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VOL. V. No. 2 CONTENTS FEBRUARY, 1931

COVER DESIGN H. W. WESSO

 _Painted in Water-Colors from a Scene in "The Tentacles from Below. "_

WEREWOLVES OF WAR D. W. HALL 153

 _The Story of the "Torpedo Plan" and of Capt. Lance's Heroic Part in America's Last Mighty Battle with the United Slavs. _

THE TENTACLES FROM BELOW ANTHONY GILMORE 172

 _Down to Tremendous Ocean Depths Goes Commander Keith Wells in His Blind Duel with the Marauding "Machine-Fish. "_ (A Complete Novelette. )

THE BLACK LAMP CAPTAIN S. P. MEEK 212

 _Dr. Bird and His Friend Carnes Unravel Another Criminal Web of Scientific Mystery. _

PHALANXES OF ATLANS F. V. W. MASON 228

 _Only in Dim Legends Did Mankind Remember Atlantis and the Lost Tribes--Until Victor Nelson's Extraordinary Adventure in the Unknown Arctic. _ (Beginning a Two-Part Novel. )

THE PIRATE PLANET CHARLES W. DIFFIN 261

 _From Earth and Sub-Venus Converge a Titanic Offensive of Justice on the Unspeakable Man-Things of Torg. _ (Conclusion. )

THE READERS' CORNER ALL OF US 277

 _A Meeting Place for Readers of_ ASTOUNDING STORIES. 

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Issued monthly by Readers' Guild, Inc. , 80 Lafayette Street, New York, N. Y. W. M. Clayton, President; Francis P. Pace, Secretary. Entered assecond-class matter December 7, 1929, at the Post Office at New York, N. Y. , under Act of March 3, 1879. Title registered as a Trade Mark inthe U. S. Patent Office. Member Newsstand Group--Men's List. Foradvertising rates address E. R. Crowe & Co. , Inc. , 25 Vanderbilt Ave. , New York; or 225 North Michigan Ave. , Chicago. 

 * * * * *

Werewolves of War

_By D. W. Hall_

[Illustration: _"Hay crosses the gulf, taking with him the cord whichcontrols the electro-magnet. "_ ]

PART I

[Sidenote: The story of the "Torpedo Plan" and of Capt. Lance's heroicpart in America's last mighty battle with the United Slavs. ]

Trapped again!

But this time, Lance swore, they'd not get away without paying dearlyfor it!

Under the mesh of his gas-mask the lean lines of his jaw went taut. Tense, steely fingers flipped to the knobbed control instruments; thegleaming single-seater scout plane catapulted in a screamingsomersault. Lance's ever-wary sixth sense told him the tongues ofdisintegrating flame had licked the plane's protected belly, and forthe fact that it was protected he thanked again his stupendous luck. He pulled savagely at the squat control stick; the four Rahl-Dieselsunleashed a torrent of power; and the slim scout rose like a comet, and hurtled, the altitude dial's nervous finger proclaimed, to tenthousand feet. Lance eased off the power, relaxed slightly, andglanced below. 

They'd started off a squadron of fifteen planes. Thirteen had crumpledbeneath that treacherous, stabbing curtain of disintegrating flame. Only two of them were left--he and Praed. 

Praed, of course!

The fellow's plane was pirouetting nearby. Lance was the squadronleader. He jammed his thin-lipped mouth close to the "mike" andrasped:

"They trapped us again! There's some damn spy at our base. Stand by, Praed! They'll send up a few men to wipe us out, too . .. And we'regoin' to square the account!"

He listened for Praed's answer. Presently it came. 

"I can't! They got two of my motors. I'm limping badly. We'd betterbeat it while we can. "

Lance's mouth curled. He roared:

"Go on, then, beat it! But I'm goin' to take a couple of 'em, anyway. "Disgusted, filled with red anger, he flung the phones from his head, watched Praed's plane whirl its stubby nose for home, settled himselfalertly in the low, padded seat and concentrated his attention on theground below. 

He'd been right. Tiny, gray-clad figures were pouring from theirbarracks, rushing madly towards the dozen or so planes neatly drawn upon the field. Lance's mouth twitched. They probably wondered, downthere, why the devil he didn't beat it--like Praed! He stroked thelever which controlled his five gas bombs, centered his battery ofincendiary-bullet machine-guns and ruthlessly shoved the control stickfull over. 

 * * * * *

The Rahl-Diesels pumped at full power; his plane plummetted downwardswith the speed of light, a hurtling shell of steel. His unexpectedmove took the men below by surprise. Lance knew they needed at leastten minutes to prepare another salvo of disintegrating flame; he hadabout four minutes left. 

There was a restless, thudding chatter, and his bullets began to mowthem down. 

Lance could see the horrified expressions of the men beneath, andchuckled grimly as they sought to escape the wrath of his hot guns. Heflung bursts of spouting, acid-filled lead at the defenseless planes, and saw two of them collapse in shrouds of acrid white smoke. Andstill he dove. 

At a bare one hundred feet he tugged the control stick back, and thetiny scout groaned under the pull of her motors. Then her snout joltedupwards. Lance pounded the gas bomb lever, and smiled a tight smile ashe sensed the five pills sloping down from their compartment in thescout's belly. 

A second later came a rolling, ear-numbing crash. Lance, safe at aperch of a few thousand feet, grinned as his narrowed eyes beheld thesticky curtain of death-crammed gas hug over the enemy base. 

"That'll quiet 'em for a few minutes!" he muttered savagely. 

A few minutes--but not more. And he had no more bombs; his ammunitionbelts were nearly depleted. "I guess, " he murmured, "I'd better followthat quitter, Praed. I've paid 'em for the boys they got, anyway!"

He levelled the plane out, threw a last glance at the carpet of gas hehad laid, and spurred the purring Rahl-Diesels to their limit. Hisspeed dial flashed round to five hundred, five-fifty--seventy--andfinally rested, quivering, at the scout's full six hundred miles perhour. 

Under the streamlined plane's speeding body the gnarled, bomb-tornterrain of Nevada hurtled by. A rather sad frown creased Lance'sprematurely old brow as he glimpsed it. Thousands of lives had beenthrown into that ground; the hot, tumbled waste was doused withfreely-sacrificed blood, the blood of whole regiments of America'sheroic First Home Army. Martyred men! Lance couldn't help swearing tohimself at the bitter thought of that terrible reckoning day. It wasthe price his country had paid for her continued ignoring of thefestering peril overseas. Slaughtered like sheep, those gloriousregiments had been! Helpless, almost, before the ultra-modern warweapons of the United Slav hordes, they'd stopped the numbingly quickadvance merely by the weight of their bodies. Like little Belgium, in1914. They'd held the Slavs to California, ravished, war-desolatedCalifornia. 

 * * * * *

The thin front-line trenches far behind, Lance began a slanting divethat raised his speed well over six hundred. Through the frontmagnifying mirror he spied the squat khaki buildings of his base. Werewolves of War, the batch of planes he belonged to had beenchristened, and it was a richly deserved title. In front of the frontthey fought, detailed to desperate, harrying missions, losing anaverage of ten men a day. The ordeal of gas and fire and acid bulletsadded five years to a man's brow overnight--if he served with theWerewolves of War. 

Lance was only twenty-four, but his hair was splotched with dead graystrands; his eyes were hard and weary; his face lined with newwrinkles. Ah, well, it was war--and a losing war, he had to admit, that they fought. If a miracle didn't come, America would crumble evenas old Europe had, before the overwhelming Slavish troops. 

Even now, as Lance knew through various rumors, the Slavs were massedfor a grand attack. And with what could America hold them back?

His helicopter props spun, and the scout nestled down lightly on thetarmac. Lance switched off the faithful Rahl-Diesels, swung open thetiny door and leaped from the enclosed cockpit. 

"Sir, " he rapped to thin, stern-browed Colonel Douglas, "there's nolonger any doubt in my mind. This is the fifth time we've beenanticipated--trapped! The enemy is informed directly of the attackingplans of our scout details. There's a spy at this base!" He loweredhis eyes for a second and said in a queer tone of voice: "Thirteen of'em went down to-day. "

Colonel Douglas' tired face showed the never-ceasing strain he wasunder. He clasped hands behind his back, took a few nervous turns upand down the small office and finally, with a somewhat hopeless sigh, muttered:

"I know, Lance, I know. The devils! They seem to be aware ofeverything we plan. Yet what can we do? Look at the territory ourfront lines cover! More than two thousand miles of loosely heldground. And we're so damnably organized, man! Look here!"

 * * * * *

He strode to the huge map which covered entirely one wall of thelittle room and ran his forefinger down the long red line, signifyingthe American front, which stretched crookedly from the Canadian borderto the Gulf of California. Parallel to it was another line, ofblack--the United Slavs. 

"It's so damned easy, " Colonel Douglas said, "for a spy to slip over. "He sighed again. "I fought in the scrap of 1917 as a kid of twenty; itwas different then. But this is 1938, and it's a scientific war we'retrying to fight. " He sat down in his swivel chair. "How--how did theywipe you out to-day?"

"That blasted disintegrating flame again, " Lance told him swiftly. "It's obvious, Colonel: how did the Slavs know we were going to raidthat comparatively unimportant base of theirs at such and such a time?They had the flame shooters all ready for us--and at a place wherethey've never had them before! We came up at twenty-five thousandfeet, dropped down in a full power dive, and"--he gesturedwidely--"biff! The flames caught us neatly at the regulation thousandfeet. They got thirteen men. Only two got away, Praed and myself. "His keen eyes were inquiring, and the colonel interpreted their lookcorrectly. 

"Praed, " he murmured. "Yes, I saw him come back, by himself. He saidyou were following. Two of his motors were shot. He seems to bear acharmed life, doesn't he?"

Lance nodded. He didn't like to hint at the thought he had in mind. Itseemed a cowardly, stab-in-the-back thing to do. Yet it was duty, andthere was no questioning duty. 

"I've never seen Praed shoot down an enemy plane, " he said slowly. "This is the fifth time we've been ambushed--and Praed's never beencaught. Somehow, he's always seemed to be aware of what was coming. "

"You mean--?" the colonel questioned. 

Lance shook his head. "I don't want to commit myself, Colonel Douglas, but--I'm suggesting that we--well--keep our eyes peeled, and perhapswatch certain members of the outfit more closely. "

 * * * * *

Douglas rose as his orderly, Ranth, came into the room. "FindLieutenant Praed for me, " the colonel ordered crisply. Then, turningto Lance, he said: "You'd better knock off a few hours' sleep. You areworn out. "

Lance watched the orderly, Ranth, salute and leave. Ranth was heavy, thick-built, with closely set eyes. The young squadron leader wassuddenly conscious that he was, as the colonel said, worn out; hislimbs seemed leaden, his eyelids heavy. "I think you're right, sir, "he murmured, and walked out onto the field. 

Seeing Praed's machine drawn up with the overall-clad figure of amechanic fussing at its motors, he wandered over to survey it. Thescout was an exact replica of his, a model of the famous Goshawk type. It was all motor--everything being sacrificed to speed. On either sideof the stubby brow of the fuselage, which held the death-dealingbattery of three machine-guns, were set the four Rahl-Diesel motors, back to back. The pilot's tiny enclosed cockpit was thus surrounded byengines. In the V-shaped, smooth-lined wings were the two helicopterprops; further back, inside the steel-sheathed, bullet-like fuselage, the radio outfit and fuel tanks. The craft's rounded belly covered thegas bomb compartment. 

The mechanic was a little cockney Englishman, a fugitive, like all hiscountrymen, from the horror which had stricken England suddenly andleft her wallowing in her life blood. He looked up at Lance, and asmile broke forth on his wizened, sharp little face. 

"It's got me beat, sir, " he said in his curious, twanging voice. "Lieutenant Praed, 'e sez to me, 'Somethin' wrong with two of memotors, ' 'e sez. 'They quit on me quite sudden like. Look 'em over, will you?' 'e sez. So I been lookin' 'em over. But they ain't nothin'wrong with the bloody things, sir--nothin' at all!"

"It does seem funny, doesn't it, Wells?" Lance said levelly. He'dknown it all along. Praed was a quitter--a yellow-belly--besidesbeing--But he stopped there. He had no definite proof. It was unjustto accuse a man of _that_ without definite, positive proof. 

The little mechanic muttered some mysterious cockney curse, and thensaid, in an admiring tone:

"'Ow many of the swines' planes 'ave you shot down now, sir?"

"About twenty, I think, " Lance told him gruffly. The cockney shot hisbreath out with a whistle. 

"Cripes! You'll be up to that there Captain Hay soon if you keeps itup, sir!"

Lance laughed. Hay, the almost legendary hero of the American AirForce--who had shot down, so latest rumors said, fifty Slavplanes--was far above him. "I'll never reach Hay's record, Wells. I'llbe doing pretty well if I bag half as many!" Then, seeing Ranth, theorderly, followed by Praed, he strode quickly away and came face toface with the latter. 

 * * * * *

For a moment the two men eyed each other, a taut silence between them. Praed's thin, sun-blackened countenance was immovable, masklike. Hisblue-green eyes met Lance's steadily. Finally Lance snorted and burstout:

"Why the hell did you run away, Praed? Scared stiff?"

Praed's low voice, devoid of all trace of emotion, asked: "What makesyou think I was scared, Lance?"

"You know damn well what makes me think it! That lousy crack aboutyour motors being shot!"

"Two of my motors were limping. "

Lance gave a sarcastic chuckle. "Ask Wells about that, why don't you?He's got a few ideas on the subject. "

Praed repeated: "Two of my motors were limping, " and abruptly heturned away, leaving Lance fuming, and went into Colonel Douglas'office. 

What would Douglas say to him? Accuse him outright of his suspicions?Put him under arrest as a spy? But he couldn't do that: there was, after all, no proof. Lance swore to himself; then, feeling a wave ofweariness surge over him, went to the shack he was quartered in, kicked off his battered boots, stripped away his Sam Browne, and flunghis lean body out on the hard, gray-sheeted cot. Seconds later he waslost in the sleep that comes to the physically exhausted. Thedesperate situation America was in, the whole savage war--everything, faded from his mind. 

But to right and left of that cot stretched others--empty. The bravesquadron Lance had led into the blue sky that morning now lay charredskeletons around the flame-throwers that had struck them down. 

And in a dozen other aircraft bases behind the hard pressed lines wereother empty cots. Time and time again the Slav planes shot down two tothe Americans' one; time and time again the treacherousdisintegrating flames--the weapon which baffled America'sscientists--had struck down whole squadrons that had been lured intotraps, even as Lance's had been lured. 

And even the Slav forces pushed forward. .. . 

PART II

"You're wanted by Colonel Douglas, sir. "

Lance felt a hand jarring his shoulder; he turned sleepily over, yawned, and stared up into the dark, full-cheeked face of Ranth, theorderly. 

"Huh?"

"Colonel Douglas wants you, " repeated Ranth. "It's five o'clock, sir. "

Wearily Lance pulled on his boots and adjusted the military belt. Thenight was hot and sticky; somewhere, miles to the rear of the base, the batteries of long-distance guns were beginning their nightlyserenade. Lance followed the orderly's broad, chunky back to thecolonel's office. 

The colonel gazed up with tired eyes from the welter of maps on hisdesk. 

"Lance, " he said, "I'm changing the routine of the night patrol. Afresh batch of youngsters came in this afternoon to fill the emptyfiles; two dozen new planes arrived by transport, too. I'm sending tenof them over for the night patrol; Stephens will take your place. I'vegot another errand for you--and Praed. "

Lance was conscious that Ranth was standing quietly behind thecolonel's chair. Douglas ordered him to attend to some errand and theorderly left. 

"I had an interview with Praed, " the colonel went on. "I didn'texactly accuse him of anything definite, but I think I threw a bit ofa scare into him. To-night we'll give him the acid test. 

"You and he will fly over to-night to investigate Hill 333. There havebeen rumors that the Slavs are massing there, and we want positiveinformation. There's sure to be a fight. Watch Praed carefully. If hesteers clear of any scrapping, well have enough to court-martial himon. Understand?"

Lance nodded. 

"Right. It's a dangerous errand, Lance, but I'm confident you'll comethrough, as always. There's no one else who could handle the job. God, man, you're getting close to Hay's record! You'll be the top-notcherof the service soon!"

The young man laughed briefly. "No danger of that. When do we takeoff, sir?"

Douglas consulted his watch. "Seven-fifteen. Come and get the dopefrom these maps. Hill 333's rather difficult to find. "

"Anything been happening at the front, sir?"

The colonel passed both fine-fingered hands over his lined face. Hesaid quietly: "Yes. The Slavs took twenty-five miles from us down inthe lower sector. Just wiped our boys out. Those damnableflame-throwers and bullet-proof tanks, supported by God knows how manyhundreds of planes. It's hell, Lance! Headquarters thinks they'regoing to unleash a general attack all along the line in the next fewdays. And our resources--well, our back's against the wall. We'recoming to death grips, man. "

 * * * * *

Seven-fifteen. .. . 

Lance pressed the starting button. His four motors choked, sputtered, then burst into a sweet, full-throated roar. He glanced over atPraed's plane, spun the small helicopter props over and pushed downthe accelerator. The plane quivered, stuck its snout up and leapedlike an arrow into the clean, darkening air. Lance gunned it to tenthousand feet, Praed following him neatly. Praed was a good pilot, nodoubt about that. The two fighting machines hung for a second side byside; Lance eased off his helicopters and streaked away into the gloomat a breath-taking five hundred. 

"I hope, " muttered Colonel Douglas as the two tiny scouts sped fromsight, "that everything goes smoothly. They're the men to do it, anyway. No better pilots in the whole service. "

"Wot abaht that there Captain Hay, sir?" put in Wells, the mechanic, standing nearby. Colonel Douglas smiled. 

"Oh, of course!" he amended. "I'd forgotten Hay!"

Once more they were anticipated! Lance, at thirty thousand feet--theRahl-Diesels, with their perfected superchargers, were easily capableof a ceiling of sixty--had hovered above the position of Hill 333, pulled on his gas-mask and said through the microphone to Praed:

"Power dive to three thousand feet. Release your flares and take inall you can before they send up planes. We'll take 'em by surprise, but there's bound to be a fight. Got it?"

The steady reply came back: "Okay. "

Whereat Lance set his teeth in his customary fighting grin, jockied uphis ammunition belts, glanced at the flare-parachutes folded alongsidethe cabin and plunged the scout in a dive that tipped six hundred andfifty miles and threatened to crack the speed dial. 

 * * * * *

But surprise? Nothing doing! Like angry hornets five Slav planespounced on them at ten thousand feet. They'd been waiting there! Lancecursed savagely. He flung off his flares, Immelmanned up, and in lessthan two seconds had sent one Slav shrieking to the ground in flames. For the moment forgetting Praed, Lance followed after his flares, three Slavs attempting to sight their guns on the twisting, writhing, corkscrewing body of his Goshawk. He knew there were disintegratingflame-throwers below, but gambled on their not shooting because of theenemy scouts diving with him. 

Flattening out at perhaps a thousand feet, Lance threw a rapid stareat the bulk of Hill 333. He drew his breath in sharply. 

Lit dazzlingly by the bleaching white of the slow-floating flares, huge rows of the dreaded Slav tanks were clustered all around thehill!

As he looked, ten more Slav planes came soaring up from the ground. This was too hot! The thought of Praed stabbed through Lance'swhirling brain; he pulled the scout around, doubled over the threeclosing in on his tail, and belched lead for an instant at one he'dcaught off guard. It collapsed like a punctured paper bag. Lancegrinned and bounded to the upper regions. The two other Slavs let thecrazy Yank go for the instant, joining forces with the ten brotherscoming to help them out. 

Lance, again at ten thousand, looked for Praed. Far above, he glimpsedtwo planes, circling and diving. Praed seemed to be fighting, at anyrate! As he watched, the two scouts catapulted still higher; becametiny, almost imperceptible dots, visible only in the reflected lightof the flares. Then Lance felt a shaft of ice along his spine. 

The two planes had practically hugged each other for a second. Thenone of them fell away, somersaulted, tumbled down wildly--out ofcontrol. 

It passed Lance like a falling rock. 

And it was Praed's scout!

"My God!" muttered Lance. "He's been shot down!"

 * * * * *

The next moment the twelve Slavs were on him like a hurricane. Motorsroaring, Lance stood them off--flinging a burst of lead here, droppingout of range here, looping, catapulting, zooming--fazing them withevery trick he knew. A dozen times he sensed the zinging wrath ofstorms of bullets, a dozen times he escaped death by the breadth of ahair. Not for nothing was he called one of the best pilots in theservice, second only to Hay. 

He bagged another of the Slavs, and began to think of getting away. Praed had proved himself, but had been killed in doing so. He's gotthe dope on Hill 333. Now for the getaway. 

As he whirled, another Slav plane--the one that had got Praed--dovedown from above. And, in the last second of the ghostly light of theflares, Lance's bewildered eyes saw the face of the man inside it. 

_That face was Praed's!_

Praed, inside an enemy scout! Praed firing at him! Praed, not dead!

Lance was dumbfounded. He almost died, just then, for he felt hissenses stagger, and relaxed his maneuvering. Praed! What--how--Hecouldn't begin to reckon it out. 

If the flares hadn't died at that instant, Lance must have been shotdown. Luckily, they expired; pitch darkness washed over everything. The lights on the Slav planes switched on, their prying beamsfingering the sky for Lance's plane. But Lance was somewhat himselfagain. He jammed the accelerator down, dove headlong, flattened outand streaked for home. The speed of the Goshawk snatched himfaithfully from the jaws of the Slavs. He left then milling behind. Left Praed with them!

 * * * * *

Colonel Douglas was waiting for him. Lance's face must have been astudy, for the elder man laughed shortly. "You need a drink!" hedecided, and poured out a stiff tot of rum. Lance downed it with anervous gulp and sprawled in a chair, the glass held weakly inquivering fingers. 

Dead silence brooded over the whole base. Even the muttering guns werestill. One green-shaded light threw the maps on Douglas' desk intoglaring prominence; besides that, there was no illumination anywherein the 'drome. Lance knew he had a thumping headache and that his eyeswere lumps of pain. The glass fell from his hand and crashed on thefloor. It seemed to stir the young captain, for at last he looked upand met the colonel's inquiring gaze. 

"Well?" The colonel was terse. 

"I saw Praed shot down, " Lance mumbled, as if to himself, "and then Isaw him--"

"Wait!" Douglas strode rapidly to the door which led to the otherrooms of the building. After glancing to right and left, with anexplanatory "Walls sometimes have ears, you know!" he locked the doorcarefully again, came back, and said:

"Talk in a whisper! How about Hill 333?"

"Tanks massed there, " Lance said slowly. "Yeh, I saw that, all right. They must be intending an attack on that sector. But--but--Praed--"

"What happened?"

Lance told him of the scrap, how Praed's plane had apparently rubbedwings with a Slav and then tumbled down, out of control. He concluded:"I figured that Praed was all right, that he'd proved himself, that hewasn't a spy, as we'd thought. _But the next moment I saw him in theSlav plane that had bagged his!"_

His wondering eyes sought the colonel's lean face. Lance expected tosee it express amazement, incredulity. It didn't, though. He laughed!

 * * * * *

While Lance gaped, the older man went to the delicate machinery of theradiophone in one corner of the trim office. He clasped the earphonesover his head, and spoke into the mike: "Headquarters, Air Force, Washington, Douglas, Base 5, speaking. "

A tense moment passed while his radio call was put through. Presentlya green light flashed on the board. Douglas said swiftly:"Headquarters? Base 5, Colonel Douglas. Tanks massed around Hill 333;enemy evidently contemplates full attack on corresponding sector ofour line. They know a scout of ours observed it, however; perhaps thatwill induce them to change their plans. This next is extremelyimportant: _The first step of the Torpedo Plan has been successful!"_

For awhile he listened intently, replying with short-clippedaffirmatives. Then he hung the headphones up and turned to thebewildered Lance. Colonel Douglas laughed again and rubbed his handsexultantly. 

"What the hell--" Lance began. The other pulled out a drawer of hisdesk and took from it a small placard. 

"Do you recognize the photo?" he asked smilingly. 

Lance looked at it. It was the picture of a man in the uniform of acaptain of the Air Force, a row of battle ribbons on his straight, khaki-clad chest. But it was the figure's face that Lance stared at. 

"Sure, " he said finally. "It's a picture of Praed. But what--"

"Not Praed, " corrected the colonel. "Not Praed. Captain Basil Hay. "

PART III

"Good Lord!" Lance exclaimed without knowing he did so. Praed--Hay!The same man! Then that was the secret; that explained things! Hay, the hero of the force!

"You're entitled to a few explanations, " Douglas said. "I'll give youthe core of the whole scheme. There's no need to tell you that it mustbe guarded with your life. " He drew his chair closer to Lance's. 

"Yes, it's true. The man you knew as Praed in reality is Captain Hay. You see, Lance, headquarters was taking no chances with what I justcalled the Torpedo Plan. Every move had to be conducted with theutmost secrecy. Had to be! For the Torpedo Plan is, in some ways, America's last hope. 

"Our base, No. 5, was chosen as the center of activity, the base fromwhich the steps paving the way for the plan would be taken. The twobest pilots in the service were needed. You and Hay were chosen. 

"It was decided it would be best to mask Hay's real identity. So, officially, he was sent to the hospital; in reality he came here, under the name of Praed. Why? Because there's a spy somewhere--wedon't seem to be able to track him; he's infernally clever--and if thefamous Captain Hay was switched to Base 5, putting the two bestpilots in the service together, that spy'd know something was in theair. Understand?"

Lance nodded dumbly. A great light was beginning to shower him. 

"To more completely mask our true purpose, " the colonel continued, "Hay was instructed to make it appear as if he were a spy. And it wasa damned hard job! The real spy, whoever he is, and wherever he is, would thus be additionally fooled; for all he'd know, the Slavs mighthave sent another over to back him up. That's why Hay never shot downan enemy plane. Says something about his skill as a pilot, doesn't it?Never able to defend himself, save by maneuvering. He's a greatflyer!"

Lance could only nod dumbly again. 

"After a couple of weeks at this base, " Douglas went on, "Hay was tocross the lines one night with you accompanying him. You, unintentionally, would thus occupy the enemy planes while Hay attendedto the real business of the evening. And you did splendidly!"

"The real business?" Lance questioned. "What the devil was that? Ithought the real business was to get the dope on Hill 333. "

"So it was--partially. But also to take the first step of the TorpedoPlan, which was for Hay to switch over to a Slav plane. "

_"What?"_

 * * * * *

The colonel repeated his statement, somewhat dryly. Lance's square jawdropped abruptly. "But--but--" he exclaimed, "how the devil could hedo that?"

Colonel Douglas grinned. 

"By a very neat contraption from the brain of one of our most valuablescientists, " he explained. "Hay's scout was specially fitted up beforeyou left; while you were sleeping, in fact. Two experts fromWashington arrived with that batch of new recruits this afternoon. Atiny sliding door was cut in the fuselage of the scout and a sort offolding ladder put inside. It was motivated by some rather complexspring-work; but the really ingenious thing about it was the powerfulelectro-magnet at its base. 

"It's rather over my head, " he smiled. "I'm a plain fighting man, andsometimes it seems that scientists and not fighting men are going towin this war. .. . But, at any rate, it worked like this:

"Hay lures, or maneuvers, a Slav plane away from its fellows, andwhile you're down below entertaining the others, flies wing to wingwith it. He touches the spring of his ladder and it shoots out, powerfully magnetized, and clamps onto the steel fuselage of the Slav. The automatic control keeps Hay's scout steady, and the ladder is sohighly attractive that the Slav simply can't get away. Hay crosses thegulf, taking with him the cord which controls the electro-magnet. Heforces his way into the Slav, shoots down its pilot, releases the pullof the magnet, and--there you are! Our best pilot in possession of aSlav plane, and clad in a Slav officer's uniform! Do you get the ideanow?"

Lance strove for appropriate words. "Gee!" he spluttered. "It's--it'swonderful! And to think I tried to start a fight with Hay! I wish I'dknown before. But I suppose, " he added, "it was best to let not evenme in on it, to keep it absolutely secret. "

"Exactly!"

"And now what's Hay's mission?" Lance asked eagerly. 

 * * * * *

Colonel Douglas' face became sober. "A damnably dangerous one, and amighty desperate one. As I said, the Torpedo Plan, which Hay isstriving to carry out, seems to be America's last chance. We'reholding the United Slavs, but only just. We simply can't break theirline or make any headway against them; and when they do unleash theirbig push, there's nothing to stop them! So we're gambling everythingon this slim hope. 

"American science, " he continued, "has perfected a weapon which iscalled the 'flying torpedo. ' It's a ghastly thing, too. Damn it, Iactually feel sorry for the poor devils it bursts on! It's a sort ofriposte to their disintegrating flame. 

"Picture a huge tanklike affair of steel, one hundred feet long. Picture a few dozen of them! Picture them crammed to overflowing withtons of glyco-scarzite, the most destructive explosive the mind of manhas yet conceived. An explosive that can't be hurled in a shell andcan't be dropped in a bomb from a plane. A pound or so of it, man, lays waste a square mile of anything! Even our scientists are a bitafraid of it. They've been trying to think up a way of unleashing itat the Slavs. And these flying torpedoes seem to be the answer. 

"The torpedoes are purely mechanical. Therefore, they can soar to anyheight whatsoever. Twenty, thirty, even forty miles. All right. Now, picture a dozen or so of these torpedoes soaring over the mostimportant Slav bases and headquarters, thirty miles above the earth, at night, of course, and absolutely invisible to the most powerfulsearch-rays. They fly without the slightest sounds. Get that? Well, when this squadron of awful death arrives at the exact point over theplace to be demolished, the motive force switches off and down theycrash. Imagine what will happen when they collide with the ground!"Douglas, with Lance's tense eyes on him, struck a clenched fist intoan open palm. 

"Tons of glyco-scarzite, Lance! Unleashed, without warning, from milesabove! Thirty of these torpedoes, each a hundred feet long, droppingdown on the very heart of the Slav invasion! Killing, blowing to bits, rather, every living thing, every fortification, every tree, everytank, every gun, every flame thrower, every plane in a radius ofhundreds of miles!"

"God!" came from Lance's numb lips. "God!"

"_But_"--and the colonel held up a straight forefinger--"thesetorpedoes must be guided from the place they raid!"

