Yes. And therefore, the lost Inca civilization did not die. It means that somewhere, somehow, it continued, unknown to the rest of the world. And that the lost Inca nation may still exist. That one of the greatest and richest of the ancient civilizations may still be alive. It's fantastic. It's, uh... It's utterly impossible. But if that flute were real, it wouldn't be impossible, would it? No. No, but there isn't a ghost of a chance of its being real. Men have searched for centuries. Men found nothing, I know. Then why wouldn't it be worth a little time to check this yourself? Well, I suppose I might. How would you do it? Well, first of all, I'd put it under an infrared ray. Yes. That would disclose the presence of any false markings or material, I say. Microscopic examination would show if these carvings were made with the proper kind of knife. Then there are acid tests and dye tests. There's no chance of making a mistake. How long would your tests take? Oh, who knows? Maybe five minutes, maybe five days. I'll go back to the museum now and make a preliminary examination. All right. If I find anything of interest, which I doubt, I'll phone you. Otherwise, I'll get in touch with you or Mr. Ives sometime tomorrow. Good. Well, goodbye, Mr. Kent. Bye, sir. Take my advice and don't hold out any hope on this. Goodbye, Mr. Ives. Goodbye, Dr. Colson. I'm sorry. Perfectly all right. I understand. Now, see here, Kent. I've stood about as much of this nonsense as I'm going to. But I... I asked you to come to Washington to assist me. I thought you had brains, courage, foresight. Instead, you waste my time with nonsense. Well, Mr. Ives, if you'll only give me a chance, I don't think I've wasted your time. Oh, you don't? No. You walk in here with a ridiculous wooden flute. You kill the whole afternoon. You break up my day and Dr. Colson's. And you have the nerve to say you haven't wasted time. But if... Why, there are nine great American engineers somewhere out in the Andes. Maybe breathing their last at this very moment. A hundred and thirty million people are waiting for this department to act. To do something. To help find those men. And you're playing around with flutes. Mr. Ives, I have you forgotten those men for one second. You said you had to have a theory before you act. You said this case required brain work. Yes, and the lot you're doing about it. Brain work, Kent. Not flute work. Maybe you're running a fever over that bad throat of yours. Oh, no, no, Mr. Ives. Don't you see what a clue that flute may be? The Inca Indians vanished in South America. Well, now look. Where could they vanish more completely than the Andes Mountains? Wild, unexplored, vast mountains of granite. It's the perfect hiding place. Kent, you're out of your mind. You yourself said that the expeditions reported weird flute-like noises just before radio contact was broken. Kent, I think this has gone far enough. I refuse to listen to any more of this crack-brain talk. I don't think the Hemisphere Administration Office has any further need for your service. Well, Mr. Ives... You can leave for Metropolis immediately. And I warn you. I don't want you to meddle in this case. Those are my official instructions. All right, Mr. Ives. That's the way you feel about it. That's exactly the way I feel about it. Goodbye. It is. Yes? Mr. Ives, is Mr. Kent there? This is Dr. Coles. No, I just got rid of him. What's the matter? It's absolutely incredible. What's incredible, Coles? And what are you talking about? The anchor flute. Well, what about it? I thought I heard the end of that flute. It's real, Ives. It's authentic. Kent, are you sure? Absolutely. For heaven's sake, find Kent. We must know where that flute came from. Hurry, please. All right, I'll find him. Kent! Mr. Kent! Well, where are you? Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent! The lives of nine American engineers hang in the balance. Will one of the world's greatest historical secrets go unsolved? And what is happening to Perry White and Lois Lane as their stratoplane comes ever nearer to the danger zone in the Andes Mountains? Follow the amazing developments as the mystery deepens in this strange international drama. Don't miss the thrills and excitement ahead. Tune in and listen with Superman! Don't forget, tune in again for the next thrilling episode with Superman! The bird, it's a plane! It's Superman! Superman is a copyrighted feature appearing in Action Comics magazine. 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