Into the silence Lance whispered: "And that--that is Hay's job?"

"That, " Douglas confirmed levelly, "is Hay's job--and yours. "

 * * * * *

Their eyes met; held. And then Lance's clean young face smiled. 

"Thank God, sir, " he cried, "that I'm to help strike the blow that'llfree our country!"

Colonel Douglas answered his smile with a smile. "Lance, " he said, "it's because Washington has put this job into Hay's and your handsthat I know--_I know_--it will succeed. "

"It will!"

Douglas lowered his voice again. "This is why those flying torpedoesmust be guided from the Slav's innermost base. 

"In the first place, they fly too high for an accompanying plane toguide them. In the second, the power that releases them to hurtledownwards must come from the enemy base itself, to permit of nopossible error. This must not fail!"

"But, " put in Lance, "how do the torpedoes fly? What motivates them?"

"A closely guarded secret, of course, " he was told. "I merely possessa slight comprehension of it. I know that it is an adaptation of thatdiscovery of Professor Singe, two years ago--cosmic attraction. Eventually, perhaps, it will permit interplanetary travel. This use ofit is simply the beginning. But it is to America's everlasting glorythat a scientist of hers developed it. 

"You know how a sliver of wood is propelled by the ripples of a pond?Vibrations of the water, really. Well, evidently there are somewhatsimilar vibrations in the ether, cosmic force. Each one of theseflying torpedoes contains a highly expensive, intricate mechanismwhich transforms this invisible vibration-power into materialpropulsion. The mechanism is adjusted to propel the torpedo at such analtitude in such a direction. We possess no means of setting themachines to _stop_ at a certain place and so tumble earthwards. That'swhere you and Hay come in. 

"Hay is now, with forged documents, passing himself off as a regularSlav pilot. He speaks the tongue. Two nights from now, you, Lance, keep a rendezvous with Hay at an isolated ranch in the Lake Tahoecountry--the Sola Ranch, where we staged that big fight a few monthsback. "

 * * * * *

Lance nodded. 

"In your plane is an instrument which is the kernel of the scheme. Itarrives here to-morrow. It's a device which shoots an invisible beamfifty miles into the air, a negative beam, in sympathy with themachinery on the torpedoes. Hay sets this device near the Slavheadquarters. The torpedo squadron takes off from a few hundred milesbehind here, flying in the direction of the heart of the Slav forces. When they run into the beam, their motive power is nullified, and downthey fall. Crash! The Slavs are wiped out. Our troops charge forwardin a grand attack; the Slavs, with no armament, no reinforcing troops, no supply of tanks and flame throwers, crumple. The invasion ofAmerica is put to an end!"

Lance rose. His face was alight, his eyes burning with strong, unquenchable fire. 

"It's great, sir, great! It can't fail! By God, if it takes every lastdrop of my blood, I'll help Hay put this through!"

Colonel Douglas extended his right hand and Lance's met it in a firmshake. In the thick silence they stood thus for some minutes. Then, without moving so much as a cheek muscle, the colonel whispered, hiseyes tense:

"_The door! Fling it open! I think someone's been listening!_"

Lance switched his alarmed gaze to it. His muscles went taut. The nextmoment he had leaped half across the room, jammed back the lock, andripped the door wide. 

At the other end of the dim passageway he glimpsed a scurrying figure!

Lance sprang after it with a shout to Douglas. Tearing out hisautomatic, he flung a burst of lead at the figure, but that instant itwheeled and sped from sight down another passage. And when Lance gotthere, no one was in sight. 

 * * * * *

For awhile he probed around, desperately, but could find no sign ofanything. The base slept. Sorely troubled, he returned to find thecolonel just coming back from an equally barren search:

"Don't think he heard much, " said Douglas grimly. "It must have beenthat damned spy who's been getting information of our movements. I'llhave the guards redoubled to prevent him from getting anythingthrough. " He smiled at sight of Lance's anxious face. "No need for toomuch worry, Lance! He couldn't have heard much--the walls aresound-proof and the door fairly tight. Now, you go and rip off somesleep! You need it! No more work for you till Wednesday night--you'retoo important!"

Sleep! Lance only wished he could. But the thrill of what he'd justheard was too fresh, too new; the blood pumped surgingly through hisveins; his brain whirled with the thought of the glorious enterprisehe and Hay were aiding so vitally. 

Then, too, the night was humid and sweaty. For a while Lance lay onhis cot, other sleeping figures to left and right of him, but his owneyes simply would not stay closed. Finally, after perhaps an hour oftrying to doze off, he arose and, clad only in breeches andundershirt, wandered outside again with a cigarette glowing in hismouth. 

The war might not have been, the night was so silent. Lance strolledlazily around the plane hangars, revelling in what little breeze therewas. He seemed to be the only living thing abroad in the night. 

Then, suddenly, he flung down his cigarette and ground the butt outquickly. For he saw he was not the only living thing abroad in thenight. Sliding rapidly away from the end hangar was a dark form!

Lance crouched instinctively and crept forward. Who was the otherwanderer? Not a sentry: they paced a regular beat closer to Douglas'office. Not another, who, like himself, could not sleep and had soughtthe open. This figure was going somewhere! It had a definite object inmind!

Sheltering himself behind the hangars' bulk, Lance advanced asstealthily as he could. Coming to the end one, he peered round itsblunt corner. Fifty yards ahead, crossing a stubbly stretch of openground, the mysterious prowler hurried onward. 

 * * * * *

The night was dark, the moon troubled by ragged bursts of listless, heavy clouds. Lance bent almost double and left the shelter of theblack hangar. Feeling his way carefully, he followed the other. 

Was this the unknown spy? The spy, going to transmit the news he hadoverheard?

Lance muttered a curse. He had no weapon with him; the spy, if he werea spy, would certainly be armed. But that didn't matter; it was merelyunfortunate. He must track the other down, at all cost. 

For some minutes he crept on in this manner. The other kept hurryingforward. Lance noted a clump of brush far ahead; the figure wasevidently making for this. And sure enough, as if acting directly onLance's thought, the dark form entered the patch of growth--and didnot come out on the other side. 

Lance broke into a trot, eyes wary and alert for sign of his prey. Atany second he might be greeted by a salvo of bullets, and every fiberof his lean body was taut. 

As he approached the clump of brush he dropped to the ground, and camefinally to it on his belly. From a distance of about ten feet, he roseand charged. 

Expecting each moment to hear the spit of a revolver, he was morealarmed by what actually did greet him. 

Nothing. The patch of brush was empty!

"Well I'll be damned!" Lance murmured. "Where did he get to?"

He gazed around, bewildered. The growth of bush was about ten feetwide. On either side the flat Nevada plain stretched away--empty. Nofigure was visible. 

Lance was utterly baffled. The fellow had vanished as if by magic. Flown away into thin air!

 * * * * *

The young captain stood quite still, listening, probing his puzzledbrain. 

Then, like a cat, he dropped to the ground again, and pressed an earto it. For his ears had caught a tiny betraying hum. 

A hum! There was a machine of some type near him. He listenedintently. The hum came from the ground on which he lay. There had tobe a trap-door. 

Lance's fingers scrabbled around, and presently found what they lookedfor. 

He seized the ring which enabled one to pull the trap-door back, andwas just about to pull when he heard, from below, a voice speaking inRussian. It was, then, the spy!

Lance grasped the ring anew, and, exerting all his strength, hauledthe trap-door back. 

A narrow passageway was revealed, lit by a lamp. The hum burst withdoubled force on his ears. He plunged down, fists clenched, and halftumbled into a tiny room gouged from the soil. 

At one end was a mass of machinery, and a microphone hung suspendedbefore it. And speaking into the microphone was the heavy-set form ofa man in American uniform, his back to Lance. As the latter chargeddown, he rose with an alarmed shout, and wheeled around. 

"My God!" breathed Lance. 

It was Ranth, Colonel Douglas' orderly!

 * * * * *

Ranth!

His dark face flushed with fury, he came leaping from his seat. Thewicked little revolver hung at his belt sprang out, but Lance's rightfist shot forward, knocked Ranth's hand high and sent the gunclattering to the ground. Then, for a moment, they faced each other, the hum of the radiophone droning an ominous accompaniment. 

"You!" Lance muttered. "So you were the spy!"

Ranth answered him with a choked oath and leaped forward again. 

There were no niceties to that combat. It was a matter of life anddeath, and each knew it. Ranth would kill him, Lance knew, if hepossibly could; and he, he had to kill or capture Ranth. Otherwise thenews of the Torpedo Plan would go through, Ranth would return to thebase, and the secret of the hidden radio never be known. Another wouldbe put in Lance's place; and when Hay kept his rendezvous at SolaRanch. .. . 

He had to win. 

No effort was made at defense, for those first few furious minutes. Averitable fusillade of hurtling fists stormed through the air. Theyeach gave and took equally. Then Ranth's heavy shoulders bunched;cunningly he feinted, then, whirling, swung a vicious right hand smashto Lance's chin. 

Lance reeled, fell, seeing Ranth's hate-contorted visage dance queerlyin the close air before him. The orderly clutched for his revolver, and Lance bounded up as if spring-impelled, nailed the other with twolightninglike jabs and unleashed all his strength in an uppercutwhich sprawled Ranth in a limp, quivering heap. 

 * * * * *

Panting, Lance surveyed him, then turned to get the gun. He felt theshock of thudding flesh in his legs, and fell again with Ranthscrambling on top of him. Steel-ribbed hands pounced on his throat, gouged savagely, while the man above grunted thick curses from hisslavering mouth. Lance struggled fiercely; saw a curtain of black rushdown. Desperately he hooked a booted leg up, craned it over Ranth'sback, tugged. The terrible fingers loosened. Lance shook them off, rolled the other over and leaped once more to his feet, right handclenched and ready. 

Ranth staggered up. The young man measured him, pivoted, and smashedhis beefy jaw with a clean swing that had every ounce of Lance's hardyoung body behind it. 

The orderly shot back as if struck by a locomotive. He crashed intothe radiophone, splintered the delicate instruments and slumped, eyesglazed, to the ground. 

He was out. Dead out. 

But how much bad he got through on the radiophone before beingstopped?

Had he told where the rendezvous, was to be? Told the time and place, and warned the Slavs to look for Hay?

Lance sighed, and was conscious that his left eye was rapidly closing, that a lip was split and his whole body sore. He slung Ranth over hisshoulders and trudged wearily back to the base. 

He told his story to Colonel Douglas' amazed ears. Ranth, come back tolife, was slapped in handcuffs, and for some time the colonel put himthrough a stern inquisition. 

But his lips were sealed. He would not divulge how much he hadsucceeded in passing on to the Slavs. 

"A brave man, " Douglas observed grimly when Ranth was carried off tothe brig, "but it's death for him, the same as it would be death forHay were he caught. "

"I don't think he had a chance to get much across, sir, " Lance said. "I was right on him almost as soon as he got there. You won't let thiscancel our rendezvous?"

Douglas' thin lips smiled narrowly. "No. You'll be taking a greaterchance, Lance, but we must gamble on how much the Slavs know. You'regame, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!"

 * * * * *

Wednesday night came. Thunderstorms muttered to each other on thelowering horizons; gusts of fierce, wind-driven rain slanted down onthe dripping base; occasionally a crooked finger of lightning probedthe black sky and lit the whole sopping countryside with a searing, flashing glare. 

The night patrol had taken off. A single plane, wet and gleaming underthe sobbing heavens, stood on the tarmac, two heavily coated figuresbefore it. Presently three more figures, carrying some bulky blackobject carefully between them, emerged from one of the buildings. Tenderly they placed this object in the lone plane, which had beenstripped of radio outfit and gas bomb compartment to provide room. Then the two original figures were left alone once more before thefighting machine. Far to the rear, the heavy American guns barked intheir regular nightly bombardment. 

"A good night for it, " Colonel Douglas, scanning the sky, said, "andalso a bad one. If only that damned lightning would stop!"

Lance, pulling on thick gloves, did not reply. The colonel consultedhis watch. 

"What time do you make it?" he asked. 

"Exactly eight, " the other answered. 

"Right. At eight-six, you leave. At nine, on the dot, you meet Hay atSola Ranch. At nine-ten, the torpedoes take off. At quarter to ten, they arrive over their destination--San Francisco and the surroundingterritory. And quarter to ten, if things go correctly--which theymust!--is the minute that ends the Slavish invasion of America. At tenminutes to ten, five minutes after the torpedoes strike, our troopscharge forward in general attack. God be with you, Lance! The fate ofAmerica is resting on your shoulders to-night, remember!"

"I'm remembering. "

 * * * * *

Colonel Douglas looked at the young man's grim, set face, looked athis lithe, clean-limbed figure and his steady black eyes which burnedwith a purposeful fire. And the colonel smiled. 

"We'll win!" he said. 

An orderly sped from his office, saluted, and rapped crisply:

"Order just received from Washington, sir, to proceed. "

Lance clasped Douglas' hand, and leaped into the snug, enclosedcockpit. The four motors bellowed as the thin-sprayed oil cascaded tothem. The helicopter props spun around. 

"Go to it, kid!" cried Douglas. "Spy or no spy, you're coming out ontop! And give Hay a last handshake for me!"

And he swung to the salute. 

Lance extended his hand. Then he gave his ship the gun, and the tiny, streamlined scout teetered, roared, and rose with a scream into thedripping darkness high above. 

The Torpedo Plan had started. 

PART IV

Lance hung for a moment at one thousand feet. A crack of lightning litthe base below for a second, and he perceived the colonel's straightfigure with hand outstretched. Lance grinned, and gunned to fortythousand--an easy flying height, with his superchargers pumping andair-rectifiers normalizing the enclosed pilot's seat. 

"But what, " he wondered, as he stopped the helicopters, "did he meanby 'give a _last_ handshake'?"

He was soon to find out. 

Behind him, in the fuselage, nestled the weird cluster of machinerywhich was the Singe beacon. It certainly did not look imposing--a massof spidery tubes mazing round a bulky black box, which was, Lanceguessed, some new type of generator. Out of the top of the devicesprouted a funnel-like horn, from which, on the adjustment of thebeacon's control studs, shot the nullifying ray. Lance could notsuppress a shiver as he thought of the earth-shaking cataclysm thatray would conjure from the infinitely high heavens. 

At forty thousand feet he was above the storm clouds, whose pitchy, vapor-drenched blackness effectively blanked out all sign of theearth. He might have been flying in outer space. Keeping a careful eyeon his instruments, he set a course for Sola Ranch. He kept his speedaround three hundred, wishing to meet Hay exactly at nine. 

But--would Hay be there?

How much did the Slavs know? How much had Ranth got through before hestopped him?

A frown creased his brow. It was best not to puzzle over thatquestion. Best just to go ahead, and keep going. 

 * * * * *

At about three minutes to nine he set the plane's nose down throughveils of clammy cloud. This was mountainous country, sparselypatrolled by Slav ships. Lance hovered cautiously over the firredmountain tops, getting his directions, shooting wary eyes through themagnifying mirrors in search of enemy scouts. He saw none. Satisfied, he cut the Rahl-Diesels, gunned the helicopter props and droppedlightly down on the stubbly field of Sola Ranch. 

To left and right loomed the dim outlines of the lonely mountains. Before the war, the owner of Sola Ranch had grown apples; this fieldhad housed a few horses. It made a perfect meeting place--secluded, misty with the clinging mountain vapors, far apart from the war. 

Lance felt like a prowling werewolf there, waiting for its ghostlymate. 

Rain was still splattering in desultory bursts, but distance muted therumbling salvos' of thunder. His watch told him it was one minute tonine. 

Now--what?

Hay, or a swooping squadron of Slav planes?

Lance stepped out of the cockpit into the rain, though holding himselftensely ready to leap back again and soar away. He stared around, andpeered above. 

Was that a shadow?--a nightmare flying bird?--or a plane?

He grasped a hand-flash, and rapidly signalled his identity. The nextinstant, it seemed, the shadow wavered, then fell earthward with greatspeed. 

Out of the gloom and rain it came--an enemy plane. 

It dropped down beside his scout. From its cockpit came a few swiftflashes of light. 

Hay!

 * * * * *

Lance ran eagerly over to the other plane, and out from its enclosedcabin stepped the man he had known as Praed. 

Wordlessly, they gripped hands. Hay's thin, straight face wore asmile, and he met Lance's eyes keenly. Lance stammered:

"S-sorry, Captain Hay, about--about the way I treated you at the base. You see, I had no idea who you were. "

Hay cut short his apologies with a laugh. "Rot! I'd've been the sameway myself. " He glanced rapidly at Lance's plane. "Got it?" hequestioned. "I'm a bit late; had a hell of a time getting here withoutarousing suspicion. We'd best hurry. "

Lance nodded. They hurried to the Goshawk. As they worked, carefullylifting out the Singe beacon, Lance, in crisp, short-clippedsentences, told his companion of Ranth, the spy. 

"You don't know how much he got through?"

"No, " said Lance. "No. "

"Hm-m. Well, we'll have to trust to luck. "

"You know the working of the beacon?" Lance asked. On the other's nodof affirmation he continued: "What's your plan?"

"Light about five miles this side of Frisco itself, just near the mainSlav military base. Anywhere in that territory would do, though. Thebeacon doesn't go up in a narrow ray; it spreads, diffuses. Thesquadron of torpedoes will cover some fifty or sixty miles of ground, I believe. They'll utterly demolish the city, and every damned Slav init. " His face, in the darkness, went grim and hard. "And it'll damnwell pay them back, " he rasped, "for the horrible way they massacredSan Francisco's population. .. . "

 * * * * *

The Singe beacon was in his plane. Hay turned to Lance, stretching outhis hand for a farewell clasp. Then Lance asked the question that hadbeen worrying him. 

"Colonel Douglas told me to give you a last handshake for him. _Last. _Why did he say that?"

"Because, " Hay said smilingly, "I'm staying by the beacon to make surethat nothing goes wrong. I guess that's why he said it, oldfellow. .. . "

Lance gasped: "You're sacrificing your life?"

"Of course. To save seventy-five million others. "

Then suddenly they both stared above. 

A roar of sound--of purring motors, of props, mixed with the chatterof a dozen machine-guns--had belched with numbing suddenness from thelow-hanging clouds. 

Enemy planes! A patrol of them!

"God!" jerked Lance. "Ranth's warning got through! Part of it, anyway!"

He leaped for his plane, shouting: "I'll hold 'em off! You get away_quick_!" and, through a veritable hail of lead, sprang into thecockpit. 

Then, a cold pang at his heart, he sprang out again. 

A bullet had caught Hay!

 * * * * *

For a moment, the Slav fire ceased, while their planes zoomed up tostart another death-dealing dive. And in that moment Lance was atHay's side, where he had fallen. 

"They--got me, " whispered Hay, a stream of blood welling from hisgasping mouth. "I'm--I'm going. C-carry me to--to your plane. I'vestill a--a little strength left. You take the beacon. I--I'll holdthem--as--as long as--I can. Put through that beacon, boy! _Put itthough!_"

His brain a maelstrom, Lance stared at the crumpled figure. It was theonly way! He heard the motors above come roaring down again;desperately he carried the blood-choking Hay to his own plane; proppedhim limply at the controls. Bullets spat through a frenzy of noise. Weakly Hay started the Goshawk's Diesels, and weakly, into Lance'sface, smiled, and beckoned him to leave. 

And, as Lance, a grim resolve at his heart, turned, Hay'sblood-frothed lips formed the words: "Carry on!"

Through the raining lead, seeming to bear a charmed life, Lance leapedto Hay's plane, hearing as he did so his own, with a stricken pilot atits controls, hurtle upwards. 

Carry on! For the life of America!

Carry on!

 * * * * *

Ten minutes past the hour of nine. A full thousand miles behind thelines, on the wide black field of America's major war base, a smallgroup of men stood, surveying the awesome weapons assembled there. 

Row upon row of huge, dully-gleaming cigar-shaped things stretchedaway into the darkness before them. There were only one or two faintlights to give illumination, and the night choked in on them, makingthem terrifying. 

They resembled, more than anything else, half-sized dirigibles, beingroughly about one hundred feet long and perhaps as much as thirtyfeet high. At first sight, they seemed to be numberless; then, as thebewildered eye became more sane, one could count them and see thatthere were, in reality, about thirty. Their prows were stubby; in theport side of each a tiny trap-door yawned, and standing by everytrap-door was the overall-clad figure of a mechanic, waiting for thesignal. 

The Commander of the American Air Force looked up from hiswrist-watch. At his side was a peculiar gnomelike figure, a figurewith hunched, twisted back and huge, over-heavy head. This wasProfessor Singe, and from that ridiculous head had come the germ whichhad finally expanded into the torpedoes arrayed before him. 

His eyes were nervous; his crooked face twitched ceaselessly. "Time?"he kept asking. "Time? Is it yet time?" And finally the tall figure ofthe Commanding Officer turned and rapped: "Time!"

 * * * * *

An aide-de-camp raised a hand. As if working by some mechanicaldevice, the figure which stood by each torpedo climbed through thetrap-doors, jumped out a second later, and came running to the head ofthe field. 

"About thirty seconds, " muttered Singe nervously, eyes alight. "Thirtyseconds for their motors to catch the stream. Thirty--ah!"

For the squadron of man-made horrors had stirred. 

"God pity San Francisco!" murmured the Commanding Officer, and steppedback involuntarily as the whole fleet lifted their glyco-scarzitecrammed bellies from the field and, as if moved by some magical, unseen, unheard force, shot up into the darkness with ever gatheringspeed. 

"God pity it, indeed!" chuckled Singe exultantly. "It'll need it!"

The C. O. Sighed and shook his head slowly. "War!" he mused. "And yet, it's our only chance. " For a moment he paused, seemingly unconsciousof the macabre little form next to him, still gazing aloft at the nowinvisible torpedoes, and then muttered:

"And God pity Basil Hay, who's giving his life to America--a glorious, unselfish hero. God pity Basil Hay!"

 * * * * *

American flyers never knew of Basil Hay's last fight. Had they, itwould have become legendary. 

For Hay fought a grim battle against two foes. One, he could face andconquer, as he had conquered often before. But the other lurked nextto his dauntless heart, and it Hay could not subdue. 

It was death. 

Truly, Hay's fight there in the wet clouds above Sola Ranch was aninspired one. He fought almost by instinct alone, instinct twentyyears of piloting had planted deep in his veins. He fought forLance--for America. His eyes, glazing rapidly, could not distinguishthe roaring phantoms that laced around his lone plane, but uncannilyhis bursts of fire went home again and again, while theirs rippedaimlessly over the Goshawk's hell-driven snout. 

Of course it could not last. Gallant spirit alone kept Basil Hay tautat his controls. Spirit alone thrust back the ever-increasing surge ofblack oblivion that pounded at his heart and brain. Spirit alone sentthe pitifully outnumbered plane corkscrewing in peerless maneuveringsthat baffled the on-passing Slavs and thrust four of them to thesodden ground in flame. Spirit that would not surrender--but had to. 

They could never have conquered Basil Hay in a plane. An ambushingbullet that caught him off guard did that. And finally Hay fell. 

But he had kept them for ten full minutes. Ten minutes--each one alasting, mute testimony to his unquenchable, unyielding spirit. 

He flung a last salvo from his hot machine-guns, then, heart numbing, jerked back the control-stick and careened high. He slumped down. Theplane paused, wallowed crazily for a moment, and then roaredearthward, "Carry on!" formed faintly on its dead pilot's bloody lips. 

Basil Hay had fought his last fight. 

Ten minutes. .. . 

Lance hadn't expected that long. He'd thought Hay would die in a fewseconds. The man was mortally wounded; could not last. 

Nevertheless, minutes or seconds, he was entrusted with the Singebeacon, and it was his job and his will to put it through. 

He'd climbed the Slav plane up to its ceiling, driven it till itsimply refused to go higher, and then roared on towards San Francisco. Each second he expected to see others come hurtling after him. Whenthey did not, he knew how really great Hay's will was. It was aninspiring example. 

But his brain was tortured by a multitude of conflicting doubts. Apatrol of Slav scouts had ambushed them. Just how much did the Slavsknow, then, about the torpedoes?

He, Lance, had to guide the Singe beacon. Quickly he reviewed what Hayhad told him. 

"Light about five miles this side of Frisco. Anywhere in thatterritory would do, though. The beacon doesn't go up in a narrow ray;it spreads, diffuses. "

_Spreads, diffuses. _

Hay had been clad in Slav uniform, and thus could, with a certainmeasure of safety, put the beacon machinery on the ground itself. ButLance was in American uniform; if he landed, he ran great risk ofbeing noticed and attacked at once. 

Lance saw immediately that there was only one way out. It was suredeath, but Hay had expected death, and so must he. 

His lips set in stern resolve. It meant good-by--farewell to the girlhe'd left behind, farewell to life, farewell to everything--but notfor a second did he debate the course he would take. 

 * * * * *

Lance glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty. The torpedoes were even nowon their way, hurtling along miles above the earth. In fifteen minutesthey would be over San Francisco. In fifteen minutes the Singe beaconhad to meet them. 

He was not familiar with the Slav plane's instruments, but he judgedhe'd traveled some hundred and twenty-five miles; was nearing theoutskirts of San Francisco. The air below would be thick, probably, with enemy scouts, but his appearance should pass unchallenged as longas they didn't glimpse his betraying uniform. 

He set the plane's nose down in a long slanting dive. 

Whipping through the clouds, the guarding search-rays of San Franciscowere soon visible. Lance saw a few patrols of enemy scouts; he clungto the clouds, decreased his speed, and began circling over the heartof the metropolis itself. 

Twenty to ten. 

Occasionally a Slav plane flashed by him. Thank God, they didn'tchallenge! Lance went still lower. Finally, at a thousand feet, he setthe helicopter props in motion and hung in mid-air--directly above thevery center of the city. 

Sixteen minutes to ten. 

Now!

 * * * * *

In the American front-line trenches, massed troops crouchedexpectantly. Clustered on every air base were flights of planes, eachone crammed with bombs. Far behind, the Yank gun-crews edged nervouslyup to their mighty charges, and fingered anxiously the stubby gasshells which soon would be flung through the dripping night. 

And at Base No. 5 a very uneasy Colonel Douglas paced back and forthin his office, muttering: "No news from Lance! No news from Lance!God! He can't have failed! But why doesn't he show up?"

He had not failed. 

Hovering in the plane over San Francisco Lance squirmed round in hisseat, reached back into the fuselage, and pressed rapidly the studs onthe Singe beacon. A high whining noise pierced instantly through theplane. And up stabbed the beacon, invisible, deadly--up, up, up to athin realm miles above, where it flashed into an awesome squadron ofterrible shells of steel!

Shells that, a second later, wavered, staggered, and plungedearthward!

And Lance tensed in his seat. From above, he caught a tiny whistlingnoise--a whistling that hurtled into a terrific shriek--that roaredever closer. 

"Carry on!" he muttered. "Carry on!"

The words froze on his lips, for the world was suddenly consumed, itseemed, by flame and splitting, bellowing thunder. 

 * * * * *

The American guns spoke. 

From every aerodrome long flights of scouts and bombers and transportplanes roared upward. 

In the front trenches the troops, still somewhat dazed by theearth-shaking explosion that had just tumbled from the far horizon--ahorizon still lit by leaping tongues of awful flame--poured over thetop, gas-masks on, repeaters and portable machine-guns at the ready, with a fierce cry on their lips. 

Before that avenging attack the Slavs, their very spine broken, bewildered and confused, already turning in panic, could not stand. 

America swept to the Pacific, and left death in her wake. And when shecame to San Francisco, not even the sternest fighting men, still hotfrom battle, could repress a shudder, so awful was the devastation. 

The Slav invasion was over!

 * * * * *

In the rebuilt city of San Francisco there is a statue that standsproudly before the magnificent, gleaming city hall. 

It represents two slim, straight-standing figures, clad in the uniformof the American Air Force. Their outstretched arms support a tinyone-seater Goshawk fighting plane. 

Below, as you know, there is a plaque. Men touch their hats as theywalk by it; flowers are always fresh at its base. On the plaque arethe words:

 To The Everlasting Memory Of

 Captain Basil Hay, A. A. F. Captain Derek Lance, A. A. F. 

 Who, In The War Of 1938, Gave Their Lives In Destroying And Devastating San Francisco That San Francisco And America Might Live

[Illustration: Advertisement. ]

The Tentacles From Below

A COMPLETE NOVELETTE

_By Anthony Gilmore_

CHAPTER I

"_Machine-Fish_"

[Illustration: _Bowman hooked it on the hawser arm above. _]

[Sidenote: Down to tremendous ocean depths goes Commander Keith Wellsin his blind duel with the marauding "machine-fish. "]

"Full stop. Rest ready. "

These words glowed in vivid red against the black background of the_NX-1's_ control order-board. A wheel was spun over, a lever pulledback, and in the hull of the submarine descended the peculiar silencefound only in mile-deep waters. Men rested at their posts, eyes alert. 

Above, in the control room, Hemingway Bowman, youthful first officer, glanced at the teleview screen and swore softly. 

"Keith, " he said, "between you and me, I'll be damned glad when thismonotonous job's over. I joined the Navy to see the world, but thischarting job's giving me entirely too many close-ups of the deadestparts of it!"

Commander Keith Wells. U. S. N. , grinned broadly. "Well, " he remarked, "in a few minutes we can call it a day--or night, rather--and thenit's back to the _Falcon_ while the day shift 'sees the world. '" Heturned again to his dials as Hemmy Bowman, with a sigh, resumed work. 

"Depth, six thousand feet. Visibility poor. Bottom eight thousand, " hesaid into the phone hung before his lips, and fifty feet aft, in asmall cubby, a blue-clad figure monotonously repeated the observationsand noted them down in an official geographical survey report. 

 * * * * *

Such had been their routine for two tiring weeks, all part of the_NX-l's_ present work of re-charting the Newfoundland banks. 

As early as 1929 slight cataclysms had begun to tear up the sea-floorof this region, and of late--1935--seismographs and cable companieshad reported titanic upheavals and sinkings of the ocean bed, changinghundreds of miles of underwater territory. Finally Washington decidedto chart the alterations this series of sub-sea earthquakes hadwrought. 

And for this job the _NX-1_ was detailed. A super-submarine fresh fromthe yards, small, but modern to the last degree, she contained suchexclusive features as a sheathing of the tough new glycosteel, automatic air rectifiers, a location chart for showing positions ofnearby submarines, the newly developed Edsel electric motors, andautomatic teleview screen. When below surface she was a sealed tube ofmetal one hundred feet long, and possessed of an enormous cruisingradius. From the flower of the Navy some thirty men were picked, andin company with the mother-ship _Falcon_ she put out to combine anexhaustive trial trip with the practical charting of the newly changedocean floor. 

Now this work was almost over. Keith Wells told himself that he, likeBowman, would be glad to set foot on land again. This surveying wasimportant, of course, but too dry for him--no action. He smiled at thelines of boredom on Hemmy's brow as the younger man stared gloomilyinto the teleview screen. 

And then the smile left his lips. The radio operator, in a cubbyadjoining the control room, had spoken into the communication tube:

"Urgent call for you, sir! From Captain Knapp!"

 * * * * *

Wells reached out and clipped a pair of extension phones over hisears. The deep voice of Robert Knapp, captain of the mother-ship_Falcon_, came ringing in. It was strained with an excitement unusualto him. 

"Wells? Knapp speaking. Something damned funny's just happened nearhere. You know the fishing fleet that was near us yesterday morning?"

"Yes?"

"Well, the whole thing's gone down! Destroyed, absolutely! The sea'sbeen like glass, the weather perfect--yet from the wreckage, whatthere is of it, you'd think a typhoon had struck! I can't begin toexplain it. No survivors, either, so far, though we're hunting forthem. "

"You say the boats are completely destroyed?"

"Smashed like driftwood. I tell you it's preposterous--and yet it'sthe fact. I think you'd better return at once, old man; you're onlyhalf an hour off. And come on the surface; it's getting light now, andyou might pick up something. God knows what this means, Keith, butit's up to us to find out. It's--it's got me. .. . "

His tones were oddly disturbed--almost scared--and this from a man whodidn't know what fear was. 

"But Bob, " Keith asked, "how did you--"

"Stand by a minute! The lookout reports survivors!"

 * * * * *

Wells turned to meet Bowman's inquisitive face. He quickly repeatedthe gist of Knapp's weird story. "We saw them at dusk, lastevening--remember? And now they're gone, destroyed. What can have doneit?"

For some minutes the two surprised men speculated on the strangeoccurrence. Then Knapp's voice again rang in the headphones. 

"Wells? My God, man, this is getting downright fantastic! We've justtaken two survivors on board; one's barely alive and the other crazy. I can't get an intelligible thing from him; he keeps shrieking aboutwrithing arms and awful eyes--and monsters he calls 'machine-fish'!"

"You're sure he's insane?"

Robert Knapp's voice hesitated queerly. 

"Well, he's shrieking about 'machine-fish'--fish with machines overthem!. .. I--I'm going to broadcast the whole story to the landstations. 'Machine-fish'! I don't know. .. . I don't know. .. . You'dbetter hurry back, Wells!"

He rang off. 

 * * * * *

Keith slipped off the headphones and told Bowman what he had learned. Hardy, staunchly built craft, those fishing boats were; born in theteeth of gales. What horror could have ripped them--all of them--todriftwood, with the weather perfect? And a half-mad survivor, ravingabout "machine-fish"!

"Such things are preposterous, " Bowman commented scornfully. 

"But--the fleet's gone, Hemmy, " Keith replied. "Anyway, we'll speedback, and see what it's all about. "

He punched swift commands on the control studs. "Empty Tanks, Zoom toSurface, Full Speed, " the crimson words glared down below, and the_NX-1_ at once shoved her snout up, trembling as her great electricmotors began their pulsing whine. The delicate fingers of the masseddials before Keith danced exultantly. The depth-levels tolled out:

"Seven thousand . .. Six thousand . .. Five thousand--"

"Keith! Look there!"

Hemmy Bowman was pointing with amazement at the location chart, ablack mesh screen that showed the position of other submarines withina radius of two miles. In one corner, a spot of vivid red was shining. 

"But it can't be a submarine!" Wells objected. "Our reports would havementioned it!"

The two officers stared at each other. 

"'Machine-fish!'" Bowman whispered softly. "If there were machines, the metal would register on the chart. "

"It must be them!" the commander roared, coming out of his daze. "And, by God, we're going after them!"

 * * * * *

Rapidly he brought the _NX-1_ out of her zoom to the surface, and lefther at four thousand feet, in perfect trim, while he read theinstruments closely. 

A green spot in the center of the location chart denoted the _NX-1's_exact position. A distance of perhaps forty inches separated it fromthe red light on the meshed screen--which represented, roughly, a mileand a half. Below the chart was a thick dial, over which a black hand, indicating the mysterious submersible's approximate depth, was slowlymoving. 

"He's sinking--whatever he is, " Keith muttered to Hemmy. "Hey, Sparks!Get me Captain Knapp. "

A moment later the connection was put through. 

"Bob? This is Wells again. Bob, our location chart shows the presenceof some strange undersea metallic body. It can't be a submarine, formy maritime reports would show its presence. We think it has someconnection with the 'machine-fish' that survivor raved about. At anyrate, I'm going after it. The world has a right to know what destroyedthat fishing fleet, and since the _NX-1_ is right on the spot it's myduty to track it down. Re-broadcast this news to land stations, willyou? I'll keep in touch with you. "

Knapp's voice came soberly back. "I guess you're right, Keith; it's upto you. .. . So long, old man. Good luck!"

 * * * * *

In Wells' veins throbbed the lust for action. With control studs athand, location chart and teleview screen before his eyes and fifteenmen waiting below for his commands, he had no fear of any monster theunderseas might spew up. He glanced swiftly at the location chart anddepth indicator again. 

The mysterious red spot was slowly coming across the _NX-1's_ bows ata distance of about one mile. Keith punched a stud, and, as his craftfilled her tank and slipped down further into deep water, he spoke toHemmy Bowman. 

"Take control for a minute. Keep on all speed, and follow 'em like abloodhound. I'm going below. "

He strode down the connecting ramp to the lower deck, where he foundfifteen men standing vigilantly at posts. At once Keith plunged into afull explanation of what he had learned up in the control room. Heconcluded:

"A great moral burden rests on us--every one of us--as we will sooncome face to face with a possible world menace. Anything may happen. Astate of war exists on this submarine. You will be prepared for anywartime eventuality!"

Sobered faces greeted this announcement, and perceptibly the menstraightened and held themselves more alertly. Wells at once returnedto the control room. A glance at the location chart and its two tinylights told him that the intervening distance had been decreased toabout half a mile. 

The depth dial showed them both to be two miles below, and steadilydiving lower. Charts showed the sea-floor to be three miles deep inthis position, and that meant--

"Look there!" exclaimed the first officer suddenly. "It's changingcourse!"

 * * * * *

The crimson stud had suddenly shifted its course, and now was fleeingdirectly before them. For a moment the distance between the green andred lights remained constant--and then Keith Wells staredunbelievingly at the chart, wiped a hand across his eyes and staredagain. 

"Why--why, the devils are as fast as we!" he exclaimed in amazement. "I think they're even gaining on us!"

"And there's no other submarine in the world that can do more thanthirty under water!" Hemmy Bowman added. "We're hitting a fullforty-one!"

A call came through the communication tube from Sparks. "Report fromConsolidated Radio News-Broadcasters, sir, aimed especially at us. "

"Well?" asked Keith, motioning Hemmy to listen in. Sparks read it. 

"'A week ago Atlantic City reported that seven men were snatched offfishing boat by unidentified tentacled monsters. Testimony ofwitnesses was discredited, but was later corroborated by the almostidentical testimony of other witnesses at Brighton Beach, England, whosaw man and woman taken by mysterious monsters whilst bathing. 'Perhaps these same creatures destroyed the Newfoundland fishingfleet. " His level voice ceased. 

"Tentacled monsters . .. 'machine-fish, '" Wells murmured slowly. "'Machine-fish. '. .. "

Their eyes met, the same wonder in each. "Well, " Keith rapped atlast, "we're seeing this through!"

 * * * * *

He turned again to the location chart. The green spot as always was inthe center, and at a constant distance was the red, showing that the_NX-1_ was hot on the other's trail. The depth dials indicated thatboth were diving deeper every moment. 

"Where in hell's it going?" the commander rasped. "We'll be on thefloor in a few minutes!"

Here the teleview showed the world to be one of fantasy, one to whichthe sun did not exist. It was not an utter, pitchy blackness thatpervaded the water, but rather a peculiar, dark blueness. No fishschools, Keith noted, scurried from them. They had already left thesewaters; aware, perhaps, of the passing Terror. .. . 

They plunged lower yet. Wells was conscious of Hemmy Bowman's quick, uneven breathing. Conscious of the tautness of his own nerves, strunglike quivering violin strings. Conscious of the terrific walls ofwater pressing in on them. And conscious of the men below, their livesbound implicitly in his will and brain. .. . 

A thought came to him, and quickly he reached into a rack for thechart of the local sea-floor. His brow creased with puzzlement as hestudied it. 

"Here's more mystery, Hemmy, " he muttered. "Look--there's anunderwater cliff about half a mile dead ahead. It rises to within fourthousand feet of the surface. And that thing out there is chargingstraight into its base!"

"They must be aware of it, " jerked the other. "See?--they've stopped!"

 * * * * *

It was true. The gulf between the two colored spots was rapidly beingswallowed up. At a pulsing forty-one knots the _NX-1_ was closing inon the motionless mystery craft. 

"They're sinking to the floor itself, " observed Wells. "Perhapswaiting to attack. "

The invisible beams from their ultra-violet light-beacons streamedthrough the silent gloom outside, yet still the teleview screen wasempty. Keith punched a stud, and the _NX-1's_ whining motors dulled toa scarcely audible purr. 

"What is the thing?" muttered Hemmy Bowman. "God, Keith, what _is_it?"

For answer, the commander dropped them the last five hundred feet. Thesea-floor rose like a gray ghost. More control studs were pushed; theorder-board below read: "All Power Off, Rest in Trim. " The locationchart told a tale that wrung a gasp from Bowman's throat. The red andgreen lights were practically touching. .. . 

The hands of Petty Officer Brown, the helmsman, were quivering on thehelm. Wells' fists kept tensing and relaxing as he peered for a sightof the enemy in the teleview. Nothing showed but the moving fingers ofspectral kelp. Then both he and Bowman cried out as one:

"_There!_"

CHAPTER II

_The Silent Ray_

A strange shape had suddenly materialized on the screen--an immense, oval-shaped thing of dull metal, with great curving cuts of glass-likesubstance in its blunt bow, like staring eyes; a lifeless, staringthing, stretching far into the curtain of gloom behind. How long itwas, Keith could not tell; at first his numb brain refused to grasp itand reduce it to definite, sane standards of size and length. The coldweeds of the sea-floor kelp beds swayed eerily over and around it. From its bow, he saw, peculiar knobs jutted, the function of which heguessed with dread. 

Was it waiting with a purpose? Was it waiting--and inviting attack?

A frightened whisper from Hemmy Bowman broke the hush:

"Keith, the thing has ports, but shows no lights! What kind ofcreatures can they be?"

As he spoke, the three men in the control room felt the unmistakable, jarring tingle of an electric shock. And while their nerves stilljumped, it came again; and again. They were conscious of a slightfeeling of drowsiness. 

Keith gaped at Bowman and Brown, and then a flash on the televiewscreen drew his eyes. There, against the blackness of its otherwiseinanimate hulk, one of the jutting knobs on the bow of the mysterioussubmarine was glowing and pulsing with orange life! With it came thetingling shock again. It flicked off as they watched, then returnedand went once more. 

"They're attacking, but thank God the shock was harmless!" Wells saidgrimly. "All right; they've asked for it: I'm going to see how theylike the taste of a torpedo!"

 * * * * *

The two submarines were resting on the ocean floor with perhaps twohundred feet between them. The _NX-1's_ bow tubes were not exactly inline to score a direct hit; she would have to be maneuvered slightlyto port. The range was short; the explosion from the torpedoes wouldbe titanic. 

Keith punched the control studs, ordering the men below to assumefiring stations. Then, while waiting for the _NX-1_ to shift, hestudied the teleview screen to sight the range exactly. The black dotwhich represented the enemy craft was not directly on the crossedhair-lines of the dial-like range-finder, but shifting the _NX-1_ afew feet would bring it to the perfect firing point. 

But the _NX-1_ did not budge. 

Surprised, her commander swung and looked at Bowman. "What the devil?"he cried. "Did that shock--?" He left the dread thought unfinished andleaped to the speaking tubes. 

"Craig! Jones! Wetherby!" he yelled. "Men! Don't you hear me? Aren'tyou--"

He broke off, wordless, waiting for an answer that did not come, thensprang to the connecting ramp and ran to the deck below. 

The scene he found halted him abruptly in his tracks. Every member ofthe crew was sprawled on the deck, in grotesque, limp postures. Theyhad been standing rigidly at posts, he saw, when the thing, whateverit was, had struck. Without a sound, without a single cry of alarm, the _NX-1's_ crew had been laid low!

 * * * * *

The commander slowly advanced to the deck and stared more closely atthe upturned faces around him. He saw that every man's eyes were open. 

Bending over one still form, he pressed his hand on the heart. It wasbeating! The man was alive! Amazed, he moved to another and another:they were all breathing, slowly and regularly--were all alive! Acurious look in their eyes staggered him for a moment. He could swearthat they recognized him, knew he was staring at them--for everysingle pair was alight with intelligence, and Keith fancied he sawgleams of recognition. 

"It must have been a paralyzing ray!" he gasped. "A thing ourscientists've been trying to develop for years. .. . And that monsteroutside knows the secret. .. . " He lifted an arm of the inert figure athis feet; when he released the grip, it flopped limply back to thedeck again. 

"_Keith! Come back, quick!_"

Startled, the commander turned to find Hemingway Bowman at the top ofthe connecting ramp, his face distorted with alarm. 

"For God's sake, come back quick!" he yelled again. "Down there theray might get you!"

With the words, Wells leaped to the ramp and raced to the controlroom. He had no sooner made it than he felt again the queer tingle ofthe electric charge. He found himself trembling. Bowman's face waswhite. His words came stuttering. 

"One second later and they'd have got you. .. . They got Sparks in hiscubby. .. . You see, the ray doesn't affect us in the control roombecause--"

"Because the Gibson insulation that protects the instruments keeps itout!" Keith finished grimly. "I see!"

Just then a slight jar ran through the submarine. Coincident with itcame a cry from Brown, the helmsman. His arm was pointed at theteleview. 

There they saw the enemy's mighty dirigible of metal was now withinthirty feet of the _NX-1. _ It had crept up silently, without warning. And, spanning the short gulf between them, an arm of webbed metalcraned from the other's huge bow, hooking tightly into the Americansubmarine's forward hawser holes!

As they took this in, the enemy ship moved away and the arm of metaltightened. The _NX-1_ shuddered. And, at first slowly, but with everincreasing speed, she got under way and slid after her captor. Theywere being towed away. Kidnaped! Men, submarine and all!

 * * * * *

Keith Wells mopped sweat from a hot brow and rapidly reviewed hisweapons. He was sorely restricted. Through an emergency system the_NX-1_ could be propelled and maneuvered from her control room; butthe torpedo tubes needed local attendance. 

"Hemmy, reverse engines, " he jerked, himself spinning over a smallwheel. "Let's see if we can out-pull the devil!"

At once they felt the shock of the paralyzing ray, and then thesurging whine of the Edsel electrics pulsed up and in the televiewscreen they watched the grim struggle of ship against ship. 

Imperceptibly, almost, as her screws cut in and churned, the forwardprogress of the _NX-1_ was slowing, the speed of the other being cutdown, until finally they but barely forged ahead. Slowly, ever soslowly they were out-pulled; inch by inch they were dragged ahead. Their motors could not hold even. 

"She's more powerful than we!" Wells' bitter voice spoke. "Damn!" Hethought desperately, while Bowman and Brown stared at the fantastictale the teleview spelled out. 

Again the paralyzing shock tingled, an intangible jailer that boundthem, more surely than steel bars, to the control room. To dare thatstreaming barrage meant instant impotence, and perhaps, later, death. .. . 

"Our two bow torpedoes, " Keith mused slowly. "We're a bit close, butit's our only chance. The ray comes at intervals of about a minute;the torps are ready for firing. If one of us could dash forward anddischarge 'em. .. . Brown, that's you!"

The petty officer met his commander's gaze levelly. He smiled. "Yes, sir, I'm ready!" he said. 

"Good! It'll have to be quick work, though; I'll try and keep the subpointed straight. Wait for the ray, then run like hell!"

 * * * * *

The first officer took over the helm and Brown stepped to the forwardladder, waiting for the periodic ray to be discharged. 

The odd tingle came and vanished. "Now!" Wells roared, and Brownleaped down the thin steel rungs. 

He staggered at the bottom from the force of his impact, thenstraightened and raced madly forward. Through the drone of the motorsthe two officers could hear the staccato beat of his feet. 

But their eyes were glued to the teleview. Through clutching beds ofseaweed the enemy submarine was ploughing. Her great, smooth bow laystraight ahead, metal hawser arm spanning the thirty feet betweenthem. In another second, Keith thought grimly, two dynamite packedtubes of sudden death would thunderbolt into that hull, and--

Brown pulled the lever. 

The tubes spat out compressed air; a scream ran through the submarine;and the two steel fish leaped from their sheaths, their tiny propsroaring. Over the narrow gulf they shot; the range was short, theirtarget dead ahead--and yet by bare inches they missed!

No answering roar bellowed back. Keith had watched their course; hadseen them flash by the enemy's bow, flicking it with their rudders, but nothing more. "Why?" he cried. And, as Bowman moved his hands in ahopeless gesture, he saw in the teleview the reason. 

It was a jagged pinnacle of rock, which, just before Brown had fired, had been straight ahead. The towing monster had seen it and veeredsharply to avoid crashing. The barest change of course, yet sufficientto avoid the torpedoes. .. . 

 * * * * *

Wells and Bowman were cursing savagely when the sound of Brown, racingdesperately aft, jerked the commander to the ladder. He saw the pettyofficer at its foot. "Hurry!" Wells shouted. "The ray!"

Brown grasped the steel rungs and scrambled upward, but he was toolate. The fatal charge tingled. A peculiar, surprised expressionwashed over his face; his hands loosened their grip. For a second hiseyes looked questioningly at his commander; a faint sigh escaped him;and then his arms flung out, his body relaxed, and he slumped like aslab of meat to the deck below. .. . 

Keith Wells saw red. Blind to everything, he was just about to chargedown the ladder to himself re-load the forward tubes when the grip ofHemmy Bowman's hand stayed him. The thing Hemmy was staring at in theteleview screen sobered him completely. 

The wall of rock to which the enemy submarine had first been charginghad become visible, soaring vastly from the gloom of the sea-floor. And the monster was towing them straight into a dark, jagged cleft atits base. 

"It's a cavern!" Keith breathed. "A split in the rock--the lair ofthat devil. And we're being dragged into it!"

CHAPTER III

_Sacrifice_

At that moment Keith Wells knew fear. Each second they were beinghauled closer to the monster's dim lair. It lay there, dark, mysterious, fingered by gently swaying, clammy kelp. A hushed solitudeseemed to reign over it, aweing all undersea life from thevicinity. .. . Wells turned his head to meet Bowman's eyes, and read inthem a silent question. 

What now?

He groaned in the agony of his mind. In a few minutes, all would beover. Once the _NX-1_ was dragged into that dark cavern there'd be nochance of escaping to warn the world above, of saving the submarine. What now? The question brought beads of sweat to his tormented brow. He, Keith Wells, standing impotently by while his ship, the pride ofthe service, was hauled inch by inch to some strange doom!

Racked by these thoughts, he murmured tortured, jerky phrases, unconscious he was giving voice to the things that flogged his brain. 

"What can I do? I've got to save my ship--I've got to get back tobreak the news--I've got to tell the world! But how? How--" Hisexpression changed suddenly. "That's it! That hawser arm between usmust be broken!"

"Yes. "

First Officer Hemingway Bowman's clear voice broke in on the olderman's thoughts with that one crisp word. Keith swung to find theother's eyes fixed levelly on his. 

"You're right, Keith. The hawser arm must be broken; with a depthcharge, of course. It's the only way. 

"To attach a depth charge, " he continued evenly, "a man must leave theship. You can't, Keith. It will be me. "

 * * * * *

The commander did not speak. "I'll put on a sea-suit, " Hemmy went onquickly, eyes lighting. "You tip the submarine and I'll slide out theconning tower exit port on the lee side, so they can't see me, andworm forward through the kelp. We're almost holding them even; that'llbe easy. I'll be protected from the paralyzing shock until the lastsecond, and it may not get me outside; that'll have to be chanced. Thehawser arm's only some ten feet above the sea-floor; I can reach itwith a hook on the charge. " He paused. 

"I'll attach it; and when it bursts I'll try to get back and grab thatring on the midships exit port, and you can let me in when we get tothe surface. But if I take too long, Keith--if I miss--you beat itwithout me. You understand? Beat it!"

He gazed straight at his friend. "Understand, Keith?"

Commander Keith Wells bowed his head in acquiescence. He was afraidthat if he met Hemmy Bowman's steady eyes he'd make a fool ofhimself. .. . 

Hemmy glanced at the screen once more, shivering as he saw how nearthe black cavern was. Then he moved rapidly, playing the cardscarefully for his gamble with death. He had to: the trumps were in theother hand. 

From the locker where their sea-suits were stowed he grabbed his own, and with quick fingers ripped the slides and fitted it on. A sheath ofyellow Lestofabrik, its weighted feet and gleaming casque transformedhis slim figure into a giant such as might stalk through a nightmare. Built cunningly into the helmet was a tiny radio transmitter andreceiver, with a range of a quarter-mile; hugging to the shoulders, inside nestled the air-making mechanism, its tiny generators alreadyin motion. Around the helmet was fastened a small removableundersea-light. The wrists of the suit were very flexible, permittingthe freest motion. 

Once in the suit, Hemmy smiled through the still-opened face-shield. 

"Got the depth charge ready, Keith? Make it fast--that cavern'snear!. .. Good!"

 * * * * *

Silently the commander fitted the black bomb to his friend'sshoulders. It was timed to fire a minute after being set. A long wirehook craned from its top, and this hook Bowman would fasten on thehawser arm. 

"Without Sparks, I guess I'll have to communicate with you throughportable, " Keith said, and quickly donned one of the tiny portablesets. 

"Right. Ready, Keith. "

Bowman started his awkward, crawling progress up the ladder into theconning tower just above, Keith helping from behind. When they stoodbefore the exit port on the lee side, Wells shot back its bolts andthe door swung open, revealing the black emptiness of the waterchamber. The commander gazed for a second into Bowman's eyes. Themoment had come. 

Keith turned his head away, felt a hand grip his. He wrung ittightly. .. . 

Bowman clumped into the chamber. 

The commander closed and locked the door, and he heard the streamingwater pour in as Hemmy turned the valve. Then Wells sped down theladder and tilted the diving and course rudders of the submarine. 

She swayed daintily over to port; held there. A moment later therecurring electric tingle brushed him. Had the enemy seen Bowmanleave? Had the ray struck him down?

He glared into the teleview. "Thank God!" he breathed. For Hemmy hadalready slid down the _NX-1's_ smooth hull and was safe on thesea-floor beside her. 

"Everything right?" Wells asked, speaking into the microphone of hisportable. 

"All O. K. , " came the answer. "Going forward now. Kelp thick as hell. "

 * * * * *

Keith's eyes bored at the screen. This misshapen monster who was hisfriend! Almost obscured by bands of thick-leaved kelp the yellow formmoved, hands clearing a pathway through the weeds. Slowly but surelyhe made for the bow of the submersible. 

"Hard going, Keith. God--the cavern's right ahead!"

It was ghostly to hear Hemmy's warm voice from the lifeless solitudeoutside. Breath coming quickly, Wells watched the silent scene--thecleft in the wall of rock overshadowing everything now. The diverfought ahead, gaining inch by inch. 

Now, save for occasional clumps of weed, he was exposed to theenemy. .. . Now the last desperate gauntlet was reached. .. . Keith felthis blood pound hotly. 

"I'm gaining, Keith. Gaining. .. . "

Bowman had little breath for speech. His tiny form battled on, nowsinking from sight as he dropped into some masked gully, now wrestlingslowly with great swaying strands of kelp, but always strugglingahead. 

"I'm at the bow, Keith! The hawser arm's right in our mooring holes. I'll go halfway before fastening the charge. Any signs of life fromthe devil?"

"None yet, Hemmy. But go slow. Hide all you can, old man, for God'ssake!. .. "

Right beneath the metal arm, Bowman's dwarfed figure crept doggedlyahead. Forward, inch by breathless inch. Kelp thickened, washed away;the two hulking submersibles, captor and captive, surged onward--butjust a little faster went the valiant figure with the black charge onits back. 

The towing monster had its snout in the cavern. The darknessthickened. Bowman was quarter way!

He plunged desperately. Half way!

"I'm there, Keith! Now for it!"

"Oh, God!" Wells cried. "They see you; they're coming!"

For he had seen strange shapes leaving the enemy submarine. 

And at that same moment, Bowman saw them, too. 

 * * * * *

They came like the blink of a dark eye from a door that had quicklyslid open in the mysterious ship's bow. As tall as a man they were, and there were two of them, though at first the nature of theirbodies merged with the wreathing kelp made them seem like a dozen. Bowman stared at them, hypnotized with fear. His legs and arms wentdead, and his whole gallant spirit seemed to slump into lifeless clay. Now he knew why the fishermen had shrieked "machine-fish. " Each one ofthem had eight tapering arms, eight restless tentacles. These wereoctopi, most hideous scavengers of the ocean floor! And not onlyoctopi--but octopi sheathed in metal-scaled armor!

As they came closer, he realized this preposterous fact. The darksubstance of their writhing tentacles was not flesh: it was a coat ofmetal scales. And the fat central mass which held their eyes and vitalorgans and beaked jaw--this mass was completely enveloped by a globeof glass. From inside, he could see great eyes staring at him. Themonsters came towards him quite slowly, obviously wary, advancing overthe sea-floor in what was a hideous mockery of walking, their forwardtentacles outstretched. 

With a sob, Hemmy Bowman pulled himself from his trance. He glancedback at the _NX-1_. He still had time to retreat. He might be able toget back inside before these monsters seized him. 

But that meant abandoning his job. And already his own submarine wasnosing into the cavern. The choice between the octopi and retreatstared him in the face. He pulled himself together and jerked his armsback to action. 

 * * * * *

Eyes bulging, Keith Wells peered at the dim teleview screen. He sawthe creatures approaching Hemmy. And then, suddenly, he remembered hisradiophone. 

"Hemmy! Come back, for God's sake!" he cried. "Come back while youcan--it's hopeless!"

But Bowman had already seized the depth charge from his back andhooked it on the hawser arm above. 

Immediately, with that action, all caution fled from the approachingmonsters. Their tentacles whipped furiously; and in a great arc theysprang for the tiny figure of the diver. 

With a deep breath, Hemmy staggered forward to meet them. "Keith!" hegasped. "I'll try to hold 'em away from the charge! When it bursts, zoom! Zoom like hell to the surface!" And then the tentacles had him. 

Keith watched, cursing his impotence to help. Hemmy had no weapon; hewas trying to hold them back by the weight of his body; he reached outand grasped a tentacle and hugged it to him, shoving forward with allhis puny strength. But all his effort was as nothing. One of theoctopi writhed past him and darted onto the depth charge. Itstentacles tugged at the bomb; pulled furiously. 

The time charge exploded. The _NX-1_ rocked like a quivering reed;Wells was knocked violently to the floor; a vast roar smote hisear-drums. When he staggered to his feet he found that the octopusthat was pulling at the charge had disappeared--blown into fragmentsof flesh and metal. But the hawser arm was broken! The _NX-1_, free, shot back a full fifty feet under the pull of her reversed screws. Acry echoed in her commander's ears:

"Go back, Keith! Go like hell!"

He saw the remaining octopus lift Bowman and whip to the exit port ofits submarine. The lid slid into place, closing on the monster and hisfriend, and the enemy ship vanished into the black cavern. .. . 

 * * * * *

Once clear of the opening, Keith set his motors full forward andbrought the diving rudders up. Quickly the ship sped from the hauntedsea-floor to the sun-warmed surface. A last thin call rang in hisradiophone:

"They've got me inside, Keith. It's dark, and filled with water. Ican't see anything, but I--I guess we're going through the cavern. .. . Forget about me, old boy. So long! So--"

The voice was abruptly cut off. 

Keith ripped the instrument from his head. Then, face white and drawn, he ran to the radio cubby. Standing over Sparks' inert body, he putthrough a call to Robert Knapp, on the _Falcon_. 

"Knapp?" he said harshly. "This is Wells. I'll be with you in a fewminutes. Yes--yes--I'll tell you the whole story later. But get thisnow: Have the day shift all ready to take over the submarine by thetime I pull alongside. "

He said no more just then; but rang off, and, looking back, hemuttered savagely:

"But I'll be back, Hemmy--I'll be back!"

CHAPTER IV

_In the Cavern_

"That's the story, Knapp. They got Bowman, and I had to run away. Their ship disappeared into the cavern. I've got a hunch, though, thatit's not just a cavern, but a tunnel, leading through to someunderwater world. That series of sub-sea earthquakes probably openedit up; and now these devil-octopi are free to pour out. I've _got_ tofind out what's what, and that's why I'm going down again as soon asthe torpedo system's ready!"

Keith and Robert Knapp were in the _Falcon's_ chart room. On the tablebefore them lay a broad white map with a cross-mark indicating theposition of the mysterious dark cavern. 

Wells was striding up and down like a caged tiger in his impatience tobe off. Every other minute he glared down to where the _NX-1_ layalongside. On her conning tower stood the tall blond-haired figure ofGraham, the first officer of the day shift, supervising the finaldetails of the work of installing a system of jury controls wherebythe submarine's torpedoes could be fired from her control room. 

Keith stopped short and faced Knapp. "It won't be so one-sided thistime, Bob, " he promised. "You see: when the location chart shows theenemy ship, I'll rush all men into the control room, where theparalyzing ray can't harm them. I don't know but what they have inother weapons, but I'm gambling on getting my torps in first. They'vekilled Bowman; they've ravaged a whole fishing fleet; they're free toemerge from their hole and maraud every ocean on the globe! They'vegot to be stopped! And since I'm armed and have the only submarine onthe spot, I've got to do it! I know how to fight them now!"

 * * * * *

Captain Robert Knapp's sense of things was badly disordered. He hadjust heard a story which his common sense told him couldn't be true, but which the evidence of his eyes had grimly authenticated. He hadseen fifteen men slung aboard his ship from the _NX-1's_ silent hull;men stretched in grotesque, limp attitudes; men struck down by aparalyzing ray. Why, no nation on earth had developed rays forwarfare! Yet--a crew of helpless men was even then in the sick bay, receiving attention in the hope that they might recover. 

"You're going right through that cavern, then, Wells?" he askedincredulously. "You're going to investigate what lies beyond?"

"Nothing else! And I won't come out till I've blown that octopi shipto pieces!"

"It sounds preposterous, " Knapp murmured, shaking his head. "Octopi, you say--and clad in metal suits! Running a submarine more powerfulthan the _NX-1_! Armed with a ray--a paralyzing ray! I can'tbelieve--I can't conceive--"

"You've seen the men!. .. Knapp, if I were you I'd swing myeight-inchers out, bring up the plane catapult and keep the decktorpedo tubes loaded and ready. It's best to be prepared; God knowswhat's going on underseas these days!"

First Officer Graham appeared at the door. "Work finished, sir, " hesaid. "Ready to cast off. "

"Thank heaven!" Wells muttered, and stretched out his hand to RobertKnapp. "Broadcast what I've told you, Bob, and say that the _NX-1_won't be back till everything's under control. I'll keep in touch withyou. So long!" And he was gone before the captain could even wish himgood luck. 

 * * * * *

Orders raced from her commander's fingers on the stud board in thecontrol room. "Crash Dive" filled her tanks and put her noseperilously down, so that in thirty seconds only a swirling patch ofwater was left to show where once she'd lain. A brief command to thehelmsman and she pointed straight for the dark cavern marked on thechart. 

When well under way, Keith descended with Graham to inspect the newtorpedo firing system, and found it in good working order. "Graham, "he ordered tersely, "instruct the crew fully about rushing to thecontrol room on one ring of the general alarm. And send the cook up tome in a minute or so. I'll be in Sparks' cubby. "

Above again, he instructed the radio man to rig a remote controlsender and receiver in the insulated control room. The need forcentering the whole crew there during engagements would crowd the roomawkwardly, but at other times, while proceeding on their inspection ofthe cavern lair, they could remain at their regular posts. 

That, at least, was Wells' plan. 

He looked up and found the cook, McKegnie, grinning at him from thedoor of the control room. Keith smiled, running his eyes over theportly magnificence of his gently perspiring figure. "Keg, " he saidcheerfully, "I want you to move your hot plate and culinary apparatusup here; you see, we're all likely to be crowded in here for sometime, and your coffee's going to be an absolute necessity. " Hecouldn't resist a crack at McKegnie's well-known and passionatecuriosity as to what made the thigmajigs of the control board work:"And besides, it'll give you a chance to observe the instruments andperfect yourself for your future career as a naval officer. Muchbetter than a correspondence course in 'How to Be a SubmarineCommander, ' eh?"

Cook McKegnie grinned sheepishly, and left. He was well used to suchjests, but he never would admit that his extraordinary interest inwatching the ship's wheels go round was accompanied by a miraculousinability to comprehend why they went round. .. . 

 * * * * *

Fifteen minutes later the helmsman's cry, "Cavern showing, sir!" swungthe commander to the teleview screen. The dark, kelp-shrouded openinghe knew so well was already looming on it. And he was prepared. 

"Enter, " he said, while his punched studs ordered, "Quarter Speed, Ready at Posts, Tanks in Trim. " The _NX-1_ slackened her gait, balanced cautiously, and struck a straight, even course as she creptcloser to the cleft entrance through which, some two hours earlier, the octopi ship had nosed. 

Screws turning slowly, she edged through the jagged cavern. Shades ofinky blackness grew on the teleview and danced in fantastic blotches;the screen turned to a welter of black, threatening shadows; became auseless maze of ever-changing forms. Keith mouthed curses as he staredat it; he now had nothing by which to judge his progress, to maneuverthe submarine, save directional instruments and, perhaps, chancescrapings of the tunnel's ragged walls against the outer hull. The_NX-1_ was running a gauntlet of immeasurable danger, her onlyassurance of success being the fact that a larger craft had precededher. 

But how far, Keith wondered, had that ship preceded her? How was he toknow that it had gone straight through? There might be a dozendifferent turnings in this tunnel: the submarine could easily tilthead-on against a jagged rock and puncture her hull. There might bemines planted directly in their course; he might be swimming straightinto some hideous ambuscade. 

He drove these thoughts from his mind. The passage had to be made onthe fickle authority of the senses; and, realizing this, Wells tookthe helm into his own hands. Graham was posted at the location chart, with instructions to report the red light if it showed. 

 * * * * *

Down below, the Edsel electrics were humming very softly; the menstood vigilantly at posts. On their brows were little beads of sweat, and here and there a hand clenched nervously. All knew they were in atight place; otherwise they were ignorant of where their commander wasleading them. Occasionally a long, shivering rasp ran through the shipas her hull nudged the rough tunnel wall. Then the course rudderswould swing gently over; and perhaps, almost immediately, anothergrinding cry of rock and steel would come from the other side. Thenwould come quickly indrawn breaths as the rudders swung again and thehumming silence droned on. 

The scrapings came quite often. Often, too, the motors would go silentaltogether, and the _NX-1_ would rest almost motionless as hercommander felt for an opening. It was a tense, nerve-wringing ordeal. The silence, the waiting, the dainty scrapings were maddening. 

Keith Wells' skin was prickling. He kept only fingertips on the tinyhelm: he was playing that uncanny sixth sense of the submarinecommander. When it misled him, the rasping rock groaned out, scarringthe submarine's smooth skin. Generally, the tunnel was straight; buteach time he heard his ship rub against some exterior obstruction, histeeth went tight--for who knew but what it might be a mine?

They had penetrated perhaps a half-mile when Graham, eyes steady onthe teleview, reported: "Light growing, sir!"

 * * * * *

Wells saw that the screen was filling with a soft, faintly glowingbluish color. The walls of the tunnel became visible, and he notedthat they were widening out, funnel-like. He dared to increase speedslightly. Three minutes later he saw that the blue illumination wasseeping from the end of the tunnel. They continued out. 

"Thank God, we're through!" he muttered to Graham. "You see, I wasright! It's an underground sea--and we're at the top of it. " For theinstruments indicated a depth beneath them of roughly three miles. They were in, evidently, a large cavern, of vast length and depth. 

The _NX-1_ continued slowly forward, two pairs of eyes intent on herteleview screen. Keith jotted down the tunnel's position, and thefunnel-shaped hole sank away behind their slow screws. And then, uponthe location chart, a faint red dot suddenly glowed!

It was upon them in a flash. A small tube of metal, shaped somewhat inthe form of the big octopi submarine, had darted up from below, hovered a second close to them, and then, almost before they realizedthey were being surveyed, sped back into the mysterious depths fromwhich it had come. 

"A lookout, I suppose, " Keith muttered, breathing more easily. "Couldn't have held more than two of those creatures. .. . Well, thealarm's out, I guess, Graham, but it can't be helped. Let's see whatit's like down below. "

 * * * * *

They plunged steadily down, then ahead. And presently there grew onthe teleview vague forms which widened their eyes and made theirbreath come quicker. Keith had guessed the tunnel led to acivilization of some kind, but he was not prepared for the sight thatloomed hazily through the soft blue water. 

Strange, moundlike shapes appeared far below, mounds grouped inorderly rows and clusters, with streets running between them, throngedwith tiny, spidery dots. Octopi! It was, the commander realized, acity of the monsters--a complete city like those of surface peoples!For several miles in every direction the water-city spread out, farther than the teleview could pierce. Wells marveled at thisseparately developed civilization, this deep-buried realm of octopiwhose unexpected intellectual powers had permitted such development. Perhaps, he pondered, this city was only one of many; perhaps only avillage. He could but vaguely glimpse the queer mound buildings, butsaw that they were of varying height and were filled with dark roundentrance holes, through which the creatures streamed on theirdifferent errands. .. . 

He saw no schools of fish around. "I guess they're been all killedoff, or eaten, " he commented to the wonder-struck Graham. "Probablythe octopi have separate hatcheries where they raise them for food. "

"But--good Lord!" the first officer exclaimed. "A city--a city likeours! Down here, filled with octopi!. .. "

"Yes, " answered Wells grimly, "and this 'city' may only be a smallsettlement; there may be scores of these places. We'd better continueahead now that we're here; for we've got to get all the information wecan. I only hope these monsters haven't more than one big submarine. We can expect an attack any minute. .. . "

 * * * * *

The _NX-1_ pressed on. The city dropped behind. A breathless tensenesshad settled down over the submarine; she was proceeding with utmostcaution, her anxious officers alert at the location chart. The greatfear that tormented them was that they might be attacked, not by one, but by a fleet of the octopi ships. .. . 

Then, at the rim of the chart, a red dot appeared! It grew rapidly, charging down on them at great speed. The spot was large; this was nosmall sentry boat! At once the alarm bell shrilled its warning; thecrew below left their posts and raced to the control room. With suremechanical fingers the emergency system gripped the valve handles andmotor levers; Keith swung the _NX-1_ onto a level keel, straightenedher out, and decreased speed still more. Giving the rods of the motorand rudder controls to Graham, he moved to the small lever which wouldunleash his bow torpedoes, and fingered it lightly. The _NX-1_ wasready for action. 

Scarcely had the men reached the small control room than the familiarelectric charge tingled. They stared wonderingly at each other, halfafraid. No one seemed hurt. One hand on the torpedo lever, Wellswatched his charts and instruments. He thanked God that there was onlyone of the enemy. 

The ray's shock came again--and stronger. The red dot was practicallyupon them. The screen was still empty. Coolly, Keith slowed thesubmarine to a dead stop. The crimson stud came closer. .. . 

 * * * * *

And then he saw it. It was the same fearsome, hulking form. The samecurving windows, dark and lifeless. The same knobs on its bow, one nowleaping and pulsing with the paralyzing glow. At a distance of a fewhundred feet the octopi ship swerved to a halt, dousing the NX-1 withits ray unceasingly. Again those two underwater craft, so oddlycontrasted, were face to face. And again the weapon that had oncestruck the American ship's crew down at their posts was directed fullonto the _NX-1_. 

But it was harmless! It merely tingled, and did not paralyze! Thecontrol room sheathing held it out stoutly. The men's faces showedoverwhelming relief. 

Keith smiled grimly. Now, at least, he had the devils where he wantedthem; now it was his turn to strike with a--to them--terrible, mysterious weapon. They had attacked; had failed--and now he couldsquare up for Hemmy and send a pair of torpedoes into that ship ofhideous tentacles. 

"Port five!" The ship swerved slightly. "Hold even!" The enemy craftwas very close. The _NX-1's_ bow tubes were sighted in direct line. Her torpedoes could not possibly miss. This time, destruction for theoctopi ship was inevitable. .. . 

Keith Wells gripped the lever that held the torps in leash. 

"_Wait!_"

Sparks, a bare foot from him, yelled out the word. Wells, alarmed, released his grip on the knob. The radio operator was listeningintently, a circle of taut faces around his crouched back. He swungexcitedly around. 

"For God's sake, don't fire!" he cried. "Hemingway Bowman's on thatsubmarine! He's alive--and calling for you!"

CHAPTER V

_The Other Weapon_

Bowman--alive!

Keith Wells let go the torpedo lever. His whole orderly plan of actionwas crashed in a second. --For an instant he stood gaping at the radioman, forgetful of the peril outside, striving desperately to hit onsome way of surmounting this unlooked-for obstacle. The idea of firingon his friend--killing Hemmy Bowman with his own hand--paralyzed hisbrain. 

And in that unguarded instant the octopi struck. 

From the bow of the enemy submarine, slanting from another of itspeculiar knobs, a narrow beam of violet light poured, cutting a vividswathe across the teleview. The huddled men stared at it, notcomprehending what it was. They felt no shock of electricity, norcould they discern any other harmful effect. The ray held steadily ontheir bow, not varying in the slightest, for a full thirty seconds. And still none of them could feel or see any damage. 

Wells, however, gradually became aware that he was bathed inperspiration, that great streams of sweat were coursing down hisface. A quick glance told him that every member of the crew was thesame way; and then, suddenly, he was conscious of a wave of intenseheat--heat which quickly became terrific. The control room wasstifling!

Before he could act, the _NX-1_ slipped sharply to one side. A sharphissing sound grew at her bow, climbing steadily to a shriek. Longstreamers of white steam crept along the lower deck and seeped up intothe control room. And then rose the fatal sound of rushingwater--water pouring into the submarine from outside!

For the violet beam was a heat ray--a weapon surface civilizations hadnot yet developed. While the _NX-1's_ crew had stared at it in theteleview, it had melted a hole in their bow. 

Immediately the submarine lost trim, and the deck tilted ominously. Inthe face of material danger--danger from a source he understood--thecommander became cool and methodical. 

"Sea-suits on!" he snapped. "Then forward and break out steelcollision-mat and weld it in place! Every man! You, too, Sparks andMcKegnie!"

"But--but, sir!" stammered Graham. "Do you want them to get us withtheir paralyzing ray?"

"You'd rather drown?" Wells flung back. Silenced, the first officerdonned his sea-suit, and in thirty seconds the rest of the crew hadtheirs on and were cluttering clumsily forward. 

 * * * * *

Alone in the control room, Keith battled with the unbalancing flow ofwater, maneuvering with all his skill in a futile attempt to keep the_NX-1_ on even keel. The men forward worked with great speed, spurredon by the realization that they were fighting death itself, but evenas they labored the submarine swung in ever increasing rolls and dips;the great weight of water she had shipped slopped back and forth; herbow went steadily down. Keith swept her forward tanks clean of water, always conscious of the immobile, staring octopi submarine in theteleview, watching them, it seemed, curiously, and not driving hometheir advantage with additional bolts of the violet heat ray. 

Despite her commander's frantic efforts, the _NX-1_ fluttered downremorselessly; the cavern floor rose, and, sinking with them, came theoctopi craft, in slow mockery of a fighting plane pursuing itsstricken foe to the very ground. .. . 

She struck bottom with a soft, thudding jar, and settled on even keel. At once Wells released the helm, jumped into his own sea-suit andstumbled down to take command. 

He found the steel collision-mat in place, and the welding of itnearly completed. A few feathery trickles of water still seepedthrough on each side, but under his terse directions the pumps weresoon draining it out. The weird figures of the crew in their sea-suitslooked like creatures from another planet as they rapidly finished thejob. 

"All right--up to the control room, everybody! Fast!" Wells roared. 

The men stumbled aft as rapidly as they could in their cumbersomesuits. Several were already on the ladder. A few feet further--

But at that moment the paralyzing ray again stabbed into the ship--andKeith Wells slumped helplessly to the deck. And as he crumpled, heglimpsed the grotesque, falling figures of his men, and saw one cometumbling down the ladder from the control room, where he had almostreached safety. .. . 

 * * * * *

Peculiar sensations, unendurable thoughts raced through the commanderas he lay there limply. He knew his predicament. He wanted desperatelyto rise, to rush to the control room. Time and time again in thosefirst few moments of impotence he strove mightily to pull his limbsback to life. But his greatest efforts were barren of result, save toleave him feeling still weaker. The fate that he had seen strike downBrown now enmeshed him. He was paralyzed. Helpless. In the midst ofhis crew. 

After a moment all sensation left his body. His limbs might not haveexisted. Sensation, pain, lived only in his brain--and there it wasterrible, because self-created. 

He found himself sprawled flat on his back, his eyes directed stifflyupward. He could not move them, but out of the corners he vaguelysensed the other figures around him. Helpless, every one! And who knewif they would ever come out of the spell! Victory had gone to theoctopi. .. . 

Minutes that seemed like hours passed. And then a well-rememberedvoice sounded in the radio earphones in his helmet. It was HemmyBowman, speaking from the enemy ship. 

"Keith! Keith Wells! Are you there?" the voice cried. "Keith! Whathave they done to you?"

And Keith, he could not answer! He could not answer that troubledvoice of his friend--that voice from a friend he had thought dead. 

Again Bowman spoke. "Keith! Can't you hear me? What are they doing toyou? Oh--" For a moment it stopped, then came once more, thick withanguish. "Oh, God, what's happened?" Then lower: "If only there werelight, so I could see what they're doing. .. . " The voice tapered intosilence. Keith could picture Hemmy, probably bound, giving him up fordead. .. . 

 * * * * *

Then, quite distinctly, he heard a clank at the _NX-1's_ bow! Thesubmarine jerked, her bow tilted up--and with increasing speed shemoved forward, silently as a ghost. 

Keith thought he knew what that meant. The octopi ship had graspedthem with another of its hawser arms, and was pulling them away. Butwhere to? One of those mound cities? His brain was a turmoil as hetried to imagine what was before them. But all he could do was liethere and wait. 

The American craft was towed for perhaps ten minutes--ten ages to hercommander--then coasted slowly to a pause, and with a sharp jarsettled into rest. As she did so, every light in her hull wentsuddenly out. 

It had been bad enough with the lights on, but the darkness was farworse. The submarine was a tomb--as silent as one, and full of men wholived and yet were dead. Hemmy Bowman's voice came no more to Wells. He was alone with his moiling doubts and fears and unanswerablequestions, and he knew that every other man there was alone with them, too. .. . 

As his eyes became partially accustomed to the darkness, he coulddistinguish vaguely the forms of the familiar mechanisms above him. Aslight noise grew suddenly and resolved itself into a prolongedscraping along the outer hull of the submarine. At intervals it pausedand gave way to a series of sharp, definite taps. 

Keith realized what those sounds signified: the octopi were strivingto find some entrance to the _NX-1_! This, he told himself, was theend. The creatures would break through; water would rush in, and everyman would drown. For the face-shields of their sea-suits were open!

The dull scrapings ran completely around the motionless submarine, punctuated with the same staccato tappings. By the movement of thesound, Wells realized the octopi were approaching the lower starboardexit port. And as they neared that port, the noise abruptly stopped. 

Then for some minutes silence fell. Next, the commander heard what wasunmistakably the exit port's water chamber being filled--and a momentlater emptied again. The devilish creatures had solved the puzzle ofthe means of entrance!

 * * * * *

In the awful darkness the inner door of the port swung open. A slow, slithering sound came to Wells' ears. He sensed, though he could notsee, the presence of alien creature. An odor struck his nostrils--thatof fish. .. . 

A deliberate something crawled directly across one outstretched arm, and another across his legs. And above him loomed a monstrous, complicated shadow, which, after a moment, slowly melted from his lineof vision. Panicky, he strove again to bring his limbs back to life, but still could not. .. . 

Keith knew that in the darkness which their huge unblinking eyes couldpenetrate they were inspecting the _NX-1's_ interior, examining themen stretched on its deck, feeling them with their cold metal-scaledtentacles. Another complicated shadow crept back over the commander'sline of sight, and from all around rose the slithering, shufflingtread of the octopi's many tentacles, rasping on the steel flooring. 

Sweat from Wells' forehead trickled down and stung his eyes as he layin that dark agony. There seemed to be countless investigatingtentacles feeling through the entire submarine. One of them, iron-hard, suddenly coiled under his armpit and lifted him lightly asa feather from the deck. Another snaked up and clicked his face-shieldsecurely shut. Keith heard other clicks, and knew that the shields ofhis men were likewise being closed. 

The commander was held straight out from the octopus' revolting body, and as he swung, helpless, he could see that more men were graspedsimilarly in other mighty arms. Dangling in the shadow-filled darknesshe was carried slowly to the exit port, and he heard the inner doorswing open, then close again. Water streamed through the valves; itencompassed him with a feeling of lightness, a feeling of floating, ashe swung at the end of the long metal-sheathed tentacles. A momentlater a soft bluish glow burst on his vision, and he saw that he wasoutside. There was a long wait, and when the current next swung himaround he was dismayed to see that every one of the monstrouscreatures near him was dangling on high two or three men of hishelpless crew. The whole outfit was in the power of the devil-fish!

And then their captors moved forward with them on a ghastly march oftriumph. .. . 

But Keith Wells did not know that, crouched behind the instrumentpanel in the control room, shivering and sick with fear, was the plumpform of Cook Angus McKegnie, who had just gained it just before theparalyzing ray had struck. 

CHAPTER VI

_The Monster with the Armlets of Gold_

Hemingway Bowman's ardent wish, after he was whipped quickly throughthe round exit port of the octopi submarine, was for a quick, cleandeath. The horror and mystery of his situation had left him with oneconscious emotion, that he was afraid. The worst had been when he washauled through the port; when, expecting anything, he had been able tosee nothing in the dark, water-filled mystery ship. 

Deliberate tentacles had stroked over every inch of hisbody--tentacles that were not metal-scaled, as had been the arms ofthe creature that captured him. It was then that he guessed the truepurpose of the metal suits the octopi wore--to protect their bodiesagainst the lesser pressure near the surface of the sea. Inside thesubmarine they did not need them. He decided that the ship was usedfor rapidly transporting large numbers of the octopi to distantregions, and also for a weapon of offense and defense. Theintelligence of the cuttlefish astounded him. 

Keith had got away. At least he knew that, and he thanked God for it. His bold stroke had not been in vain, his sacrifice not useless. 

After the inspection of the tentacles, Hemmy had been shoved to acorner of the octopi submarine. He had felt cords wrapped around hisbody. After being thus secured, he was left to himself. He was utterlyalone, except for strange, vague shadows that floated through thedarkness--shadows that heated his brain as he realized how many ofthe devil-fish there were. 

Hours that seemed like endless days passed. 

Bowman concluded that the submarine had gone straight through thecavern and emerged finally into what seemed to be another sea. Deadsilence filled the ship. What was happening, he could only guess. Thecraft seemed to run on forever. Never once did tentacles brush orinspect him again. 

 * * * * *

Finally the ship stopped, and a great round door opened in one wall. By the soft bluish glow that seeped in Hemmy caught a glimpse of hissurroundings, and his gorge rose at the sight. The ship was literallyfilled with a slowly waving forest of long black tentacles. Weirdinstruments, unlike anything he had ever seen, were grouped around thewalls, and before them attendant octopi poised, their hideous eyesfixed and steady. There were no dividing decks as in the _NX-1_; thecraft was one huge shell. 

Then came furious activity. The door fell shut again, and the shipshot off at great speed. Hemmy felt sure that they were advancing toagain attack the _NX-1_, and at once began to try to reach hiscomrades through radiophone. He knew that Wells would come back. 

Finally he caught a human voice, and heard the _NX-1's_ radio operatorshout to the commander that he, Bowman, was alive and calling. Butwhen he tried to speak further, the American craft's radio was silent. 

And then, in the octopi submarine, had come a soft glow of violet. .. . 

Was it a more deadly weapon than the paralyzing ray? In great suspensethe prisoner waited. Silence--silence! Horrible doubts beset his mind. Was Keith refraining from firing his torpedoes because he, Bowman, wason board the enemy boat? The thought stung him. He tried desperatelyagain to reach Wells; but there was no answer. Were the Americansdead?

Age-long minutes passed. Then the exit port opened and severalmetal-clad octopi swam out. Hemmy had a glimpse of the _NX-1_ lyingsilent and apparently lifeless on the sea-floor, a gaping hole in herbow!

As if to taunt him with the sight, the creatures left the round dooropen, and presently Bowman beheld the octopi open the _NX-1's_starboard exit port and enter. Later the port swung open again, and hesaw the monsters emerge, each gripping several men clad in yellowsea-suits! That they were dead, or victims of the ray, was obviousfrom the way they limply dangled. 

The exit port closed, and darkness filled the octopi ship. HemmyBowman panted with the futile effort to break his bonds. 

"You devils!" he yelled in blind rage, exhausted. "Why don't you takeme with them? Take me! Take me, damn your stinking hides!"

 * * * * *

When Keith Wells was taken from the silent _NX-1_, a host ofastounding impressions swarmed his brain. Swinging lightly at the endof his captor's tentacle, he strove as best he could, with eyesrigidly fixed straight ahead, to grasp his new surroundings. He had, first, one flash of the octopi ship lying quite close to them, itshulk, as always, immobile and apparently lifeless. And inside it, hewas sure, was his friend and first officer, Hemmy Bowman--a captive. 

He saw that the octopi submarine had towed the _NX-1_ into one of theweird mound cities. His own ship was lying in what seemed a kind ofpublic square, and crowds of black octopi were swarming around it ashe and his crew were brought out. Shooting straight off the square ranone of the wide streets he had previously seen from above, and on eachside the brown mound-buildings rose. Their details were hazy, becauseof the cuttlefish inhabitants who swam thickly in front of them. 

His captors started their march down this broad street. Great crowdsof reddish-colored octopi clustered on each side of it; other swarmshung almost motionless--except for their constantly writhingtentacles--above, so that their line of progress was through whatresembled a restless, living tunnel of repulsive black flesh, snakyarms and huge, unblinking eyes. Keith felt faint from the horror ofit. Thousands of the monsters were there, all hanging in the soft, blue-glowing water; and occasionally, as he floated almosthorizontally in his captor's firm grip, his legs would brush the wallof clammy flesh; or perhaps one of the tentacles would reach out as ifto touch him. 

The octopus that held him swam some five feet off the street beditself; at intervals the thick swarm on either side would part for asecond, and Keith could glimpse the huge mound-buildings, ever growinglarger, with round entrance holes dotted all over their smoothsurface, above as well as the sides. 

The march was ghastly. Their captors were taking them through theheart of the water-metropolis; displaying their human captives as didthe Caesars in Roman triumphs of old!

 * * * * *

The swarming crowds of tentacled monsters grew thicker as theyprogressed, and their tentacles began to whip more quickly, as ifanger was burning in their loathsome bodies. Keith noted the menace oftheir sharp-beaked jaws, and the sickening sucker-discs on the lividunder-side of the tentacles. As far as he could see, the swarms fellin behind the procession after it had passed. Following them--where?

Just as Wells felt himself on the verge of fainting, the processionturned to the right and entered the largest mound-building of all, avast dome rising in the very center of the octopi metropolis. Theycontinued through a corridor perhaps twenty feet high, from which atintervals other corridors branched. Held by one arm, and ever andagain turning helplessly over in his horizontal transit, Keith caughtglimpses of walls covered with intricate designs on a basiceight-armed motif--designs of artistic value, that gave evidence ofculture and civilization. 

The passage ended as suddenly as it had begun, and they came into themain body of a gigantic building. 

The commander could hardly credit his eyes. The place resembled astadium, and was so vast that he felt dwarfed to nothingness. Thedomed roof soared far above in misty bluish light. On the floor, exactly beneath the center of the great dome, was a raised platform, and on it a dais resembling a very wide throne. Around the dais ascore or more of octopi--officials, Keith supposed--were grouped. 

Rapidly the creatures following the procession swam into the chamber. Monstrously large as the place was, the floor soon was filled with thethick flood of cuttlefish which swarmed in from many doors. Keith, held with the other captives just to one side of the hole he hadentered by, began to think that they must soon refuse to let any morein--when, to his surprise, he saw the latest arrivals begin to form agallery twenty feet above those on the ground floor, and, when thiswas extended far back and completely filled, start yet another aboveit--and another, and another. .. . In ten minutes the mighty hall wascrowded with countless layers of the cold-eyed monsters, each layerangling up from the central dais so that all could see. 

"God!" the commander thought. "Nothing but solidly-packed devil-fishall the way to the dome! A slaughter pit! And we, of course, are to bethe cattle!"

 * * * * *

Minutes passed. The throne was still empty, and the thousands in theamphitheater seemed waiting for an occupant. Keith wished he was ableto close his eyes. The restless, never-ceasing weaving of thecountless tentacles in the levels above made the scene a nightmare. Some waved slowly, others whipped excitedly, but never for an instantdid one pause. The movements were like the never-ceasing shifting andswaying of the trunks and feet of elephants; in the dim glow the hugechamber seemed to be filled with one fantastic, million-tentacledmonster that stared with its thousand eyes down on the forlorn groupof puny human beings. .. . 

As if at a command the arms of the octopi on the platform suddenlybegan to weave in perfect unison in some weird ceremony. First theyswayed out towards the waiting captives, then they swerved slowly tothe empty throne. Then came a few quick, excited whippings; and oncemore the long arms reached out at the small group at the entrance. This went on for some minutes. Then, very suddenly, a creature swam upfrom what must have been an opening in the floor onto the dais-throne. 

Keith saw it well. 

It was an octopus, a giant amongst octopi, and Wells knew at once itwas the ruler of the realm, the lord and master of the swarminggalleries and the cities of mound-buildings. 

It was larger than its fellows by a full three feet. And, encirclingeach great tentacle just where it joined the central mass of flesh, was a broad, glittering band of polished gold--eight thick armletsthat ringed the creature's revolting head-body with a circle ofgleaming pagan splendor. Keith could almost fancy that a certain royalair hung over the monster. 

The huge, unblinking eyes of the king stared at the horror-frozencaptives. One long tentacle lifted slowly upward, and their captors atonce started towards the throne with them. The score of octopi on eachside stilled their weaving arms. A battery of emotionless eyes drilledinto Wells' paralyzed body. He felt faint. Unquestionably the horribleceremony was leading up to some form of cold-blooded sacrifice. .. . 

 * * * * *

The monarch stretched a mighty arm towards Keith, and, as in a dream, he felt himself lifted out of his guard's grasp. The snakeliketentacle gripped him about the waist, and held him dangling like apuppet twenty feet in the water while the two deadly eyes staredsteadily at him. He was brought closer, until the hideous centralmass, with its cruel beaked jaw and ink sac hanging behind, was nomore than a foot away. 

Then another arm stroked slowly along the commander's helpless body. Once or twice it prodded sharply, and Wells felt a surge of fear, forhis sea-suit might break. Deliberately the prying tentacle moved overhim, delicately feeling his helmet, his weighted feet, his legs. 

Keith Wells grew angry. He was being inspected like a trapped monkey!He, commander of the _NX-1_, representative of one of the world'smightiest nations--prodded and stared at by this fish, this octopus! Agreat rage suffused him, and with a terrific effort he tried to jabhis arms into one of those devilish eyes. But try as he might, hisbody would not respond. He could not move a finger. 

For a long time the loathsome inspection continued, until themonstrous king seemed satisfied. Wells was handed back. There followedan interminable period in which nothing whatever was done, as far ashe could see. He was sure that they must be talking, debating, but nosound reached his ears through the tight helmet. All the time theendless motion in the swarming levels above went on. It became hazy, dreamlike, and in spite of himself the commander began to feel drowsy. The weaving and swaying was producing a hypnotic effect. At last thedesire to sleep grew overpowering. 

Wells and his men were more than half unconscious when their originalcaptors finally pulled them back from the royal presence and began ahumble retreat from the throne room. Slowly they backed to theentrance. Keith's last drowsy glimpse was of a grotesque, gold-ringedmonster on a throne, with a score of smaller tentacled creaturesaround him, and a vast haze of weaving tentacles and unblinking eyesabove. 

They passed from the huge chamber. The commander felt delirious, as ina nightmare, but he knew that they were again in the long corridor, and that their captors were taking them further into the mightybuilding, further from the street outside. He glimpsed great roomsbranching off the corridor, and swarms of black octopi inside them. The light became fainter; and at last the procession turned into aseparate, rough-walled chamber, dimly lit and empty. 

Wells felt the grip around his arm loosen, and he floated limply tothe floor among his men. He slept. .. . 

CHAPTER VII

_The Glass Bell Jar_

Keith awoke hours later. 

Slowly he became conscious of a cramped, stiff body, of a dull painracking his head. He stretched out his limbs--and, suddenly, realizedhe could move. 

Remembering the paralyzing ray that had struck him down, and halfafraid that his senses were tricking him, he kicked his left leg out. It moved with its old vigor. He quickly found that his strength hadreturned, that he could feel and move. The effect of the ray had wornoff!

With a glow of new hope he rose to his feet and exercised numbmuscles. Looking around, he saw the other men still stretched out onthe floor of their rough-walled, watery prison. He called into hisradiophone mouthpiece:

"Graham! Graham, wake up!" A grotesque figure stirred among itsfellows; turned over. "It's Wells, Graham, " Keith continued. "Get up;you can, now!" And he watched the form of his big first officerstretch out and finally rise, while stupid, sleepy sounds came to hisradio receiver. 

"Why--why; the paralysis is gone!" Graham said at length. 

"Yes, but maybe the octopi don't know it. Rouse the other men at once, and we'll see what we can do. "

It was weird, the sight of the lifeless figures of the men stirring tolife in the dim-lit water as Graham shook each one's shoulder. Theradiophones buzzed and clicked with their excited comments andejaculations. Keith felt much better. With his men restored tostrength, and clustered in a determined, hard-fighting mass, he saw ahope of breaking out and regaining the _NX-1_. 

He let them exercise as he had for some minutes, then proceeded to abrisk roll-call. There should be fifteen men and two officers. RapidlyGraham ran over the names, and each time a voice rang back inreply--until he came to the cook. 

"McKegnie?. .. Cook McKegnie?"

There was no answer. Wells stared around the group of dim figures andhimself called the name again. But McKegnie was not present. And asthe commander and his men realized it the numbing spell of theirdesperate position settled down on them again like a shroud. 

Keith shook off the mood. "Well, " he muttered, "I guess the devils gothim. Poor McKegnie's seen the wheels go round for the last time. .. . All right: take command, Graham. I'm going to do a littlereconnoitering. "

 * * * * *

The round entrance hole was some fifteen feet from him, at the far endof the cell. Keith advanced cautiously to it, the peculiar lightfeeling the water gave him making his steps uncertain. The dim blueillumination made the details of the corridor outside hazy, shadowy, but it seemed to be empty. Peering out, Wells could sight no guardingoctopi. He edged closer and stared down to the left. Twenty feet awaythe vague light tapered into darker gloom, filled with thick, waveringshadows; but it was apparently devoid of tentacles. He wondered ifthe octopi were unaware that the effects of their ray had worn off, and peeped cautiously around the edge to the right. 

Immediately a long arm whipped out, grasped him around the waist andflung him twisting and turning back into the chamber. Grahamlaboriously made his way to the commander and helped him to his feet. "Hurt, sir?" he asked anxiously. 

"No, " Keith gasped. "But that devil--"

He stopped short. The first officer turned and followed hiscommander's stare. 

The entrance hole of the cell had filled with a monstrous shape. Ahuge octopus was resting there, its unblinking eyes coldly surveyingthe crew of the _NX-1_. On each of its thick tentacles was a broadband of polished gold. It was the king, the same creature that hadinspected them from the throne-dais a few hours before. And behind himin the corridor the men glimpsed another octopus. 

Slowly the ruler of the octopi swam into the chamber. Its great eyescentered icily on Keith Wells, standing at the head of his coweringmen; and its mighty tentacles waved slowly, gracefully, as if thecreature stood in doubt. One of them tentatively reached out andhovered over their heads, moving uncertainly back and forth. Then, like a monstrous water snake, the tentacle poised, flicked out andplucked a man from his comrades. 

His shriek of terror rasped in their earphones. "Steady, men!" Keithcried. "It's hopeless to try and fight them! The monster just wants tolook him over!"

 * * * * *

The man--Williams, a petty officer--was dangled by the armpit inmid-water and made to slowly revolve. The tip of another huge armsnaked out and for some seconds stroked his body, probing curiously. He panted with fright, and in their earphones his friends could hearhis every tortured exhalation. Anxiously, Keith watched. Then, without warning, another tentacle darted up, fastened its tip on thebreast of the captive's sea-suit, and deliberately ripped it open. 

The doomed man's last scream rang in their helmets as the water pouredinto his suit. They saw him writhe and struggle desperately in theremorseless grip which held him. The two huge eyes of the cuttlefishsurveyed his death throes minutely; watched his agonized strugglesgradually weaken; watched his legs and arms relax, his head sinklower. .. . And then the tentacle let a lifeless body float to thefloor. 

Jennerby, a huge engineer, went completely mad. "I'll get him, thedevil!" he yelled, and before Keith could command him to stay back, had flung himself onto the giant king. 

Death came as a mere matter of course. Without apparent effort, themonarch ripped off Jennerby's helmet and sent him spinning back. Theman's body writhed and shuddered, and in a moment another stark whiteface showed where death had struck. .. . 

Trembling, sick at heart, the commander yet had to think of his men. "For God's sake, " he cautioned them, "keep back. Don't try to fightnow; we've got to wait our chance! Steady. Steady. .. . "

The king's deliberate tentacle again began its slow weaving. It waschoosing another victim. And this time it darted straight out at KeithWells and gripped him with a mighty clutch about the waist. 

The commander did not cry out. As he was brought close to the staringeyes, and felt their sinister gaze run over him, it flashed throughhim for some obscure reason that the monster knew him for what he was, the leader, from the tiny bars on each shoulder of his sea-suit. .. . Hewaited for the tentacles to rip it open. 

But they did not. Instead, the creature turned and swiftly swam withhim out through the entrance hole. 

 * * * * *

They went to the left in the corridor, further into the heart of thebuilding. The bluish light became stronger. As Keith twisted in thegiant monarch's grip he glimpsed the other octopus following with thetwo dead men. He saved his strength knowing it was hopeless just thento try and struggle free. 

Quick as was his passage, he noticed that the walls of the corridorwere covered with intricate designs, in bas-relief, and colored. Hepassed row after row of mural paintings of octopi in variousactivities, and guessed that they represented the race's history. Onewas obviously a scene of battle, with a tentacled army locked incombat with another strange horde of fishlike creatures; a secondshowed the construction of the queer mound-buildings on the sea-floor, with scores of monsters hauling great chunks of material into place, and another pictured the huge audience chamber, with a gold-bandedking motionless on his throne. 

As the king drew him rapidly along, he had a glimpse through acircular doorway of a large room, inside which were clustered theblack shapes of thousands of baby octopi, tended by what wereevidently nurses. Other such rooms were passed, and the youngcommander's brain whirled as he tried to measure the size and progressof this undersea civilization. Perhaps the race of octopi was growing, reaching out; needed new room to colonize. That would explain whytheir submarine had been sent through the tunnel. .. . 

A voice sounded in his ears:

"Keith? Are you all right?" It was Graham, calling from the cellbehind. 

"So far, " Wells assured him. "I'll keep in touch, and let you knowwhat happens. "

At that moment, his captor carried him into a large chamber at the endof the corridor. He looked around, and decided it was a laboratory. Hebeheld strange instruments, anatomical charts of octopi on the wallsand, in one corner, a small jar of glass, in which a dull flame wasburning. Many-shaped keen-bladed knives lay on various low tables, andthin, wicked-looking prongs and pincers. 

"I'm in their experimental laboratory, Graham, " Wells spoke into themouthpiece of his tiny radio. And then his roving eyes saw somethingthat made him audibly gasp. 

"What's the matter, Keith?" came the first officer's anxious voice. 

After a moment the commander answered. "It's--it's a pile of humanbodies. The bodies of those fishermen. They--they've beenexperimenting on them. .. . "

 * * * * *

Was he, too, Wells wondered, to be experimented on? The sight of thatstacked pile of bodies chilled him with horror. He kept his eyes fromthem, till the octopus with the golden bands swung him through ahinged door in the farther wall. 

He found himself in a side room, smaller than the outer chamber, thewhole center of which was occupied by a huge glass bell jar, somethirty feet in diameter. Inside it was much strange-looking apparatuson tables, and trays of operating instruments--knives like those inthe outer room, and the same thin prongs. The great jar was empty ofwater, and on one side was an entrance port. 

The king tossed Keith into a corner and quickly donned a metal-scaledwater-suit. When he had it all on, and the glass body-containerfastened into place, he picked up his captive again and advancedthrough the bell jar's entrance port into a small water chamber. Amoment later Wells felt his body grow heavy as the water of thecompartment ran out, and then there was a click and he found himselfinside the jar, still held in the merciless grip of a tentacle. 

He twisted around to find the cold eyes of the octopus staring at himonly a foot away. And as he wondered what was going to happen next, the king unfastened the glass face-shield of the commander's sea-suitwith a quick flip of the tip of a tentacle. 

Keith's arms were pinned to his sides; he could not move to try torefasten the face-shield. Fearful, he held his breath; held it untilhis face was purple and his lungs were near to bursting. But at lastthe limit was reached, and with a great wrench he sucked in a fullbreath. 

It was clean, fresh air!

 * * * * *

The air was like a breath of his own world brought down to this coldrealm of octopi. Once he had caught up with his breathing it pourednew life into his limbs, jaded from the artificial air of thesea-suit. Keith felt his muscles respond, felt his whole body glowwith new strength and life. Twelve inches away the king was watchinghis every reaction closely through the huge helmet of glass. Thethought passed through the commander's mind that he was not only king, but chief scientist of this strange water civilization. 

Then, while his lungs swallowed hungrily the good, fresh air, severaltentacles began to feel around him in an attempt to unfasten the restof his sea-suit. 

Wells blanched at the sudden realization of how helpless he would beif the suit were taken from him. He would then not only be a prisonerof the octopi, but a prisoner of the glass jar, unable ever to leaveit, and more than ever at the mercy of his captor's least whim. Notthat he had any delusion that he would live long in any case: it wasjust the simple strong instinct of self-preservation that made himgrab at every chance for life. 

This thought flashed through his mind, even while the octopus wasfumbling with the catches of his suit. And along with it was born adesperate plan of escape. He was in his own element, air; the octopusout of his. If he could crack the glass of the king's helmet, and letthe water out and air in!. .. The glass was only twelve inches away. 

The commander stopped his resistance, and at the same time felt aboutwith his legs until he had them well braced against a lower tentacle. He pushed gently, and came a few inches nearer the glass; a littlemore. Then, with a quick, strong jerk of his body he crashed the steelframe of his helmet square against the cuttlefish's sheathing ofglass. 

The creature was taken wholly by surprise. Tentacles whipped out totear the rash human quickly away--but not before Keith had poundedagain, and heard the splinter of smashed glass! He had jabbed a holein the glass body-piece, and already the life-giving water was pouringout!

Panic seized the king, and he became a nightmare of torturedtentacles. Wells was flung wildly away and fetched up against the sideof the jar with a crash that for a second stunned him. More and morewater poured from the octopus' suit, and air at once rushed in to takeits place. The creature's great eyes became filmy, while the revoltingspidery body slewed here and there across the jar, all the timewhipping and thrashing at the strangling air. Keith scurried from sideto side, trying to keep out of reach of the crazy, writhing tentacles. Once a glancing blow knocked him flat, but the monster was altogetherunconscious of him and he got away. 

Little by little the terrific whipping and coiling of the tentaclesquieted down. The drowning king lay in one place now; its loathsomered body, no longer protected by glass, turned bluish. Keith thrilledwith elation at his victory. 

And then, for the first time, he noticed that there was a full threeinches of water on the floor--far too much to spill from the king'ssuit. A quick look around showed him where it came from. There was along crack in the side of the glass jar, at the place where he hadbeen crashed against it--and water was pouring in!

Keith flung himself against the crack, jammed his arm into thebroadest part of the leak. But still the water rushed in. The octopuswas in its death throes, weakening steadily--but just as steadily thewater poured in and rose up the sides of its body. In a flash Wellssaw that the liquid would win the race to cover it and allow themonster to resume breathing. 

"Oh, damn it!" he cursed fervently. "Now I've got to run for it!"

 * * * * *

He stumbled to the port, snapping shut his face-shield as he went. Ina moment he had solved the working of the mechanism and was in thewater chamber, then outside in the room itself. Fortunately hissea-suit was unhurt. He thanked heaven for that as he tore away aboardlike piece of apparatus and jammed it over the leak in the jar. 

Keith paused a moment to plan. The king of the octopi was stillwrithing in ever weakening struggles, but the water was halfway up hisbody. "It'll cover him soon, " thought the commander, "and then it's aquestion how long it'll take him to come to. I've got to movefast--slip out into the corridor and run the gauntlet back to themen. " His eyes rested on a large knife, and he appropriated it, sincehe saw nothing else he might use. 

For the first time since the beginning of the fight he answered thequestions and exclamations that had constantly sounded in his earsfrom the distant crew. Tersely he told them what had happened, and ofthe gauntlet he had to run. 

"Make ready for a dash to the _NX-1_, " he finished. "It's now ornever. Wait three minutes for me, and if I don't make it, go aheadanyway. Remember--three minutes. This is an order. So long, fellows!"

He shut his ears to the bedlam of comment that followed. His knifeready, he took a few steps to the door and pushed out--right into thetentacles of a waiting octopus. 

 * * * * *

His knife was useless. While locked motionless by three arms of hiscaptor, another streaked out and wrenched it from his hand. Once againKeith was absolutely helpless. 

Great confusion resulted in the laboratory. The commander heard nosound, but the guard must have called, for five more octopi dartedrapidly out of an adjoining room. Their tentacles writhing in greatexcitement, they swam past and into the inner chamber to the rescue oftheir nearly drowned king. 

The devil-fish that held Wells almost crushed him to death in itsexcitement. It was obviously undecided what to do; but finally it spedhim down the passageway and cast him back inside the cell with hismen. Then it quickly retreated. 

The commander staggered to his feet and faced Graham and the others. "A miracle!" he gasped; "I'll tell you later. But now we've got tomake our break. The king's out, and we've got to get away before theybring him to. There's nothing to do but rush the door. It means suredeath for half of us, and probably for all--but God help us if theking catches us!"

He paused and surveyed them keenly. "Everybody with me?" he asked. Andnot one man held back his answer. 

Wells smiled a little. "Good!" he said. 

 * * * * *

There were twelve men and two officers. There were thousands ofoctopi. On the face of it, their chances seemed hopeless. Not for asecond did Keith count on getting many men to the _NX-1. _ But he knewwhere the submarine was, and he had to try. 

Tersely he gave them final instructions. 

"This corridor leads to the main entrance. That is, to theright--understand? Then straight down the street outside, to the left, is the square where they towed the _NX-1. _ I'd say it was a hundredyards. 

"There's one guard outside. Graham, you and half the men to the rightof the door. I'll take the rest to the left. Our only chance is to tryand destroy the octopus' eyes. "

His mind cast about desperately for some form of weapon. The onlydetachable thing on their sea-suits was the small helmet-light, athing, Keith told himself, without possible offensive use. Still, thebeams would enable them to more clearly see their path and keeptogether, so he ordered them in hand. 

The men were grouped and alert. The moment had come. 

"Remember, " he said, "--its eyes. Then stick together and run likehell. All right--good luck--and let's go!"

Awkwardly, stumbling clumsily in the retarding water, the small groupsurged through the door. Immediately a black shape pounced upon themfrom the clustered shadows--the guarding octopus. 

Its tentacles seemed to be everywhere. In seconds five men wereclutched in its awful grip, their fists rising and falling impotentlyas the hideous arms constricted and crushed them inward. Keith, freeof the clasp, yelled: "The eyes! The eyes! Put out its eyes!"

 * * * * *

For answer, a yellow arm clutching a helmet-light broke through thegrotesquely milling mass and struck at the cuttlefish's great pools ofeyes. It missed, but the switch flicked on, and there stabbed throughthe gloom a broad, glaringly white ray. 

Its effect was astounding. The beam smote the octopus squarely in itshuge eyes, and immediately the creature shuddered; writhed with pain. The tentacles released the men--and the monster fled back into theprotecting shadows!

A shout from the men roared in the commander's earphones. "They can'tstand the light!" he cried. "Thank God! Beams on, everyone! Flash 'emin their eyes! Forward!"

Fourteen shafts of eye-dazzling light forked through the corridor. The tiny company, beating their path with criss-crossing shafts ofwhite, forged ahead. They thrashed the shadows with their beams, probing each inch of water--clearing their way even as a tank hosesmachine-gun bullets before its clumsy body. Their former slenderchance grew; they filled with hope. 

Another swarm of devil-fish, long arms whipping before them, racedfrom branching corridors and bore down on the company of humans. Themen were ready, and fourteen tongues of white met them squarely. Theyfaltered; the weight of their fellows behind shoved them on; but therays steadied, and the front row of octopi broke in panic. The othersat once followed in wild retreat. 

"Keep together, men!" Keith ordered sharply. "One beam to eachoctopus--straight in its eyes till it retreats! Forward!"

 * * * * *

They pressed on. The octopi, with eyes used only to the soft blue glowof the cavern, could not stand against the brilliant rays. Keithleading, the _NX-1's_ crew stumbled out into the street. 

They faltered a moment when they saw each entrance hole of themound-buildings shooting out streams of octopi. Hundreds were in sightalready. The whole city was evidently alarmed. Wells at once formedhis men in a circle, so their beams would guard them on every side andabove. Apparently the octopi could not approach within thirty feet ofthem, and even at that distance they turned and fled, writhing withpain, whenever a shaft of light struck full in their eyes. 

"The square's just ahead!" the commander roared. "One last rush, now, and we'll reach the submarine! Stick close; keep your arms locked; andwatch out above!"

The circle of men narrowed. The rays gave their tiny cluster theappearance of a monster even more fantastic than those moiling aroundthem--a monster with long straight tentacles of glaring white. Theystumbled forward through the magically parting ranks of black octopi. The beams kept the creatures back; they were helpless before them. 

Foot by foot under the inverted bowl of threshing tentacles the_NX-1's_ crew lumbered ahead. The street at last ceased; the widesquare opened before them. 

"We're here!" Wells yelled exultantly. "This is the--"

His voice fell into abrupt silence. He stared around the square, andhis heart went cold indeed. They had reached the right place, but itwas empty. 

The _NX-1_ was not there!

CHAPTER VIII

_Cook, the Navigator_

Through all these hours, one man had remained on the _NX-1_, and thatman was, to put it mildly, scared to death. 

Cook Angus McKegnie had been nearest the connecting ladder when KeithWells roared out the command to retreat above, and his desire toregain a place of safety was so earnest that he made the control roomin record time. At once he had felt the tingle of the paralyzing ray. Struck by a horrible thought, he ventured to peer down the ladder--andgroaned to see the figures of his comrades, all lying limply on thedeck. His portly frame quivered like jelly as realization came to himthat he was the only one who had escaped the ray. 

Heroic ideas of saving the submarine, of rescuing the men below, flashed wildly through his head. But only for a moment. On secondthought, he felt he ought to hide. So, in the tomblike silence thathad fallen, the two-hundred-and-twenty-pound McKegnie wormed a waybehind an instrument panel, effecting the journey by vigorous shovesof his stomach. It was minutes later that he first noticed that somesharp jutting object was jutting deep into his ample paunch, but hecould do nothing to remedy it. He was hidden, anyway, and he was goingto stay hidden!

The cook felt the _NX-1_ being towed forward. Then, after a dreadfulwait, he heard queer noises down below, and was positive the exitports had opened. The snakelike slithering and shuffling whichfollowed would mean that the enemy was inside the _NX-1. _ The thoughtbrought St. Vitus' dance to his limbs, and, try as he might, hecouldn't still them. Then again the ports opened, the gloomy silencereturned, and Angus McKegnie was alone with his reflections. 

 * * * * *

After the first hour he gave voice to them in one simple, bittersentence. "Just why the hell, " he muttered, "did I ever join theNavy?" The silence offered no reply, and McKegnie, desperate from hiscramped position, ventured to poke his head around the instrumentpanel. The faint emergency lights showed the control room to be empty. He decided to come out, and did so, worming his way back with greatdifficulty. 

Once out, the first thing his eyes fell on was the teleview screen. Now the cook had never seen one of the octopi, and the screen showedhundreds of monsters clustering around the _NX-1. _ So with unusualpromptness he acted, jamming himself once again into his hiding place. Maybe, he thought, they had some way in which they could see into thecontrol room and discover him!

Hours passed. The cook was sopping with sweat. Finally his thoughtsemerged into words. 

"I got to get out of here!" he said intensely. "I _got_ to! And I gotto run this submarine!"

The sound of his voice somehow emboldened him. Once more he backed outof his cranny, and with cautious, trembling steps explored the controlroom. He kept his eyes from the teleview, though it had a terriblefascination for him, and surveyed the _NX-1's_ array of controlinstruments. The prospective navigator groaned at the sight. 

There were dozens of mysterious wheels, jutting from every possibleangle, squads of black and red-handled levers, whole armies of queerlittle stud-buttons and dials. His knowledge of cooking helped him notat all in the presence of that maze of devices. Timidly he touched oneof the levers, but immediately snatched his hand away as if afraid itwould bite. His boldly announced purpose of running the craft wentglimmering. 

 * * * * *

An accidental glimpse of the monsters in the teleview suddenly decidedhim that he needed a weapon. He hunted frantically through the lockersand found three service revolvers, which he fastened at his waist, adding his own carving knife to the arsenal. But he didn't feel muchbetter. Then, remembering for the first time his sea-suit radio, heyelled: "Mr. Wells! Mr. Wells! Oh, Mr. Wells, where are you? Can youhear me?" There was, of course, no answer. 

He tried to bring his muddled thoughts and fears to order. "I got torun this thing, " he said doggedly. "_Got_ to! Now, let's see: what thehell's this thing for?. .. What the--"

He broke off short, and his eyes went wide. He had heard a noise!

Yes--there it was again! The same peculiar scraping at one of the exitports! He glanced fearfully at the teleview. "Oh, Lord!" he yelped. "They're comin' in to get me!"

He started to dive back behind the instrument panel, but stopped, drewtwo guns, and in an agonized muddle trotted back and forth for amoment, waving them. Another look at the screen showed that an exitport was open, admitting two metal-scaled octopi. McKegnie couldn'tstand it any longer: he wedged himself behind his panel again. Soonsounds of the metal tentacles on the deck below told him that one ofthe creatures was coming up the ramp--then slithering into the controlroom itself. The cook was a lather of cold perspiration. 

For a few minutes there was silence. The octopus was apparentlysurveying this new part of the submarine. Then, without warning, thetip of a metal-scaled tentacle felt around the panel and crept, exploring, up Angus McKegnie's leg--which leg was again suddenlyafflicted with St. Vitus' dance. The tentacles coiled, pulledhard--and the cook with a yowl was yanked out into the room. 

 * * * * *

Dangling upside down, high in the air, he submitted to the fishy stareof the great eyes under the sheathing of glass. But soon he started tosquirm, and his violent contortions brought a rush of blood to hishead, making him quite dizzy. It was while he was in that state thatthings started to happen. 

First, a great roar rolled through the _NX-1_, and McKegnie foundhimself flat on the floor with his breath knocked out. Then, whilethis was registering on his mind, he discovered himself the center ofa madly milling set of tentacles, and instinctively scrambled out ofthe way. From a distance he saw that the tentacles belonged to theoctopus that had held him, and that their coilings and threshings weregradually dying down, until only a quiver ran through them from timeto time. While McKegnie was trying to figure this all out he noticedthat the monster's glass sheeting was shattered, that it lay in a poolof water, and that the odor of burnt powder was in the air. Lookingdown he found that he had a gun in his hand. A thin wisp of smoke wascurling from the barrel. 

"Gee whiz!" he ejaculated. "Gee _whiz_!"

As he stood there recovering from his surprise, he heard the otheroctopus crawling up the connecting ramp, coming to see what hadbefallen its fellow. Preceded by two trembling guns, McKegnie tiptoedto the ramp and peered down. 

From the darkness he saw another complicated mass of metal tentaclesand glass advancing up towards him. Fear smote the cook, and almostwithout volition be pointed his guns and pulled the triggers. Asbefore, a bullet crashed into the great dome of glass, and he watcheda short but terrible death struggle. He had, by himself, slain twooctopi!

A tremendous elation filled McKegnie--until it occurred to him thathis shots might have been heard outside. At once he ran and looked atthe teleview view screen, and what he saw on its silver surface tookall the triumph abruptly out of him. The octopi outside were dartingabout with alarming activity; a whole cluster of them was centered atthe exit port, and, even as the cook stared, the preliminary sounds ofopening it came to his ears. 

"Now I _got_ to run this ship!" he groaned. 

 * * * * *

He peered at the mass of levers and wheels, put out a hand, closed hiseyes, hesitated, and pulled one of them back. Nothing happened. 

He tried another. The noise below grew, but still the _NX-1_ remainedmotionless. Desperate, the cook jerked several other levers. The whineof electric motors surged through the silence; the submarine shudderedand slewed off to the right, as if trying to dig into the sea-floor. 

"I got it started!" he cried. He did something else. The _NX-1_ stuckher bow dizzily up and sped into the misty-blue realm above in agrand, sweeping circle. The sea-floor with its mound-buildings andswarming octopi fell away behind with a rush. 

"There!" muttered the triumphant cook. "But--how did I do it?"

The submarine was rising like a sky-rocket. McKegnie rememberedsuddenly that Wells had said the cavern was only a few miles high; hemust now be very near the top. He held his breath while he pushed alikely looking lever the other way. 

He was lucky. The _NX-1_ capered like a two-year-old, kicked up herstern and bolted eagerly for the depths once more. Again the floor ofthe cavern rushed up at him, again he pulled the potent lever back, and again the submarine meteored upward. 

This procedure went on for some time. McKegnie was only running anelevator. Was he doomed to dash up and down between floor and ceilingforever? He gave forth pints of sweat, now and then groaning as thesubmarine grazed horribly close to top or bottom. The dead octopus athis feet slithered limply around on the crazy-angling deck. 

"I can't keep this up forever!" the cook said peevishly. "Now, whatthe hell's this thing for?"

 * * * * *

He turned it, and the _NX-1_ tilted in one of her dives and racedforward, midway between ceiling and floor. Her navigator relaxedslightly. He had found the major controls; at least he had been ableto stop his dizzy game of plunging up and down. Then, just as he wasbeginning to wonder where he could go, a large red spot glowed at theedge of the location chart. 

"Oh, Lord!" he cried. "That's the other submarine--an' it's comin'after me!"

Evidently it was, for the red spot rapidly approached the green one. The paralyzing ray tingled, and a moment later the enemy's huge bulkloomed on the teleview screen, a band of violet light spearing fromone of her jutting knobs. 

Frantically McKegnie juggled his levers, and then it was that the_NX-1_ really showed what was in her. She emulated, on a grand scale, a bucking bronco: she stood almost on her nose, and threatened todescribe somersaults; she tried it the other way, on her stern; sherolled dizzily; she all but looped the loop, and went staggeringaround the cavern in great erratic bounds that must have made theoctopi think she was in the hands of a mad-man--which she practicallywas. Her designer would have had heart failure. 

In the teleview screen the frantic McKegnie would see the octopisubmarine rush erratically by with a flash of its violet heat ray; thelocation chart showed the red spot zigzagging drunkenly around thegreen one. Each boat made occasional short, crazy darts at the other;sometimes they would stand approximately still. It was a riotous gameof tag, and McKegnie knew too well that he was "it. "

During one brief pause the anguished cook found himself groaningaloud: "Oh, Mr. Wells, where are you? I can't keep this up! I can't! Ican't!"

 * * * * *

There were still several important-looking controls that weremysteries to him. But what if he should pull one and open all the exitports? He shuddered at the thought. 

Things had become nightmarish. The ship was pitted scores of places bythe heat ray. The control room had grown stifling. McKegnie was losingpounds of flesh, and literally stood in a pool of his ownperspiration. The octopi craft kept doggedly after the _NX-1_, nomatter how often and effectually the sweating cook's reckless handsprevented her getting the heat ray home. 

For a long time the two ships continued to race up and down. The_NX-1_ would plunge, pirouette around the other, and scamper awaytowards the ceiling as if enjoying it all hugely, abruptly to forsakeher course and come zooming down once more. She would weave in rompingcircles and seem to go utterly crazy as her jumbled navigator pulledhis levers and turned his wheels in a frantic effort to get somewhere. 

To get somewhere! Yes--but where?

"Oh, Mr. Wells, where are you?" the harried cook would bleat atintervals. 

Or, plaintively: "Now, what the hell's _this_ thing for?"

CHAPTER IX

_At Bay_

Fourteen humans stood at bay on the cold sea-floor, dazed by theruthless stroke of ill-luck which had taken the _NX-1_ from where theyhad left it. 

"It's gone, " whispered Graham over and over in a hopeless tone. Keithtried to pull himself together. He had to think of his men. 

In a second, his whole plan, which had seemed to be approachingsuccess so rapidly, was smashed by the disappearance of the submarine. Mechanically he kept his helmet-light playing into the ever-thickeningeyes and tentacles around him, while he scanned the sea-floor nearby. It was filling more closely than ever with the black, writhing formsof the cuttlefish. The rays still held them back, but their great bulkloomed over the small party of humans like a sinister storm cloud. Soon, in their overwhelming mass, they would crush down, and thesubmarine's crew be conquered by sheer force of numbers. 

"Look!" Keith cried. "There's where she was lying!"

He pointed out on the floor of the square a deep groove, obviouslymade by the hull of the _NX-1_. Its length and jaggedness seemed todenote that the submarine had tried to bore into the bed of the cavernitself. Wells was mystified. If the octopi-ship had towed her away, she would certainly not have gouged that deep scar on the seabottom. .. . 

But he dismissed the strange disappearance from his mind. He had towork out a plan of action. 

"Keep together, men, and follow that scar!" he ordered tersely. "There's a chance that the _NX-1's_ somewhere further along!"

It was a futile hope, he knew--but there was nothing else. The tinygroup, centered in the inverted bowl of black, writhing tentacles, lumbered onward. 

 * * * * *

Then the octopi struck with another weapon, in an effort to dull thespearing beams of white. Here and there from the mass of black an evenblacker cloud began to emerge. It quickly settled over the wholescene, pervading it with a pitchy, clinging darkness that obscuredeach man from his neighbor. 

"Ink!" cried one of them. It was sepia from the cuttlefish's inksacs--the weapon with which these monsters of the underseas blind andconfuse their victims. 

"Faster!" the commander roared in answer. "And for heaven's sake, keeptogether!"

They huddled closer. Under the protecting cloud of ink the mass ofoctopi pressed nearer. The struggle became fantastic, unreal, as thebrilliant beams of white bored through the utter blackness searchingfor eyes which the men knew were there, yet could not see until theirrays chanced upon them. Snaky shadows milled horribly close to thelittle group of bulging yellow figures. Blacker and blacker grew thewater; they could not always see the monsters as they drove them backon each side. Now and then a bold tentacle actually touched one ofthem for a moment before its owner was thrust, blinded, away. 

Suddenly the dark cloud cleared a little as the fight moved into anunseen current. Their range of vision lengthened to ten or twelvefeet; they could dimly sense the looming mass of cuttlefish: and itwas less often that one of the monsters darted forward, daring therays of white, and became altogether visible. When this did happen, half a dozen dazzling beams converged on the octopus' eyes and droveit back in writhing agony. 

The men were the hub of a grotesque cartwheel, whose spokes wereinter-crossing rays of white. They still forged onward along thegroove, but moved more slowly now, and Keith Wells, tired to death, realized the combat could not go on much longer. Their advance wasuseless; a mere jest. The _NX-1_ had vanished. It would only be aquestion of time before their batteries gave out, or the swarms ofoctopi crushed in on the struggling crew. Their overwhelming numberswould tell in the end. .. . The men were silent, except for theoccasional gasps which came from their laboring lungs. 

 * * * * *

And then the king of the octopi appeared. 

Keith had been wondering, in the aching turmoil that was his brain, where the gold-banded monarch was. He knew the monster had beenrescued, and he dreaded coming face to face once more with that hugeform. Now, armlets of glittering yellow suddenly flashed in the thickof the besieging tentacles, and two great evil eyes glared for asecond at Keith Wells. The commander flung a burst of light at themand laughed crazily as the monster scurried back. For a few momentsthe king was not visible. 

"Well, fellows, " Wells said, "it won't be long now. His Majesty's backon the field. " He grinned a little through his weary face. "I wonderwhat he'll hatch up to combat our helmet-lights? Watch close: he'sdamn clever!"

The commander did not have long to wonder. The vague wall of tentaclesbegan retreating deeper into the ink. Keith could not imagine thereason for it, but held himself taut and ready. His men, likewisenoting the move, unconsciously grouped closer, waiting tensely forthey knew not what. 

The king of the octopi had indeed hatched a plan of attack. After amoment the mass of creatures again became slowly visible, but thistime when the rays shot out they did not hold them back. Couldnot--for their eyes were not visible. 

"My God!" Wells cried. "They're coming backwards!"

 * * * * *

It was so. The octopi--no doubt under their ruler's orders--had turnedthemselves around, and now, with eyes directly away from the dazzlingshafts of white, were closing slowly in on the humans from all sides. The helmet-lights were useless. They could not reach the creatures'eyes. 

Tentacles coiling, whipping, interweaving, the wall of flesh pressedin. Death stared the helpless crew of the _NX-1_ in the face. FirstOfficer Graham shrugged his shoulders and said tiredly:

"Well, I guess it's all over. .. . Unless, " he added with a feeblesmile, "somebody figures a way to melt us through the sea-floor. .. . "

Keith Wells' face suddenly lit up with an idea. He swung around androared:

"The hell it's over! We can go _up_!"

His crew understood at once. "What fools we--" Graham began, but Keithcut him short. 

"Listen, " he rapped quickly. "Jam together in one bunch and lock armstight. When I give the word, flood your suits with air. We'll go uplike comets; crash right through the devils. .. . Hurry!. .. All ready?"

He saw that they were. "Then, together--go!" he commanded. 

As one man the crew adjusted their air-controls, bulging the sea-suitswith air. Their weighted feet left the cavern floor at once, and, locked tightly together, the whole fourteen of them shot like a bulletto the living ceiling of unsuspecting cuttlefish above. 

They hit with a terrific crash. Keith was momentarily stunned by theforce of impact. He felt himself torn away from his men, felt a dozententacles snake over him, and mechanically stabbed out with hishelmet-light. For a moment he was held; then the air and his lightpulled him through, and he broke out through the top. 

In his rocketing upward progress the extra oxygen rapidly cleared hismind. Glancing below he saw a great, dark, many-fingered clouddropping rapidly away, and was glad to know that the octopi could notfollow him into the lesser pressures above without their suits. Overthe dark cloud he glimpsed a few scattered pin-points of light--thehelmet-beams of the other men. They were rising as swiftly as he. 

"Thank God!" he murmured reverently. "We broke through! We brokethrough!"

CHAPTER X

_The Return of the Wanderer_

Wells watched the several helmet-lights shooting upwards and wonderedif they represented all the men that had got safely through the net oftentacles. Remembering the rocky ceiling they were rapidlyapproaching, he ordered the others to reduce speed by discharging airfrom their sea-suits. He received no articulate answer. 

Although he cut down the rush of his own progress, it was with a jarthat he bounded into the top of the cavern. As he dangled there, hebeheld four light beams hurtling upward; his earphones registeredcrash after crash: and then he saw the beams go spinning down into thegloom again, weaving and crossing fantastically, the shock havingjerked them from their owner's hands. Keith had lost his ownhelmet-light below, but peering around he could make out a few vagueforms, bumping and twisting in the current. 

"Graham!" the commander called. "Graham, you there?" After a momenthis first officer's voice came thickly back. 

"Yes--here. A bit groggy. That crash. .. . " Wells swam clumsily towardshim. 

"I guess only a few of us broke through, " the commander said slowly. As the two officers hung at the roof, swinging grotesquely, one by onethe other men came to their senses and reported their presence in theradiophone. Keith ordered them to cluster around him, and soon eightweird figures had grouped nearby. After a while they located twoothers, which brought their total to ten men and two officers. Theylooked a long time, but could not find any more. Two were gone. 

 * * * * *

Deep silence fell over the tiny group. The dark mass of the rockyceiling scraped their helmets; below, the bluish waters tapered into athick gloom, hiding, miles beneath, the mound-buildings and swarmingoctopi. 

One of the men spoke. His words were audible to everyone, and theyvoiced the thought in every brain:

"What're we going to do now?"

Keith had no answer. They had escaped the immediate danger, but it wasonly a temporary respite. The commander knew it was hopeless to tryand locate the tunnel leading to the outer sea, for they were verytired, and in their clumsy suits they would be able to swim only a fewrods. Their helmet-lights were gone; they had played their last card. 

"They're goin' to find us after a while, " the pessimistic voicecontinued. "They'll send that submarine of theirs after us--or maybethey'll come up in their metal suits. .. . "

"Well, " Keith replied with forced cheerfulness, "then we'll have tofight 'em off. "

"Why not rip our suits an' end it now--" began another, but Graham'svoice cut in sharply. 

"Quiet!" he said. "I heard something!"

The men stilled abruptly. In tense silence their ears strained at theheadphones. Wells asked: "What did you hear?"

"Wait!" Graham interrupted, listening intently. "There it is again!Listen! Can't you hear it? Why, it sounded like--like--"

Keith concentrated his whole mind on listening, but could catchnothing at all. He was just about to give up when he caught a faint, jumbled murmur--the murmur of a human voice. 

"My God!" he whispered. The voice, little by little, grew, and Wellscould distinguish words. They formed into a complete sentence. Keithheard it plainly. It was:

"Now, what the hell's this thing for?"

 * * * * *

Unmistakably, it was the voice of Cook Angus McKegnie, whom they allhad thought dead. 

Amazed, the men of the crew started to jabber. "Quiet!" Wells orderedsharply. He listened again. McKegnie's voice was growing quickly andsteadily louder. 

"McKegnie!" the commander cried excitedly. "McKegnie, can you hearme?" There was no answer. Patiently Wells waited a minute, everysecond of which increased the volume of his long-lost cook'sbewildered tones. Again he tried. 

"McKegnie! Can you hear me? This is Commander Wells. McKegnie!"

The cook's stammering voice came back:

"Why--why--is that you, Mr. Wells? Did I hear you, Mr. Wells?"

"Yes!" Keith shouted impatiently. "This is Commander Wells! Forheaven's sake, McKegnie, where are you?"

"I don't know, sir!" the cook responded. "Where are you?"

Keith was for the moment perplexed. "But--but, are you a prisoner?" hequestioned. And he could have sworn he heard a distinct note of prideas the invisible McKegnie replied: "Oh, no, sir! Not yet! These devilsbeen tryin' their best to get me, but they couldn't! No, sir!"

Wells became more and more puzzled. "Then--but--you're not running the_NX-1_, are you?"

McKegnie's voice was much louder now, and growing every second. Thenote of pride persisted. "Of course, sir!" he confirmed. "It was kindof hard at first, with these octopises botherin' me, but I got onto itpretty quick. That octopis ship chased me with them heat rays for along time, but I ain't seen them lately. I guess I kinda tired themout. "

 * * * * *

His last words grew louder with a rush, and from the dark depthsbeneath a long shape suddenly appeared, hurtling up at the group ofastounded men in a zoom that bade fair to take it straight through theceiling. It was the _NX-1_. 

"Dive, man, dive!" Keith yelled. "Cook, pull that black-handled levertowards you! Yank it back! Yank it back! Quick!" He sighed with reliefas he saw his madly-driven submarine pause, whip its nose downward, and crash back for the depths from which it had come. 

The commander spoke rapidly. "McKegnie, listen: Leave the black leverhalfway, so you'll level out. Straighten your helm. We're only alittle above you; come round in a circle till I tell you to stop. "

The _NX-1_ came out of her dive, and, as the cook evidently shoved herhelm over, went skirting around in a wide, drunken circle, somethousand feet below her regular crew. 

"All right!" Keith shouted. The fear that the octopi submarine woulddart back before he could get aboard his ship was looming in his mind. "You're at the helm, Cook; there's a wheel right over your head. Spinit around--oh, my God, there you go again!" He groaned while the_NX-1_ went swooping off on a repetition of her crazy circle. 

"Sorry, sir, " the culinary navigator said thickly. "I guess I got thewrong thing. "

"Now!" Wells roared. "Spin that wheel above your head. .. . That'sright--right--there! Don't touch a thing, Cook! We're coming down. "

The submarine had paused directly beneath them, listing slightly toport. Then began the cautious business of the descent. Under Wells'rapid orders the men linked arms again and discharged more air fromtheir sea-suits. Slowly, thin chains of bubbles rising behind them, they sank towards the dim shape of the _NX-1_ below. Wells' eyes keptprobing the thick gloom far beneath. Every moment he expected to seeit disgorge a swarm of octopi. 

They neared the submarine, and saw numberless pitted spots in herbody, where the heat ray had stabbed for a moment. In their excitementthey missed their level by some feet, but clutching together theyadmitted more air and soon rose even with the starboard exit port. 

"Swim forward, " Keith ordered. "Hurry!" The weird figures gropedclumsily, and very slowly neared the port. The commander, in the van, at last reached out and gripped its jutting external controls. Hecould not work them at first: his hands were numb and awkward. 

As he tugged and struggled with them a shout rang in his headphone. Itwas McKegnie, scared to death. 

"Oh, hurry, Mr. Wells!" he yelled. "Quick! Quick, please! The octopisship's comin', sir! The red light's back!"

CHAPTER XI

_To the Death_

The emergency steadied Keith's fingers. He got the door open andmotioned Graham and six men inside the water chamber. The passage tookbut a minute. Then he sent the rest of the crew in, being himself thelast to enter. When the chamber was finally empty, and Wells hadstepped through the inner door onto the lower deck of the _NX-1_, agreat sigh of relief broke from him. Never before had anything lookedso good as that brilliantly lit deck with its familiar maze ofmachinery and bulkheads. 

"Thank God, " he said simply, and his joy was shared by the whole crew. A new feeling had come over them. Back home--in their own submarine, their own element--they had at least a fighting chance with theoctopi. But Keith let them waste no time. He knew that a final, desperate duel to the death with their foe still was ahead. "Above tothe control room, " he ordered. "Fast!"

They lumbered up the connecting ramp. A disheveled, wild-eyed form metthem. Keith couldn't help chuckling as he passed the now much thinnerand paler cook, with the arsenal handy at his waist. On the deck ofthe control room lay a huge tentacled body, metal-scaled, with itsdome of glass shattered and its great cold eyes staring unseeinglyaway. "I killed him, " stammered McKegnie pridefully; "but Mr. Wells--look at that red light, sir!"

Keith glanced rapidly at the location chart, ripping off his sea-suitas he did. The fateful red stud was moving swiftly down on themotionless green one. The men had surrounded McKegnie, laughing andslapping him on the back, but the commander's terse orders jerked themabruptly back to action. 

"The rectifiers, Graham: clean out this stale air. Sea-suits off; atemergency posts. Take the helm, Craig; you, Wetherby, trim the ship. No, no, Cook--keep away from the controls!"

The _NX-1_ balanced herself; fresh air came rushing in, sweeping outthe stale. Keith stared at the location chart, waiting for thesubmarine to be ready. The red light was almost upon them. 

"Right!" he roared at last. "Diving rudder controls, Graham! Fullspeed for the tunnel!"

 * * * * *

At that moment the octopi ship swept into view, its full battery ofoffensive weapons flaring forth. The paralyzing ray tingled again andagain over the control room. Someone laughed at its uselessness. Theviolet heat ray leveled full at them, but the commander avoided itwith "Port ten, starboard ten! Maintain zigzag course to the tunnel. "He understood the enemy's weapons now; he was throbbing with thefierce thrill of action. This duel was to be the climax of their wholeadventure. "And, by heaven, " he promised, "it's going to be a fight!"

The other craft seemed to realize the _NX-1_ was now in expert hands. She raced along to starboard for some minutes, her heat ray tryingvainly to steady on the American's weaving form. Wells wondered if theking of the octopi was aboard her, in command; he thought perhaps theship had postponed her chase of McKegnie to pick him up. "I hope heis!" the commander breathed, and fingered the torpedo lever. He hadsome debts to pay. 

The _NX-1_, engines working smoothly, proceeded on a desperate dashfor the tunnel that led to the outer sea. But the octopi shipapparently knew what Keith intended, for she abandoned her offensiverays, changed course a few degrees and slowly but steadily pulledahead. "Damn!" Keith exclaimed. "She'll get there before us!"

The dim shape dwindled on the screen, and before long her bulk haddisappeared entirely. Wells then could watch her swift, straightprogress only on the location chart. 

 * * * * *

Ten minutes later the funnel-like opening of the tunnel loomed on theteleview, and squarely in front, blocking it, was the waiting form ofthe octopi submarine. 

"Quarter speed!" Keith snapped. "Hold her steady, Graham; I'm going totry a bow torpedo. I think we're beyond their ray. "

Sighting his range on the telescopic range-finder, he worked the_NX-1_ slowly into position. He noticed that his first officer wasstaring oddly at him. He was bothered by the queer look. "What'swrong?" he asked impatiently. 

"But--what about Hemmy Bowman?"

Bowman! In the rush of action and suspense, Keith Wells had completelyforgotten his officer in the enemy submarine. "Oh, God!" he groaned. The cruel situation that had stayed his hand once before had againcome to falter his course of action. The men were watching him; Grahamhad a question in his eyes. They all knew what had to be decided. .. . 

Keith shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. It was his greater duty todestroy the octopi submarine. And yet--

"Fish for Hemmy, Sparks, " he ordered. "Craig, keep present distancefrom enemy. Full stop. "

A moment later the radio operator looked up. "Mr. Bowman on thephones, sir. " With a heavy weight on his heart the commander clippedon the extension headphones. 

"Hemmy?"

"Keith? Keith? Thank God you're alive!" Bowman's voice shook withgladness. "You're all back on the _NX-1_, Keith? The whole crew's withyou? Oh, Lord, it's good to hear you again!"

"Yes. We got back all right, Hemmy--a miracle. They've still got youprisoner?"

"Yes. .. . Keith--you're trying to dodge out of the tunnel, aren't you?"

 * * * * *

Wells smiled bitterly, and as he paused to frame an answer Bowmanspoke again. 

"I want you to blow up this submarine, Keith, " he said quickly. "Afavor to me. "

He cut Wells short when the commander started to interrupt. "Wait! Letme finish, " he pleaded. "I want to explain. I'd been hoping--but nevermind that. .. . Keith, a while ago I managed to work loose. I lost myhead completely and tackled these devils. It was a foolish thing todo; they overcame me, naturally. But, in the struggle, they tore mysea-suit. "

"What!"

"Oh, just a tiny tear, or I wouldn't have lasted till now. But a leakall the same--in the right leg. Since then I've been gripping theedges of the fabric as tightly as I can--but I couldn't keep the waterinside this ship from seeping through. It came in slowly at first, then faster as my hands grew numb. It's up to my neck now, Keith . .. And--it won't be long! I've just a few minutes left. .. . "

The faint words tapered into silence. 

"No!" roared Keith in a great rush of emotion. But Hemmy's eagervoice came right back:

"Oh yes, you must! It would be a mercy to kill me, Keith. "

There were tears in the commander's eyes. "Are you sure, Hemmy?" heasked. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. It would be a mercy. "

Wells' lips formed a straight grim line. His words squeezed through ittightly. "All right, Hemmy. Thanks. Thanks. I--I'll go after them now, old man. I'll try and keep in touch with you through the duel, butI--I can't promise--"

He could almost see Hemingway Bowman give his old familiar smile as heanswered:

"Then so long, Keith!"

 * * * * *

Commander Keith Wells studied the teleview screen. The men were halfafraid to look at his strained blanched face. 

Repeatedly the violet beam speared through the water, reaching for the_NX-1's_ bow. 

"Turn ship. Line up for stern torpedoes, " the commander orderedharshly. He realized he could not hold his submarine steady to obtaina perfect sight, for the heat ray needed only thirty seconds to meltthrough their shell. He would have to swing the ship slowly about;and, as the shape of the enemy crossed the hair-lines on therange-finder, unleash his torpedoes and gamble on hitting the movingtarget. 

The _NX-1_ swung around, always maintaining a slight forward motionand zigzagging constantly to nullify the heat beam. Wells watched therange-finder closely. The octopi ship slanted downwards, the deadlyviolet ray stabbing from her bow. Slowly the black dot thatrepresented her appeared on the dial, and slowly it dropped towardsthe crossed lines that showed the perfect firing point. 

Keith grasped the torpedo lever. The _NX-1's_ stern was towards hertarget. Dead silence hung in the control room. The _NX-1_ swungslightly. The octopi craft appeared directly in the middle of thedial. 

Wells pulled back the lever. 

The hiss of compressed air sprang from her stern. He had fired twotubes, his whole stock of stern torpedoes. The pair of dreadfulweapons leaped out and settled on their course. Keith shot his gaze tothe teleview. 

The torpedoes missed. Only by feet, but a miss all the same. Theyraced on past the octopi submarine and, with a tremendous, ear-numbingexplosion, burst on the wall of the cavern beyond. Both ships reeledfrom the shock. Graham swore viciously, but Wells' masklike faceshowed no slightest change of expression. .. . 

A voice rang in Keith's headphones. "Tough, Keith! Better luck nexttime!" Then the commander winced. He simply could not answer HemmyBowman; could not answer that fine, brave voice. .. . 

 * * * * *

The stern torpedoes were gone. The tubes could not be reloaded, forthe paralyzing ray bound the men to the control room. That left themtwo torpedoes in the bow. 

The violet heat ray kept fingering hungrily on their outer hull, andevery man knew that the plates were weakening under the steady strain, which was only lessened by the _NX-1's_ constant zigzagging. Thecontrol room was very hot. Both ships were now a full mile from thetunnel entrance. Keith plunged the _NX-1_ down, swung her around, tobring his bow tubes to bear, and zigzagged upwards. 

It was obvious that the octopi craft had been alarmed by the terrificexplosion. They now adopted tactics similar to the American ship's, and for awhile both submarines circled cautiously, maneuvering for anopening. 

"If only we could keep the ship steady!" Graham muttered. "But thenthat heat ray'd get us!"

The commander kept his eyes on the teleview. Again and again theviolet shaft pronged at them. The heat grew stifling. Sweat waspouring from all the men's bodies. Every face was strained and taut. 

"Starboard full!" Wells said suddenly. "A little up, Graham!" He hadseen a chance; the octopi craft was slightly above, and in a momentwould pass directly in the line of the bow tubes. The _NX-1_ stuck hernose up, swung rapidly to the right. Keith pulled back the firinglever, releasing one torpedo. 

The long messenger of death hurtled straight for the enemy's hull. They watched its course breathlessly. .. . 

"My God!" the first officer groaned. "Could they see it coming?" Forthe octopi submarine had swung to one side, neatly dodging thespeeding tube of dynamite. 

"One left!" he added bitterly. "One left!"

 * * * * *

A desperate plan formed in Keith Wells' mind. His last torpedo simplyhad to strike the mark; he could take no chances with it. He motionedthe haggard-faced Graham to him. 

"There's only one thing left to do, " he said quietly. "We've got todeliberately face that heat ray; chance its puncturing our plates. "

"How do you mean, sir?"

"Get in very close, so as to make our last torpedo sure to hit. We'vegot to approach the enemy head-on at full speed. We'll corkscrew up tothem until we get within two hundred yards, then go straight forwardfor ten or fifteen seconds, giving us the opportunity to sight theremaining torpedo directly on them. The heat ray may break throughbefore I fire--but when I do fire it's a sure hit. "

The men had heard every word. Quietly Wells ordered:

"Take the torpedo control, Graham. I'll take the helm. "

The first officer obeyed without a word. Keith grasped the helm. Theplans were made for their last desperate attempt. 

"Right, " the commander said shortly. "Here we go. "

 * * * * *

There had been a taut silence before, but now, knowing that they weredeliberately offering themselves a perfect target for the heat ray inorder to get their last torpedo home, the intensity was almostunbearable. The men felt like shrieking, jumping--doing anything tobreak the awful hush. The air was charged with the same unnameablesomething that heralds a typhoon. 

Keith Wells was like a white statue at the helm, save for thebetraying trickles of sweat that coursed down his drawn cheeks. Hishands moved the wheel slowly from port to starboard; his eyes bored atthe screen before him. The ship was in command of a man of steel, aman with but one purpose. .. . 

"Up--up, " he ordered. "Hold--in trim--full speed forward!"

He had brought the _NX-1_ directly in line with the octopi ship. Andnow the craft leaped forward under full power, while he shot the helmback and forth ceaselessly. His ship was describing a corkscrewingmotion, weaving straight at the enemy. Grasping her opportunity, theoctopi submarine remained motionless, steadily dousing the approachingAmerican craft with her silent violet ray and driving the temperaturein the control room to even greater heights. 

The distance between them rapidly lessened. Would the plates stand it?Would the ray melt through the weakened steel before he could fire?With an effort Keith drove these doubts from his mind . .. But he couldnot banish a certain dull, steady ache from his consciousness. .. . 

 * * * * *

The range dwindled. The heat became intolerable. Everyone's clothingwas sopping wet. A man ripped off his shirt, gasping for air. Wellskept his eyes on the screen, though half-blinded by smarting sweat. The plates had to give soon, he knew. 

The octopi submarine, beam on and dead ahead, began to move to port atquickly increasing speed. At once Keith stopped swinging the helm, andthe _NX-1's_ corkscrewing motion of protection ceased. And then camethe real test, the gauntlet of seconds. 

Right straight into the retreating violet beam they went, at topspeed. They gained rapidly. The heat was furnace-like. The commander, watching the range-finder, kept moving the helm slightly over. A shaftof violet heat spanned the two shells of metal. For ten seconds it hadheld on the _NX-1_. The black dot of the enemy craft moved slowly toexact center on the dial. Fifteen seconds . .. Twenty . .. Twenty-three--

"Fire!"

Graham jammed the torpedo lever back. 

"Crash dive!"

The deck tilted downward. And Wells' white lips formed the words, "Solong, Hemmy!"--and he tore the phones from his head. 

Seconds later a titanic explosion sounded through the cavern; echoedand re-echoed in vasty roars. The American craft's lights wentoff--but not before her men had seen, in the teleview, a fire-shotmaelstrom where a moment before the octopi submarine had been. 

"We got them!" yelled Graham. 

 * * * * *

A roar of exultation burst from every throat. The men flung their armsout, jumped, yelled crazily. Faint emergency lights lit the scene. 

"Below, at regular posts, " Wells ordered. "Reload bow and stern tubes. Graham, see to the lights. " He himself remained at the helm. In a fewmoments the submarine had climbed back to the level of the tunnel. Atquarter speed she nosed into the wide entrance, and slowly forged intothe dense, deceptive shadows. 

The commander acted mechanically. Again by touch he steered his shipthrough the black, ragged cleft. Fifteen minutes after leaving thecavern of the octopi her bow poked through the weaving kelp into thefree, salty depths of the Atlantic Ocean. 

There was one more task to perform, and Wells lost no time in doingit. When two hundred yards away he halted the _NX-1_, steadied her andsighted the stern tubes just above the dark tunnel hole. Quickly hesent forth two torpedoes. 

A huge roar rumbled through the water, whipping the beds of kelp tomad convulsions. "Turn around, " the commander ordered harshly. Hesighted his bow tubes and again let loose a bolt of two torpedoes. Then he sent the submarine forward, and, through the teleview, examined what his four weapons had done. 

Huge chunks of rock had been tumbled down, completely closing thetunnel. 

"Well, " said Graham, "it's over! Finished! They'll never get throughthat!"

 * * * * *

A full-throated cheer burst from the men below, a cheer that rang forminutes as they realized they were free forever of the octopi, of thecold underwater city, of the clutching tentacles. Graham grinnedbroadly. 

"Sound happy--eh?" he chuckled. "Say, Keith, it's good we've got thosetwo octopi our fighting cook killed. Knapp would never believe ourstory without them!"

He stared curiously at his commander. Wells was standing quite still, facing the teleview screen. A strange, far-away look was in his eyes. 

"What's the matter, old man?" the first officer asked, smilingstraight at him. "Aren't you glad we won through?"

"Of course, " answered Keith with a tired smile in return. 

"But why did you look that way?" Graham persisted. And Keith Wellstold him:

"I was just wondering if Hemmy told the truth. "

The Black Lamp

_By Captain S. P. Meek_

[Illustration: _"Look out!" He leaped to one side as he spoke. _]

[Sidenote: Dr. Bird and his friend Carnes unravel another criminal webof scientific mystery. ]

"The clue, Carnes, " said Dr. Bird slowly, "lies in those windows. "

Operative Carnes of the United States Secret Service shook his headbefore he glanced at the windows of the famous scientist's privatelaboratory on the top floor of the Bureau of Standards. 

"I usually defer to your knowledge, Doctor, " he said, "but this time Ithink you are off on the wrong foot. If the thieves came in throughthe windows, what was their object in cutting that hole through theroof? The marks are very plain and they indicate that the hole was cutin some manner from the inside. "

Dr. Bird smiled enigmatically. 

"That is too evident for discussion, " he replied. "I grant you thatthe thieves entered from the roof through that hole. After they hadsecured their booty they left by the same route. I presume that youhave noticed the marks on the roof where an aircraft of some sort, probably a helicopter, landed and took off. A question of much greatermoment is that of what they did before they landed and cut the hole. "

"I don't follow your reasoning, Doctor. "

"Carnes, that hole was cut through the roof with a heavy saw. Incutting it, the workers dislodged quite a little plaster which fell tothe floor and must have made a great deal of noise. Why wasn't thatnoise heard?"

"It was heard. The watchman heard it, but knew that Lieutenant Breslauwas working here and he thought that he made the noise. "

"Surely, but why didn't Breslau hear it?"

"How do we know that he didn't? He was taken to Walter Reed Hospitalthis morning with his mind an absolute blank and with his tongueparalyzed. He must have seen the thieves and they treated him in someway to ensure his silence. When he is able to talk, if he ever is, he'll probably give us a good description of them. "

 * * * * *

Dr. Bird shook his head. 

"Too thin, Carney, old dear, " he said. "Breslau is a very intelligentyoung man. He was perfectly normal when I left him shortly aftermidnight last night. He was working alone in here on a device of theutmost military importance. On the desk is a push button which setsringing a dozen gongs in the building. Surely a man of that type wouldhave had sense enough when he heard and saw intruders cutting a holethrough the roof to sound an alarm which would have brought everywatchman on the grounds to his assistance. He must have been knockedout before the hole was started, probably before the helicopter'slanding. "

"How? Gas of some sort?"

"The windows were all closed and locked and I have already ascertainedthat the gas and water lines have not been tampered with. Gas won'tpenetrate through a solid roof in sufficient concentration to knockout a man like that. It was something more subtle than gas. "

"What was it?"

"I don't know yet. The clue to what it was lies, as I told you, inthose windows. "

Carnes moved over and surveyed the windows closely. 

"I see nothing unusual about them except that they need washing ratherbadly. "

"They were washed last Friday, but they do look rather dirty, don'tthey? Suppose you take a rag and some scouring soap and clean up apane. "

The detective took the proffered articles and started his task. He weta pane of glass, rubbed up a thick lather of scouring soap and appliedit and rubbed vigorously. With clear water he washed the glass andthen gave an exclamation of astonishment and examined it more closely. 

"That isn't dirt, Doctor, " he cried. "The glass seems to be fogged. "

Dr. Bird chuckled. 

"So it seems, " he admitted. "Now look at the rest of the glass aroundthe laboratory. "

Carnes looked around and then walked to a table littered withapparatus and examined a dozen pieces carefully. 

"It's all fogged in exactly the same way, Doctor, " he said. "The onlypiece of clear glass in the room is that piece of plate glass on yourdesk. "

 * * * * *

Dr. Bird picked up a hammer and struck the plate on his desk a sharpblow. Carnes ducked instinctively, but the hammer rebounded harmlesslyfrom the plate. 

"That isn't glass, Carnes, " said the doctor. "That plate is made ofvitrilene, a new product which I have developed. It looks like glass, but it has entirely different properties. It is of enormous strengthand is quite insensitive to shock. It has one most peculiar property. While ultra-violet and longer rays will penetrate it quite readily, itis a perfect screen for X-rays and other rays of shorter wave length. It appears to be the only piece of transparent substance in mylaboratory which has not been fogged, as you call it. "

"Do short waves fog glass, Doctor?"

"Not so far as I know at present, but you must remember that verylittle work has been done with the short wave-lengths. In the vastrange of waves whose lengths lie between zero and that of the X-ray, only a few points have been investigated and definitely plotted. Theremay be in that range a wave-length which will fog glass. "

"Then your theory is that some sort of a ray machine was put inoperation before the helicopter landed?"

"It is too early to attempt any theorizing, Carnes. Let us confineourselves to the known facts. Lieutenant Breslau was normal atmidnight and was working in this room. Some time between then andseven this morning he underwent certain mental and physical changeswhich prevent him from telling us what he observed. During the sameperiod, a hole was cut in the roof and things of great importancestolen. At the same time, all the glass in the laboratory becamesemi-opaque. The problem is to determine what connection there isbetween the three events. I will handle the scientific end here, butthere is some outside work to be done, and that will be your share. "

 * * * * *

"Give your orders, Doctor, " said the detective briefly. 

"To understand what I am driving at, I will have to tell you what hasbeen stolen. Naturally this is highly confidential. Some rumors haveleaked out as to my experiments with 'radite, ' as I have named thenew radium-containing disintegrating explosive on which I have beenworking, but no one short of the Secretary of War and the Chief ofOrdnance and certain of their selected subordinates knows that myexperiments have been successful and that the United States is in aposition to manufacture radite in almost unlimited quantities from thepitchblende ore deposits of Wyoming and Nevada. The effects of raditewill be catastrophic on the unfortunate victim on whom it is firstused. The only thing left to do was to develop a gun from which raditeshells could be fired with safety and precision. 

"Ordinary propellant powders are too variable for this purpose, but Ifound that radite B, one form of my new explosive, can be used forpropelling the shells from a gun. The ordinary gun will last only twoor three rounds, due to the erosive action of the radite charge on thebarrel, and ordinary ordnance is heavier and more cumbersome than isnecessary. When this was found to be the case, the Chief of Ordnancedetailed Lieutenant Breslau, the army's greatest expert on gun design, to work with me in an attempt to develop a suitable weapon. Breslau isa wizard at that sort of work and he has made a miniature workingmodel of a gun with a vitrilene-lined barrel which is capable of beingfired with a miniature shell. The gun will stand up under the repeatedfiring of radite charges and is very light and compact and gives anaccuracy of fire control heretofore deemed impossible. From this heplanned to construct a larger weapon which would fire a shellcontaining an explosive charge of two and one-half ounces of radite ata rate of fire of two hundred shots per minute. The destructive effectof each shell will be greater than that of the ordinary high-explosiveshell fired from a sixteen-inch mortar, and all of the shells can belanded inside a two-hundred foot circle at a range of fifteen miles. The weight of the completed gun will be less than half a ton, exclusive of the firing platform. It is Breslau's working model whichhas been stolen. "

 * * * * *

Carnes whistled softly between his teeth. 

"The matter will have to be handled pretty delicately to avoidinternational complications, " he said. "It's hard to tell just whereto look. There are a great many nations who would give any amount fora model of such a weapon. "

"The matter must be handled delicately and also in absolute secrecy, Carnes. We are not yet ready to announce to the world the fact that wehave such a weapon in our armory. It is the plan of the President tohave a half dozen of these weapons manufactured and give ademonstration of their terrible effectiveness to representatives ofthe powers of the world. Think what an argument the existence of sucha weapon will be for the furtherance of his plans for disarmament anduniversal peace! Public sentiment will force disarmament on the world, for even the worst jingoist could no longer defend armaments in theface of America's offer to scrap these super-engines of destructionand to destroy the plans from which they were made. If the model hasfallen into the hands of any civilized power the damage is notirreparable, for public opinion would force its surrender and return. It is among the uncivilized powers that our search must first bemade. "

"That makes the problem of where to start more complicated. "

"On the contrary, it simplifies it immensely. At the head of theuncivilized powers stands one which has the brains, the scientificknowledge and the manufacturing facilities to make terrible use ofsuch a weapon. In addition, the aim of that power is to overthrow allworld governments and set up in their stead its own tyrannicaldisorder. Need I name it?"

"You refer to Russia. "

"Not to Russia, the great slumbering giant who will some day take herplace in the sun in fellowship with the other nations, but toBolsheviki, that empire within an empire, that horrible power which itholding sleeping Russia in chains of steel and blood. It is there thatour search must first be made. "

 * * * * *

"Of course, they have no official representative in America. "

"No, but the Young Labor Party is as much their accreditedrepresentative as the British Ambassador is of imperial Britain. Yourfirst task will be to trail down and locate every leader of that groupand to investigate his present activities. "

"I can tell you where most of them are without investigation. Denberg, Semensky and Karuska are in Atlanta; Fedorovitch and Caspar are inLeavenworth; Saranoff is dead--"

"Presumably. "

"Why, Doctor, I saw with my own eyes the destruction of the submarinein which he was riding!"

"Did you see his dead body?"

"No. "

"Neither did I, and I will never be sure until I do. Once before wewere certain of his death, and he bobbed up with a new fiendishdevice. We cannot eliminate Saranoff. "

"I will include him in my plans. "

"Do so. Besides a hypothetical Saranoff, there are a half dozen ormore of the old leaders of the gang who are alive and at liberty, sofar as we know. They fled the country after the Coast Guard broke uptheir alien smuggling scheme, but some of them may have returned. There are also thirty or forty underlings who should be located andchecked up on, and, in addition, we must not lose sight of the factthat new heads of the organization may have been smuggled into theUnited States. It is no simple task that I am setting you, Carnes, butI know that you and Bolton will see it through if anyone can. "

"Thanks, Doctor, we'll do our best. If I am not speaking out of turn, what are you planning to do in the mean time?"

 * * * * *

"I am going to start Taylor off on an ultra-short wave generator andtry a few experiments along that line. Breslau is at Walter Reed andthey are doing all they can for him, but until I can get some definiteinformation as to the underlying cause of his condition, they are moreor less shooting in the dark. "

"How are they treating him?"

"By electric stimulations and vibratory treatments and by keeping himin a darkened room. By the way, Carnes, if I am correct in my line ofthought, it would be well to have an extra guard put over Karuska. Hewas the only real expert in ordnance that the Young Labor party had, and if they have Breslau's model they'll need him to supervise theconstruction of a gun. "

"I'll attend to that at once, Doctor. Is there anything else?"

"Not that I know of. I am going out to Takoma Park this afternoon andhave another look at Breslau, but it is too soon to hope for anychange in his condition. Aside from the time I will be out there, youcan find me either here or at my home, in case anything develops. "

"I'll get on the job at once, Doctor. "

"Thanks, old dear. Remember that speed must be the keynote of yourwork. "

 * * * * *

The telephone bell at the head of Dr. Bird's bed woke into noisyactivity. The doctor roused himself and took down the instrumentsleepily. A glance at the clock showed him that it was four in themorning and he muttered a malediction on the one who had called him. 

"Hello, " he said into the receiver. "Dr. Bird speaking. "

"Doctor, " came a crisp voice over the wire, "wake up! This is Carnestalking. Something has broken loose!"

All trace of sleep vanished from Dr. Bird's face and his eyes glowedmomentarily with a peculiar glitter which Carnes would at once haverecognized as indicative of the keenest interest. 

"What has happened, Carnes?" he demanded. 

"I telephoned Atlanta this morning and arranged to have an extra guardput over Karuska as you suggested. The matter was simplified by thefact that he and nine others were confined in the prison infirmary. The warden agreed to do as I told him, and, in addition to the regularguards, a special man was placed in the ward near Karuska's bed. At 2A. M. The lights in the ward went out. "

"Accidentally, or were they put out?"

"They haven't found out yet. At any rate they are all right now, butKaruska and all of the other inmates and all the guards of thatparticular ward have gone crazy. "

"The dickens you say!"

"Not only that, they are also partially paralyzed. The description Igot over the telephone corresponds exactly with the condition ofLieutenant Breslau as you described it to me. Here is the mostinteresting part of the whole affair. The special guard over Karuskawas only lightly affected and has already recovered and is in aposition to tell you exactly what happened. I got a garbled account ofthe affair from the warden, something about a goldfish bowl orsomething like that, the warden wouldn't take it seriously enough togive me details. I didn't press for them much for I knew that youwould rather get them at first hand. "

"I certainly would. I'll be ready to leave for Atlanta in less thanten minutes. "

"I expected that, Doctor, and a car is already on its way to pick youup. I'll meet you at Langley Field where a plane is already beingtuned up and will be ready to take off by the time we get there. "

"Good work, Carnes. I'll see you at the field. "

 * * * * *

A car was waiting for Carnes and Dr. Bird when the Langley Field planeslid down to a landing at Atlanta. At the penitentiary, Dr. Bird wentdirect to the infirmary where Karuska had been confined. As heentered, he shot a keen glance around and gave an exclamation ofsatisfaction. 

"Look at the windows, Carnes, " he cried. 

Carnes went over to the nearest window and moistened his finger tipand applied it experimentally to the glass. The moisture produced noeffect, for the glass of the windows was permanently clouded as wasthat of the doctor's laboratory. 

"Whatever happened in my laboratory the night before last was repeatedhere last night with a similar object, " said the doctor. "The objectthere was to steal a gun model; here it was to steal a man who couldconstruct a full-sized gun from the model. I understand that one ofthe guards escaped the fate which overtook the rest of the persons inthe infirmary?"

"Not altogether, Doctor, " replied the warden. "I think that his mindis somewhat affected, for he tells a wild yarn and insists on tryingto wear a goldfish bowl on his head. I have him under observation inthe psychopathic ward. "

Dr. Bird shot a scornful glance at the warden. 

"'There are none so blind as those who will not see', " he murmured. 

"By all means, I wish to see him, " he went on aloud. "Will you havehim brought here at once, please?"

 * * * * *

The warden nodded and spoke to one of the attendants. In a few momentsa tall, fair-haired young giant stood before the doctor. Dr. Birdpushed back his unruly shock of black hair with his fingers, thoselong slim mobile fingers which alone betrayed the artist in hismake-up, and shot a piercing glance from his black eyes into the blueones, which returned the gaze unabashed. 

"What is your name?" he asked. 

"Bailley, sir. "

"You were on guard here last night?"

"Yes, sir. I was detailed as a special guard over No. 9764. "

"Tell me in your own words just what happened. Don't be afraid tospeak out; I'm not going to disbelieve you; and above all, tell meeverything, no matter how unimportant it may seem to you. I'll judgethe importance of things for myself. I'm Dr. Bird of the Bureau ofStandards. "

The guard's face lighted up at the doctor's words. 

"I've heard of you, Doctor, " he said in a relieved tone, "and I'll beglad to tell you everything. At ten o'clock last night, I relievedCarragher as special guard over No. 9764. Carragher reported that theprisoner was somewhat restless and hadn't been asleep as yet. I satdown about fifteen feet from his bed and prepared to keep an eye onhim until I was relieved at six o'clock this morning. 

"Nothing happened until about two o'clock. No. 9764 was restless asCarragher had said, but toward midnight he quieted down and apparentlywent to sleep. I was sleepy myself, and I got up and took a turnaround the room every five minutes to be sure that I kept awake. That's how I am so sure of the time, sir. "

 * * * * *

Dr. Bird nodded. 

"At five minutes to two, just as I got up, I heard a noise outsidelike a big electric fan. It sounded like it came from directlyoverhead and I went to the window and looked out. I couldn't seeanything, although I could hear it pretty plainly, and then I heard anoise like something had fallen on the roof. Almost at the same timethere came a sort of high-pitched whine, a good deal like the noise anelectric motor makes when it is running at high speed. 

"I thought of giving an alarm, but I didn't want to stir things upunless I was sure that there was some necessity for it, so I startedfor the door to ask one of the outside guards if he had heardanything. As I turned toward No. 9764 I saw that he had been sittingup in bed while my back was turned. As soon as he saw that I noticedhim, he lay back real quick and pulled the covers over his head. Hemoved pretty quick, but not so quick that I couldn't see that he hadsomething that glittered like glass before his face. I started overtoward his bed to see what he was doing and then it was that thelights started to get dim!"

"Go on!" said the doctor as Bailley paused. His eyes were glitteringbrightly now. 

"Well, sir, Doctor, I don't hardly know how to describe what happenednext. The lights were getting dim, but not as they ordinarily do whenthe current starts to go off. The filaments were shining as bright asthey ever did, but the light didn't seem to be able to penetrate theair. The whole room seemed to be filled with a blackness that stoppedthe light. No, sir, it wasn't like fog; it was more like somethingmore powerful than the lights was in the room and was killing them. 

 * * * * *

"It wasn't only the lights which were affected, it was me as well. This blackness, whatever it was, was getting into me as well as intothe room, and I couldn't seem to make myself think like I wanted to. Itried to yell to give an alarm, and I found that I could hardlywhisper. I went toward the bed and then I saw No. 9764 sit up again. He had a goldfish bowl pulled down over his head and it was evidentthat it was keeping the blackness away, for I could see him plainlyand his eyes were as bright as ever. 

"The nearer I got to him, the funnier I felt, and I began to be afraidthat I would go out. No. 9764 got up out of bed, and I could see himgrinning at me through the bowl. He reached up and adjusted that bowl, and all of a sudden I realized that whatever was knocking me out wasnot affecting him because he had that thing on. I jumped for him withthe idea of taking the bowl off and putting it on my own head. He sawwhat I was up to and he fought like a cornered rat, but the blacknesshadn't affected my muscles. I'm a pretty big man, sir, and No. 9764 isa little runt, and it didn't take me long to get the bowl off his headand pulled on over mine. As soon as I did that, I seemed to be able tothink clearer. I was sitting on No. 9764 and was ready to tap him witha persuader if he started anything, but I didn't have to. In a fewminutes he stopped struggling and lay perfectly quiet. 

"The lights kept getting dimmer and dimmer until they went outaltogether and the room became pitch dark. It wasn't exactly as if thelights had gone out, sir; I seemed to know that they were still thereand were burning as bright as ever, but they couldn't penetrate theblackness in the room, if you understand what I mean. "

 * * * * *

"I think I do, " said Dr. Bird slowly. "It was a good deal as if youhad seen a glass filled with a pale red liquid and someone had dumpedblack ink into the fluid and hid the red color. You would know thatthe red was still there, but you wouldn't be able to see it throughthe black. "

"That's exactly what it was like, Doctor; you have described it betterthan I can. At any rate, after it got real dark I heard a low whistlefrom the roof. No. 9764 made a struggle to get up for a moment andthen lay quiet again. The whistle sounded again and then I heard someone call 'Caruso. ' Everything was quiet for a while and then the samevoice called again and said some stuff in a foreign language that Icouldn't understand. I kept perfectly quiet to see what would happen. 

"For about ten minutes the room remained perfectly dark, as I havesaid, and all the while I could hear that whining noise. All of asudden it began to sound in a lower note and then I could see thelights again, very dimly and like the black ink you spoke of wasfading out. The note got lower until it stopped altogether, and thelights came on brighter until they were normal again. Then I heard ascraping noise on the roof and the noise I had heard at first like abig electric fan. I looked at the clock. It was two-twenty. 

"For a few minutes I wasn't able to collect my wits. When I got up offof No. 9764 at last he stared at me as though he didn't know a thing, and I heaved him back into his bed and ran to the door to summon anoutside guard. I could still talk in a husky whisper, but not loud, and I wasn't surprised when no one heard me. My orders were not to letNo. 9764 out of my sight, but this was an emergency, so I left theward and found a guard. It was Madigan and he was standing on his beatstaring at nothing. When I touched him he looked at me and there wasthe same vacant look in his eyes that I had seen in the prisoner's. Italked to him in a whisper, but he didn't seem to understand, so Ileft him and went to a telephone and called for help. Mr. Lawson, thewarden, got here with guards in a couple of minutes and I tried totell him what had happened, but I couldn't talk loud, and I was afraidto take the fish bowl off my head. "

 * * * * *

"What happened next?"

"Mr. Lawson took me to his office, and on the way we passed under anarc light. As soon as I got under it I begin to feel better, and myvoice came stronger. I saw that it was doing me some good and Istopped under it for an hour before my voice got back to normal. Itseemed to clear the fog from my brain, too, and I was able, about fouro'clock, to tell everything that had happened. Mr. Lawson seemed tothink that my brain was affected as well as the others' and he sent meto the hospital. That's all, Doctor. "

"Do you feel perfectly normal now?"

"Yes, sir. "

"There is no need for confining this man longer, Mr. Lawson. He is aswell as he ever was. Carnes, get the Walter Reed Hospital on thetelephone and tell them that I said to treat Lieutenant Breslau withlight rays, rich in ultra-violet. Tell them to give him an overdose ofthem and not to put goggles on him. Keep him in the sun all day andunder sun-ray arcs at night until further orders. Mr. Lawson, give thesame treatment to the men who were disabled last night. If you haven'tenough sun-ray arcs in your hospital, put them under an ordinary arclight in the yard. Bailley, have you still got that goldfish bowl?"

"It is in my office, Doctor, " said the warden. 

"Good enough! Send for it at once. By the way, you have two morecommunists here, Denberg and Semensky, haven't you?"

"I think so, although I will have to consult the records before I canbe positive. "

"I am sure that you have. Look the matter up and let me know. "

 * * * * *

The warden hurried away to carry out the doctor's orders, and anorderly appeared in a few moments with a hollow globe made of somecrystalline transparent substance. Despite its presence in theinfirmary the evening before, there was no trace of clouding apparent. Dr. Bird took it and examined it critically. He rapped it with hisknuckles and then stepped to the door and hurled it violently down onthe concrete floor of the yard. The globe rebounded without injury andhe caught it. 

"Vitrilene, or a good imitation of it, " he remarked to Carnes. "Afteryou get through talking to the hospital, get Taylor on the wire. Thereis plenty of loose vitrilene in the Bureau, and I want him to senddown about fifty square feet of it by a special plane at once. "

As Carnes left the room, the warden reappeared. 

"The men are all lying in the sun now, Doctor, " he said. "I find thatwe have the two men you mentioned confined here. They are both in TierA, Building 6. "

"Is that an isolated building?"

"No, it is one wing of the old main building. "

"On which floor?"

"The second floor. It is a six-story building. "

"Have they been moved there recently?"

"They have been there for nearly a year. "

 * * * * *

"In that case there will be little chance of another attack of thissort to-night. At the same time, I would advise you to station extraguards there to-night and every night until I notify you otherwise. Caution them to watch the lights carefully and to give an alarm atonce if they appear to get dim. In such a case, send men to the roofwith rifles with orders to shoot to kill anyone they find there. I amgoing back to Washington and I am going to take Karuska, your No. 9764with me. You had better have one of the guards in the corridor, whereDenberg and Semensky are, wear this goldfish bowl, as you call it. Alot of plate glass--at least it will look like that--will come fromWashington by plane. Cut it into sheets a foot square and usesurgeon's plaster to make some temporary glass helmets for your men. Iwant all your guards to wear them until I either settle this matter orelse send you some better helmets. Do you understand?"

"I understand all right, but I'm afraid that I can't do it. Thewearing of such appliances would interfere with the efficiency of mymen as guards. "

"Brain and tongue paralysis would interfere rather more seriously, itseems to me. In any event, I have sufficient authority to enforce myrequest. If you are at all doubtful, call up the Attorney General andask him. "

The warden hesitated. 

"If you don't mind, I think I will call Washington, Doctor, " he said. "I will have to get authority to turn No. 9764 over to you in anyevent. "

"Call all you wish, Mr. Lawson. Mr. Carnes is talking to Washingtonnow and we'll have a clear line through for you in a few minutes. Meanwhile, get a set of shackles on Karuska and get him ready totravel by plane. He appears to be suffering from mental paralysis, butI don't know how his case will develope. He may go violently insane atany moment and I don't care to be aloft in a plane with an unboundmaniac. "

 * * * * *

Major Martin looked up from the prone figure of Karuska. 

"His condition duplicates that of Lieutenant Breslau, Dr. Bird, " hesaid. "We received your telephoned message this afternoon and we keptBreslau in a flood of sunlight until dusk, and then put him undersun-ray lamps. I don't know how you got on to that treatment, but itis having a very beneficial effect. He can already make inarticulatesounds, and his eyes are not quite as vacant at they were. If he keepson improving as he has, he should be able to talk intelligently in afew days. If you wish to question this man, why not give him the sametreatment?"

"I haven't time, Major. I must make him talk to-night if it is humanlypossible. I called you in because you are the most eminent authorityon the brain in the government service. Is there any way ofartificially stimulating this man's brain so that we can force thesecrets of his subconscious mind from him?"

The major sat for a moment in profound thought. 

"There _is_ a way, Doctor, " he said at length, "but it is a methodwhich I would not dare to use. By applying high frequency electricalstimulations to the medulla oblongata, at the same time bathing thecerebellum with ultra-violet, it might be done, but the chances arethat either death or insanity would result. I would not do it. "

"Major Martin, this man is a reckless and dangerous internationalcriminal. If his gang carries out the plan which I fear they haveformed, the lives of thousands, yes, of millions, may pay for yourhesitation. I will assume full responsibility for the test if you willmake it, and I have the authority of the President of the UnitedStates behind me. "

"In that case, Doctor, I have no choice. The President is theCommander-in-chief of the army, and if those are his orders theexperiment will be carried out. As a matter of form, I will ask thatyour orders be reduced to writing. "

"I will write them gladly, Major. Please proceed with the experimentwithout delay. "

 * * * * *

Major Martin bowed and spoke to a waiting orderly. The prostratefigure of Karuska was wheeled down a corridor into the electricallaboratory, and with the aid of the laboratory technician the surgeonmade his preparations. The Moss lamp was arranged to throw a flood ofultra-violet over the Russian's cranium while the leads from a deeptherapy X-ray tube was connected, one to the front of Karuska's throatand the other to the base of his brain. At a signal from the major, anurse began to administer ether. 

"I guarantee nothing, Dr. Bird, " said the major. "The paralysis of thevocal cords may be physical, in which case the victim will still beunable to speak, regardless of the brain stimulation. If, however, theevident paralysis is due to some obscure influence on the brain, itmay work. "

"In any, event I will hold you blameless and thank you for your help, "replied the doctor. "Please start the stimulation. "

Major Martin closed a switch, and the hum of a high tension alternatorfilled the laboratory. The Russian quivered for a moment and then laystill. Major Martin nodded and Dr. Bird stepped to the side of theoperating table. 

"Ivan Karuska, " he said slowly and distinctly, "do you hear me?"

The Russian's lips quivered and an unintelligible murmur came fromthem. 

"Ivan Karuska, " repeated Dr. Bird, "do you hear me?"

 * * * * *

There was a momentary struggle on the part of the Russian and then asurprisingly clear voice came from his lips. 

"I do. "

"Who is the present head of the Young Labor party?"

Again there was a pause before the name "Saranoff" came from the lipsof the insensible figure. Carnes gave a sharp exclamation but agesture from the doctor silenced him. 

"Is Saranoff alive?"

"Yes. "

"Is he in the United States?"

"No, he is in London. "

"Is he coming to the United States?"

"Yes. "

"When?"

"I don't know. Soon. As soon as we are ready for him. "

"Where is he living in London?"

"I don't know. "

"How did you get word that you were to be rescued from Atlanta?"

"A message was smuggled in to me by O'Grady, a guard in our pay. "

"What was that vitrilene helmet for?"

"To protect me from the effects of the black lamp. "

"What is the black lamp?"

"I don't know exactly. Saranoff invented it. It gives a black lightand it kills all other light except sunlight, and it paralyses thebrain. "

"Did you know that the model of the Breslau gun had been stolen?"

"Yes. "

"What were you going to do after you were rescued from jail?"

"I was going to make a full-sized gun. We have a disappearing gunplatform built in the swamps at the juncture of the Potomac andPiscataway Creek. The gun was to be mounted there and we would shellWashington and institute a reign of terror. It would be a signal foruprisings all over the country. "

"Is there a black lamp at that gun platform?"

"Yes. The black lamp will kill both the flash and the report. "

"Where did you get the formula for radite?"

"We got it from one of Dr. Bird's assistants. His name--"

 * * * * *

As he spoke the last few sentences, Karuska's voice had steadily risenalmost to a shriek. As he endeavored to give the name of the doctor'streacherous helper his voice changed to an unintelligible screech andthen died away into silence. Major Martin stepped forward and bentover the prone figure. Hurriedly he tore away the electricalconnections and placed a stethoscope over the Russian's heart. Helistened for a moment and then straightened up, his face pale. 

"I hope that the information you obtained is worth a life, Dr. Bird, "he said, his voice trembling slightly, "because it has cost one. "

"It may easily save thousands of lives. I thank you, Major, and I willsee that no blame attaches to you for your actions. I only wish thathe had lived long enough to tell me the name of my assistant who hassold me to Saranoff. However, we'll get that information in otherways. Carnes, telephone Lawson at Atlanta to slam O'Grady into a cellpending investigation while I get Camp Meade on the wire and order upa couple of tanks. We are going to attack that gun emplacement atdaybreak. "

The telephone bell in the laboratory jangled sharply. Major Martinanswered it and turned to Carnes. 

"You're wanted on the telephone, Mr. Carnes. "

The detective stepped forward and took the transmitter. 

"Carnes speaking, " he said. "Yes. Oh, hello, Bolton. Yes, we haveKaruska here, or rather his body. Yes, Dr. Bird is here right now. You've what? Great Scott, wait a minute. "

"Dr. Bird, " he cried eagerly turning from the telephone, "Bolton haslocated the Washington headquarters of the Young Labor party. "

Dr. Bird sprang to the instrument. 

"Bird speaking, Bolton, " he cried. "You've located their headquarters?Who's running it? Stanesky, eh? You're on the right track; he used tobe Saranoff's right hand man. Where is the place located? I don't seemto recollect the spot. You have it well surrounded? Where are youspeaking from? All right, we'll join you as quickly as we can. Keepyour patrols out and don't let anyone get away. "

He hung up the receiver and turned to Carnes. 

"Did you have the car wait?" he asked. "Good enough; we'll jump forthe Bureau and pick up all the vitrilene laying around loose and thenjoin Bolton. He thinks that he has the whole outfit bottled up. "

 * * * * *

Bolton was waiting as the car rolled up and Dr. Bird leaped out. 

"Where are they?" demanded the doctor eagerly. 

"In an abandoned factory building about three hundred yards fromhere, " replied the Chief of the Secret Service. "I traced them throughNew York. We have been watching the place ever since yesterday noon, and I know that Stanesky is in there with half a dozen others. No onehas tried to leave since we set our watch. One funny thing hashappened. About an hour ago a peculiar red glow suffused the wholebuilding. It has died down a good deal since, but we can still see itthrough the windows. Could you tell us what it means?"

"No. I couldn't, Bolton, but we'll find out. How many men have you?"

"I have sixteen stationed around. "

"That's more than we'll need. I have only vitrilene shields andhelmets enough to equip six men. Pick out your three best men to gowith us and we'll make a try at entering. "

Bolton strode off into the darkness and returned in a few moments withthree men at his heels. Dr. Bird spoke briefly to the operatives, allof them men who had been his companions on other adventures. Heexplained the need for the vitrilene helmets and shields, and withoutcomment the six donned their armor and followed Bolton as he strodetoward the building. As they approached, a dull red glow could beplainly seen through the windows, and Dr. Bird paused and studied thephenomenon for a moment. 

"I don't know what that means, Bolton, " he said softly, "but I don'tlike the looks of it. Stanesky is up to some devilment or other. Iwouldn't be a bit surprised to find out that he knows all about yourpickets and is ready for a raid. "

"We'd better rush the place, then, " muttered Bolton. 

 * * * * *

Dr. Bird nodded agreement and with a sharp command to his men Boltonbroke into a run. Not a shot was fired as they approached, and thefront door gave readily to Bolton's touch. At it opened there came agrating sound from the roof followed by the whir of a propeller. Dr. Bird ran out of the building and glanced up. 

"A helicopter!" he cried. "They were expecting us and have escaped!"

He drew his pistol and fired ineffectually at the great bird-like shipwhich was rising almost noiselessly into the air. He cursed and turnedagain to the building. 

Bolton still stood in the room which they had first entered. Hisflashlight showed it to be empty, but from under a door on theopposite side a line of dull red light glowed evilly. With his pistolready in his hand, Bolton approached the door on hands and knees. When he reached it he threw his shoulder against it and dropped flatto the floor as the door swung open. No shot greeted him, and hestared for a moment and then rose to his feet. 

"Nothing in here but some glass statues, " he announced. 

Dr. Bird followed him into the room. As he looked at what Bolton hadcalled glass statues he gasped and shielded his eyes. 

"God in Heaven!" he ejaculated. "Those were living men!"

 * * * * *

Before them were three men or what had been three men. All stood instrained attitudes with a look of horror frozen on their faces. Thething that made the spectators shudder was that their bodies had, bysome diabolical method, been rendered semi-transparent. The dull redlight which suffused the room emanated from the three bodies. Dr. Birdexamined them closely, being careful not to touch them. 

"The identity of my treacherous assistant is known, " he said grimly ashe pointed at the middle figure. "It was Gerond. What is this?"

He took an envelope from the hand of the middle figure and opened it. A sheet of paper fell out and he picked it up and read it. 

"My dear Mr. Bolton, " ran the note. "Your methods of tracing andpicketing my headquarters are so crude as to be almost laughable. Thisbase has served its purpose and we were ready to abandon it in anyevent, but I couldn't resist the temptation to let you almost nab us. The three men whom you will find here are agents who failed in theirduty. If you are interested in learning the method of their execution, you might take to heart the words of your colleague, Dr. Bird: 'Theclue lies in those windows. '"

Carnes glanced at the windows and gave a cry of surprise. The glasswas opaque, as had been the glass in the doctor's laboratory and theglass in the infirmary at Atlanta. The fogging however, was much morepronounced, and the opaque glass gave faintly the same red effulgencewhich came from the three bodies. 

"What does it mean, Doctor?" he asked. 

"I don't know, Carnes, " said Dr. Bird slowly. "I foresee that I amgoing to have to do a great deal of work on short wave-lengths soon. It is doubtless the effect of some modification of the black lampwhich has done it. Look out!"

 * * * * *

He leaped to one side as he spoke, drawing Bolton and Carnes with him. A panel in the side of the wall opposite the doorway had slid silentlyopen and through the opening poured out a beam of fiery red. Full onthe three bodies it fell, and then spread out to fill the room. Dr. Bird had drawn the two nearest men out of the direct beam, but one ofthe secret service men stood full in its path. In the excitement ofentering he had dropped his vitrilene shield and the livid ray fellfull on his defenceless body. As they watched an expression of horrorspread over his face and he strove to move to one side, but he washeld helpless. Slowly he stiffened; and, as the ray bored through him, his body became semi-transparent and the same dull red glow whichemanated from the three bodies they had found began to shine forthfrom him. Bolton strove to break from the doctor's grasp and rush tothe rescue but Dr. Bird held him with a grip of iron. 

"Too late, " he said grimly. "Chalk up another murder to the arch fiendwho has committed the others. I don't know the nature of that ray andvitrilene may not be an adequate defence against its full force. Wehad better get out of here and attack the place from the rear. "

Carefully edging their way around the sides of the room, the five menmade their way out through the door. Dr. Bird slammed the door shutbehind him and led the way out of the building and around to therear. A door loomed before them and he cautiously tried it. It gave tohis touch and he entered. As he set his foot on the threshold aterrific explosion came from the interior of the building. 

"Run!" he shouted as he led the way in retreat. "If that is a raditeexplosion it will act for several seconds!"

From a safe distance they watched. One corner of the building had beentorn off by the force of the explosion, and as they watched the restof the building gradually collapsed and sank into a pile of ruins. 

"They had planned on a visit from us all right, " said Dr. Boltongrimly. "They had a surprise for us any way we jumped. If we went inthe front door, that devil's ray was to finish us, and if we went inthe back door the whole place was arranged to blow up as we entered. Ionly hope that Stanesky thinks that he has got us all and doesn'texpect an attack on his next base in the morning. If he doesn't, Ithink we may give him a rather unpleasant surprise. Of course, thatlamp is smashed into atoms and buried under the debris, but I don'tknow what other devil's contraptions that ruin holds. Bolton, haveyour men picket it and allow no one near until I get back. I've got toget to a telephone and get a couple of tanks from Meade and a plane ortwo from Langley Field. "

 * * * * *

Two tanks made their way slowly across country. The front of each tankwas protected by a heavy sheet of vitrilene, while from the turrets ofthe tanks projected the wicked looking muzzles of thirty-sevenmillimeter guns. Overhead two airplanes from Langley Field soared, scouting the country. Dr. Bird and Carnes rode in the leading tank. 

"It ought to be somewhere near here, unless Karuska lied, " said Carnesas he swept the country with a pair of binoculars. 

"He didn't lie, " returned Dr. Bird. "It was his subconscious mindthat spoke and it never lies. He spoke of the gun emplacement as beingin a swamp and I have a strong idea that it is submersible. Of course, it is bound to be well camouflaged, both from land and from airobservation. "

The planes circled around again and again, quartering the air like apair of well-trained bird dogs will quarter a hunting field. Firsthigh and then low they swooped back and forth, the tanks lumberingslowly along in the same direction. Presently the occupants of theleading tank saw one of the planes bank sharply and swing around. Itdropped to an altitude of only a few hundred feet and turned and wentback over the ground it had just crossed. 

"I believe that fellow sees something!" exclaimed Carnes. 

As he spoke, three green Very lights came from the cockpit of theplane. The tank driver gave a grunt of satisfaction and turned thenose of his vehicle in that direction. The second tank followed. 

Hardly had they turned in the new direction before the ground began toget soft under their tracks and the heavy vehicles began to sink. Thedriver of the Doctor's tank forced it ahead, but the tank sank deeperin the mire until water flowed in around the feet of the occupants. 

"I reckon we'll have to get out and walk pretty soon, Doctor, " saidthe driver. 

 * * * * *

Dr. Bird grunted in acquiescence. The tank made its way forward a fewyards before the engine sputtered and died. The second tank stoppedwhen the first one did, fifty yards behind it. Donning vitrilenehelmets and taking vitrilene shields in their hands, the crews of bothtanks climbed out into the waist-deep water and gathered around theDoctor for orders. 

"Form a skirmish line at ten-pace intervals and cross the swamp, " hedirected. "We may meet with no opposition, but if there is, the morescattered we are, the safer we will be. You all have hand grenades aswell as your rifles?"

A murmur of assent answered him and the line formed and started acrossthe swamp. They had gone perhaps a hundred yards when three red lightscame from one of the planes circling overhead. 

"Down!" cried the doctor, dropping to his knees in the muck. 

Four hundred yards ahead of them a concrete platform emerged from themarsh and rose slowly into the air. It was roofed with a dome of whatlooked like plate glass, but which the doctor shrewdly suspected wasvitrilene. When the base of the platform was two-feet above the levelof the water the dome slid silently aside disclosing two men bendingover a tiny gun. Dr. Bird leveled his binoculars. 

"That's the Breslau gun model that was stolen as sure as I'm a foothigh!" he cried. "They must have made some miniature shells and beplanning to fire it. "

Slowly a pall of intense blackness rose from the marsh and envelopedthe platform and hid it from view. A whining noise came from overhead, and then a crash like a thunderbolt. The blast of the explosion threwthe attackers face down in the swamp, and when they arose and lookedback there was merely a gaping hole where the leading tank had been. The second tank suddenly seemed to rise in the air and fly intomillions of tiny fragments, and a second thunderous blast sent themagain to their knees. 

"Radite!" bellowed Dr. Bird to Carnes. "Imagine the effect if that hadbeen a full charge fired from a completed Breslau gun! Watch theplanes, now. I think they are going to drop a few eggs on them. "

 * * * * *

The black mist cleared as if by magic and the platform was in plainview. The big glass dome rolled back into place as the two planesswept over at an elevation of two thousand feet. From each one asmall black cigar-shaped object was released and fell in a longparabola toward the earth. The glass dome which had been closing overthe gun platform rolled quickly back and a long beam of intenseblackness pierced the heavens. First one and then the other of thefalling bombs disappeared from view into it, and then the black columnfaded from view. The two bombs fell with increasing speed but the domeclosed over the platform before they struck. The two hit the dome atalmost the same instant and instead of the blinding crash theyexpected, the watchers saw the bombs rebound from the dome and fallharmlessly into the water. 

"Stymied!" muttered the doctor. "I wonder what other properties thatconfounded lamp has. "

He resumed his advance, Carnes and the soldiers keeping abreast ofhim. When they were within two hundred yards of the platform it roseagain and the transparent dome rolled back. A beam of black shot forthover the swamp, searching them out and hiding them from view. Firstone and then another felt the effects of the black beam; but thevitrilene which the Doctor had provided stood them in good stead, and, aside from a slight shortening of their breath, none of the attackersfelt any the worse. 

"Come on, men!" cried the Doctor as his athletic figure plowed forwardthrough the breast-deep water. "That is their worst weapon and it isharmless against us!"

Cheering, they fought their way toward the platform. It sunk for amoment and then rose again. As the dome swung back a sharp crackle ofmachine-gun fire sounded and the water before them was whipped intofoam by the plunging bullets. One of the soldiers gave a sharp cry andslumped forward into the water. 

"Fire at will!" shouted the lieutenant in command. 

 * * * * *

A crackle of rifle fire answered the tattoo of the machine-gun, andthe sharp ping of bullets striking on the dome could be plainly heard. An occasional shot kicked up a spurt of white dust from the concrete, but the machine-gun kept up a steady rattle of fire and the soldierskept their heads almost at the level of the water. There came the roarof an airplane motor, and one of the planes swept over the platform, ahundred yards in the air, with two machine-guns spraying streams ofbullets onto the platform. Two men abandoned their machine-gun andcrouched under the partially folded-back dome as the second planeswept over, and Dr. Bird took advantage of the lull to advance hisparty a few yards nearer. Again the defenders of the platform rushedto their gun, but the first plane had turned and swooped down withboth guns going, and again they were forced to take shelter while theDoctor and his force made another advance. 

The second plane had turned and followed the first, but the defendershad had enough. The transparent dome closed over them and the platformsank into the marsh. With a shout, Dr. Bird led the way forward again. 

The attackers were within a hundred yards of the platform when itagain rose above the surface of the water. The guns had disappeared, but in their place stood an airship. It was a small affair with stubbywings above which were two helicopter blades revolving at high speed. No sound of a motor could be heard. 

The transparent dome rolled back and like a bullet the little craftshot into the air, followed by a futile volley from the soldiers. Hardly had it appeared than the two airplanes bore down on it withmachine-guns going. The helicopter paid no attention to them for amoment, and then came a puff of smoke from its side. The leading planeswerved sharply and the helicopter fired again. The leading planemaneuvered about, trying to get a machine-gun to bear, while thesecond plane climbed swiftly to get above the helicopter and pour adeadly stream of fire down into it. It gained position and swoopeddown to the attack, but another puff of smoke came from the side ofthe helicopter and there was a thunderous report and a blinding flashin the sky. As the smoke cleared away, no trace of the ill-fated planecould be seen. The helicopter hung motionless in the air as thoughdaring the remaining plane to attack. 

 * * * * *

The plane accepted the challenge and bore down at full speed on thestranger. Again came a puff of smoke, but the plane swerved and ananswering shot came from its side. It was above the helicopter, andthe shell which missed its mark plunged to the ground. When it struckthere came a roar and a flash and the whole earth seemed to shake. Thehelicopter shot upward into the air and forward, both its elevatingfans and its propellers whirling blurs of light. The airplane followedat its sharpest climbing angle, but was helpless to compete with itsswifter climbing rival. 

"He's got away!" groaned Carnes. 

"Not yet, old dear!" cried the Doctor hopping with excitement. "Heisn't safe yet. I never told you, but one Breslau gun had been madeand it is on that plane. It has deadly accuracy and is good forfifteen miles. That's Lieutenant Dreen at the controls and Mason atthe gun. "

As he spoke the plane swung around and made a half loop. For a fewyards it flew upside down and then whirled swiftly. As it turned therecame a sharp report and a puff of smoke from its rear cockpit. Highabove, the helicopter had ceased climbing and hovered motionless. Asthe plane fired, the helicopter shot forward like an arrow from a bow, and thereby spelled its doom. Not for nothing did Captain Mason bearthe title of the best aerial gunner in the Air Corps. He had foreseenwhat the action of his opponent would be and had allowed for just sucha move. Far up in the sky came a blinding flash and a cloud of smoke. When the smoke cleared the sky was empty, except for a littlescattered debris falling slowly to the ground. 

 * * * * *

"And that's that!" exclaimed Dr. Bird as he finished his examinationof the underground laboratory with which the gun platform connected. "The lamp has gone to glory with Breslau's gun model and two of thebest brains of the Young Labor party. I am sure that Stanesky was oneof those two men. I wish the whole gang had been on board. "

"Don't you think that this is the end of it, Doctor?" asked Carnes. 

"No, Carnes, I don't. We know that the real brains of this outfit isSaranoff, and Saranoff is still alive. He probably won't try to usehis black lamp again, because I will have a defence against it in ashort time, now that I have seen it in action, but he'll try somethingelse. The whole object of life to a loyal citizen of Bolshevikia is toreduce the whole world to the barbarous level in which they holdRussia, and they will spare no pains or effort to accomplish it. Thegreatest obstacle to their success at present is the President of theUnited States. He is loved and respected by the whole world, and if heis spared he will forge the world into a great machine for thepreservation of peace and universal good will. That would be fatal toBolshevikia's plans, and they will spare no effort to remove him. Bythe grace of God, we have saved him from harm so far, but until weremove Saranoff permanently from the scene, I will never feel safe forhim. "

"What do you suppose they'll try next, Doctor?"

"That, Carnes, time alone will tell. "

Phalanxes of Atlans

BEGINNING A TWO-PART NOVEL

_By F. V. W. Mason_

[Illustration: _Agile as grasshoppers, those fierce war dogs rippedand worried their prey. _]

[Sidenote: Only in dim legends did mankind remember Atlantis and theLost Tribes--until Victor Nelson's extraordinary adventure in theunknown arctic. ]

CHAPTER I

The ice suddenly gave way under his foot, hurling Victor Nelsonviolently forward to lie in the deep snow at the bottom of a tinycrevasse, down which the merciless gale moaned like an anguisheddemon. 

"It's no use, " he muttered bitterly. "We've fought hard, but we'redone for. "

He lay still, stupidly watching his breath form tiny beads of ice onthe ends of the fur which lined his parka. Until that moment he hadnot realized how thoroughly exhausted he was. Every muscle of hisstarved, bruised body ached unbearably. It wasn't so bad lying therein the soft snow. He could rest, then look later for the ice hummockbehind which the plane lay sheltered. Rest! That's what he needed, agood long rest. 

But deep within him, a primal instinct stabbed his waningconsciousness. "No, " he gasped, and blinked his reddened eyes behindsmoked goggles which dulled the shimmer of the aurora. "If I stop, I'll never get up. "

Shaken by the terrific velocity of the arctic gale he numbly clamberedto his feet, then stooped with a stiff awkward motion to retrieve aWinchester rifle which lay half buried in the snow beside the blurredimprint of his body. 

"Wonder if Alden had any better luck?" The question burned dully inhis brain. "Don't suppose so; there can't be anything alive in thisGod-awful wilderness. " As he stumbled on he found no answer in anunbroken vista of wind-scored ice and drifting snow that, swirlinghigh into the air, momentarily cut off the view of that black line ofice-capped mountains barely visible on the horizon. 

"Yes, if he hasn't found anything, we'll be dead or frozen stiffbefore to-morrow. "

 * * * * *

His soul--that of a true explorer--revolted, not at the thought ofdeath, but that his and Alden's courageously won discovery of amajestic mountain range towering high over a polar region marked"unexplored" on the maps would now never be made public. 

Leaning forward against the merciless icy blast he painfully pickedhis way over a treacherous ice ridge, to be faintly encouraged by thefact that the towerlike hummock of ice marking the position of theplane now lay but a few hundred yards ahead. 

Bitterly he cursed that demon of ill-fortune who had sent the blindingsnow storm which had forced down the plane ten long days ago at thevery beginning of its triumphant return flight to the base at CapeRichards. Since that hour the storm gods had emptied the vials oftheir wrath upon the luckless explorers. Day after day, cyclonic windsmade all thought of a take-off suicidal in the extreme. Three daysago the last of their food had given out, and, he mused, starvation isan ill companion for despair. 

Slip, slide and fall! On he fought until the final barrier was reachedand he stood staring hopelessly down into a small natural amphitheaterwhich sheltered the great monoplane. The ship was still there, itsengine snugged in a canvas shroud and with the soft, dry snow bankedup high in the lee of its silver gray fuselage. Numbly, like a man inthe grip of a painful coma, Nelson shielded his face with a furry handto scan the surrounding terrain. "Hell!" The door block of the igloothey had built was still snowed up; Alden was not there!

"He's not back, " he muttered, while his body swayed beneath the galewhich smote him with fierce, unseen fists. "Poor devil, I hope hehasn't lost the way. "

All the bitterness of undeserved defeat stung his soul as he starteddown the incline into the hollow. 

 * * * * *

Suddenly he paused. The rifle flew into the ready position and hischilled thumb drew back the hammer. "What's this?" On the snow at hisfeet was a bright, scarlet splash, dreadfully distinct against thewhite background. While his dazed brain struggled to register what hiseyes saw, he looked to the right and left and discovered several moreof the hideous spots. Then an object that gleamed dully in the polartwilight attracted his attention. He lumbered forward, stooped stifflyand caught up a long, half round strip of bronze. 

"What? Why? Oh--I'm crazy. I'm seeing things!" The pain in his emptystomach was now becoming excruciating. To steady himself he shut hiseyes, shook his head as though to clear it, then looked again at thatstrip of metal in his hand. Attached to it were two slender strips ofleather like straps, ending in small, bronze buckles. 

"Why, it's not from the plane, " he stammered aloud. "Damned if itdoesn't look like a greave the old Greek warriors used to wear toprotect their shins. "

Suddenly alarmed and mystified beyond words, he shuffled forward overthe snow, the greave yet clutched in a fur gloved hand. Presently twomore objects, already half buried by the stinging, swirling drifts, caught his attention. One was the stock of Alden's rifle, protrudingstarkly brown from the unrelieved whiteness, and the other was abroken wooden shaft that ended a graceful but wickedly sharp bronzespear head. 

"I've either gone crazy, " he said, "or I'm delirious. Yes, I must beclean nutty! There _couldn't_ be a human settlement within a thousandmiles. Let's see what's happened. "

 * * * * *

On the snow of a little wind-sheltered space behind the igloo hediscovered the unmistakable and ominous signs of a struggle. Anindefinite number of footprints, blurred but enormous in size, weremarked in the snow. Here and there deep furrows mutely testified howAlden and the enemies against whom he struggled had reeled back andforth in vicious combat over a considerable area. Then, shaken by anew fear, he discovered Alden's left glove and a rag of some peculiarthick material that seemed to have a metallic finish. But what arousedhis gravest fears were the numerous splashes of blood that here andthere streaked the snow in gruesome relief. 

Only a moment Nelson stood, shaken by the merciless wind, scanning thepiece of bronzed armor between his gloved hands with a fresh interest. It was beautifully fashioned, and decorated at the knee point with thewonderfully wrought figure of a dolphin. 

If he could only think clearly! But his brain seemed to lie in ared-hot skull. "Whatever's happened, " he muttered, "I'd better notwaste time; they couldn't have been here so long ago. Poor Alden! Iwonder what kind of devils caught him?"

 * * * * *

Even before he had finished the sentence the aviator had taken up thepartially obliterated trail of spattered blood drops. That what hesought appeared to be a maraudering party of giants restrained him notat all. The one clear thought burning in his weary brain was thatRichard Alden, his best friend--the man with whom he had traveled overhalf the world, by whose side he had faced many a periloussituation--must at that moment lie in peril, the extent of which hecould only surmise. 

"Must have been about a dozen of them, " he said thickly. And, holdingthe Winchester ready, he commenced once more to plod on through thestinging sheets of wind-driven ice particles. More than once he hadgreat difficulty in not losing that crimson trail, for here and therethe restless, white crystals completely blotted out the splashes. 

All at once Nelson checked his pathetically slow progress, findinghimself on the top of an eminence, looking down in what appeared to bea vastly deep natural amphitheater of snow and ice. At the bottom, andperhaps a hundred yards distant, was a curious black oval from whichappeared to rise a dense, wind-whipped column of whitish vapor. 

"My eyes must be going back on me, " muttered Nelson through stiffenedlips. How intolerably heavy his fur suit seemed! His strength wasabout gone and that curious black mouthlike circle seemed infinitelyfar away. But, spurred by fears for his friend, he started downwardfor the precipitious trail leading directly towards it. 

Once he stepped inside the crater, he became conscious of a terrificside pressure which gripped him as a whirlpool seizes a lucklessswimmer. The wind buffetted him from all angles, dealing him powerfulblows on face and body, which, too strong for his weary body, sent himreeling weakly, drunkenly across the hard, glare ice towards thevortex. Twice he slipped, each time finding it harder to arise. Butat last he approached what on closer inspection proved to be asubterranean vent of black rock. 

"Steam!" he gasped. "It's steam coming out of there!"

 * * * * *

Swayed by a dozen conflicting emotions, he paused, the Winchesterbarrel wavering like a reed in his enfeebled grasp. 

"The whole thing's crazy, " he decided. "I must be frozen and lyingsomewhere, delirious. Poor Dick! Can't help him much now. "

Like a man in a nightmare who advances but feels nothing under hisfeet, Nelson staggered on towards that huge, gaping aperture of blackrock. On the threshold a pool of melted snow water made him stare. 

"Hell!" he said. "It's only a volcanic vent of some kind. " Then dimlycame the recollection of Eskimo legends concerning thermal springsbeyond the desolate and unknown reaches of Grant Land. 

His mind in an indescribable turmoil, Nelson splashed across a hundredyards of sodden snow, then shivered on wading knee deep through a poolof melted ice. Now he stood on the very threshold of that awfulopening, dense clouds of vapor beating warmly against his chilledfeatures. 

His goggles fogged at once, blinding him effectively as, with reasonstaggering under the accumulated stress of starvation and thecircumstances of Alden's disappearance, he groped his way a few feetinto the vent. With his left hand he pulled up the glasses from hissunken, blood-shot eyes. 

"It's warm, by God!" he cried in astonishment as the skin exposed bylifting the goggles came in contact with the air. "Must be some kindof earth-warmed cave. "

 * * * * *

Increasingly mystified, he caught up his rifle and strode on down thepassage, at that moment illuminated by the last unearthly rays of theaurora borealis. A single, dazzling beam played before him like apowerful searchlight, to light a high vaulted tunnel of basalt rockswhich were distorted by some long-gone convulsion of the earth into ahundred weird cleavages and faults. For that brief instant he found hecould see perhaps a hundred feet down into a high roofed passage, along the top of which poured a tremendous stream of billowing, writhing steam. 

"If this doesn't beat all, " he murmured; but for all of hisapprehension he did not pause. Those bloody splashes bespeakingAlden's pressing need urged him on. "Looks like I'm taking a one waytrip into Hell itself. Well, we'll soon see. "

Slipping and sliding over an almost impassable array of black rocksand boulders, Nelson fought his way forward, conscious that with everystride the air grew damper and warmer. Soon trickles of sweat werepouring down over his chest, tickling unbearably. 

Then all at once the ray of light faded, leaving him immersed in ablackness equalled only by the gloom of a subterranean vault. Hestopped and, resting his rifle against a nearby invisible rock, threwback the parka hood and pulled off his gloves. He was amazed to feelhow warm the strong air current was on his hands. 

"Beats all, " he muttered heavily. "I wonder where they've takenAlden?"

 * * * * *

Meanwhile his hands groped through fur garments now wet withmelted-snow and ice particles, searching for the catch to open thatpocket in which lay a small but powerful electric flashlight, aninstrument without which no far-flying aviator finds himself. After amoment's fumbling, his yet stiffened fingers encountered thecylindrical flash and, with a low cry of satisfaction, he drew itforth to press the button. 

"Mighty useful. I--" The words stopped, frozen on his lips. Before theparka edge his close cropped hair seemed to rise, and his breathstopped midway in his lungs. Sharp electric shocks shook him, forthere, half revealed in the feeble flashlight's glare, was a sightwhich shook his sanity to the snapping point. Not fifty feet away twoeyes, large as dinner plates, with narrow vertical red irises, weretrained on him. Rooted to the ground by the paralysis of utter horror, Nelson saw that their color was a weird, unhealthy, greenish white, rather like the color of a radio-light watch dial. 

Strangely intense, these huge orbs wavered not at all, filling himwith an unnameable dread, while the strong odor of musk assailed hisnostrils. The flashlight slipped from between Nelson's fingers and, nolonger having his thumb on the button, flickered out. 

Helpless, Nelson stood transfixed against a boulder, aware that thestrange, musky scent was becoming stronger. Then to his ears came adry scrabbling as of some large body stealthily advancing. Thosehorrible, unearthly eyes were coming nearer! Fierce, terrible shocksof fear gripped the exhausted aviator. Then the impulse ofself-preservation, that most elementary of all instincts, forced himto snatch up the rifle, to sight hastily, blindly, between those two, great greenish eyes. Choking out a strangled sob of desperation, Nelson made his trembling finger close over the cold strip of steelthat must be the trigger. 

 * * * * *

Like a stage trick, the cavern was momentarily lit by a strong, orangeyellow glare. Then the Winchester's report thundered and roareddeafeningly; coincidentally arose a nerve-shattering scream. Anexhalation, foul as a corpse long unburied, fanned his face. Terrified, he flattened to the rock wall as a huge, though dangerouslyagile body hurtled by with the speed of a runaway horse. Presentlyfollowed the sound of a ponderous fall, then a series of shrill, ear-piercing gibberings and squeakings, like those of a titanicrat--squeaks that rang like the chorus of Hell itself. Gradually theygrew fainter, while in the darkness the heavy air of the tunnel becamerank with the odor of clotting blood. 

Nelson remained where he was, shaking like a frightened horse andbathed with a cold sweat. 

"Wonder what it was?" he muttered numbly. 

He broke off, for in the terrible darkness sounded a low but perfectlyaudible _thud! thud! thud! thud!_--and also the subtle noise of somerough surface rasping gently over the stone. His nerves crisped andshrieked for relief. 

"It's coming again!" he told himself, and ejected the spent cartridgefrom the Winchester. "No use--it'll get me, but I may as well fight aslong as I can. "

Even stronger grew the musty smell of blood while that uncanny _thud!thud!_ sound continued at regular intervals. Nelson waited, breathhalted and finger on trigger, but still the darkness yielded noglimpse of those awful saucer-like eyes. 

 * * * * *

Emboldened, he stooped and, jerking off his left glove, commenced togrope among the boulders. Somewhere near at his feet the flashlightmust be lying. Hoping against hope that its fall had not shattered thebulb, he ran his fingers over the cold, damp stones, every instantexpecting to feel the clutch of the unseen monster. How tiny, how punyhe was! All at once his fingers encountered the smooth familiar shapeof the flash and he raised it cautiously through the darkness. Patiently he shifted the Winchester to his left hand in order to setthe flashlight on the top of a flat rock, pointing it as nearly as hecould determine in the direction from whence came those ominous, stealthy sounds. 

"Guess I'll switch on the light, " he decided, "and trust to dropwhatever it is before it reaches me. "

Taking a fresh grip on his quivering nerves, Nelson cautiously cockedthe . 38-55, cuddled the familiar stock to his shoulder. He sighted, then with his right hand pushed down the catch lever of theflashlight. 

Instantly a dazzling white beam shot forth to shatter the gloom. Thehair on the back of Nelson's hands itched unbearably, while the coldfingers of madness clutched at his brain, for the sight which met hiseyes all but bereft him of his wavering sanity. There, belly up, across a low ridge of basalt, lay a hideous reptile, which in formfaintly resembled an enormous and fantastic kangaroo. Its scabby bellywas of the unhealthy yellow of a grub, a hue which gave way to aleaden gray as the wart-covered skin reached the back. Two enormoushind legs, each thick as a man's torso and each equipped with threedagger-like talons, struck out in helpless fury at the air, while along, lizard-like tail threshed powerfully back and forth, scatteringponderous boulders right and left as though they had been marbles. Theflashlight being trained as it was, the monster's head andforequarters were invisible, all save two very much smaller andshorter front legs which, like the hinder ones, clawed spasmodically. 

"The D. T's!" gasped Nelson, conscious that he was trembling like anaspen. He suppressed a wild desire to laugh. "Yes, I've gone crazy!"

 * * * * *

He glanced downwards and leaped swiftly back, for, creeping over thestones towards his fur outer boots, meandered a wide rivulet of brightscarlet blood. From its surface rose small curling feathers of steamwhich, drifting towards the tunnel's roof, merged with that gray, vaporous current flowing steadily towards the sunless Arctic expanseoutside. 

It took Nelson a long five minutes to sufficiently recover hisequilibrium for action. All he could do was to stare at thatgrotesque, gargoyle-like creature as it writhed in leisurely andpersistent death throes. 

"Guess I winged it all right! My God, what a nasty beast! Looks likeone of those allosaurs I read about in college. It couldn't be, though--that tribe of dinosaurs died out five million years ago. "

Cautiously he scrambled around among the high black stones, castingthe search light beams before him and holding the Winchester alwaysready in his hand while trying to recall snatches of palaeontologystudied at college long years ago. 

"Yes, it must be a survival of one of the carnivorous dinosaurs, " hedecided, then paused, increasingly conscious of that steady thuddingnoise. What caused it?

 * * * * *

At last he found himself before the creature's gigantic and repulsivehead which lay limp over a blood bathed stone, huge jaws partiallyopen, and serrated rows of wicked, stiletto-sharp teeth gleamingyellowly in the flashlight's rays. The head in shape was bullet-like, ending in a blunt nose as big as a bushel basket and in two prominentnostrils. The green, lidless eyes were still open, shining faintly, and seemed to follow his movements, but the steaming blood poured withthe force of a small hose from between triple row of bayonetlike teeththat curved inward like those of a shark, to splash and bubble freelyto the rock floor and to dribble horribly over the warty, gray hide. 

Then Nelson discovered an amazing fact. About the great scaly neck, thick as a boy's waist, was fastened a ponderous collar, set withshort, sharp spikes. 

Nelson gasped. "What in hell!" he cried. "This damn thing's somebody'sproperty!" His mind, staggered at the thought of dealing with a racethat could and would domesticate such a hideous monster. "Well, it'sno use standing here, " he muttered, wiping the sweat from his eyes. "This isn't getting poor Alden away from those devils. "

_Thud! thud!_ In the act of turning he paused, listened once more. Then he discovered to his amazement that the heart of the apparentlydead reptile was still beating strongly. He could even see the yellowskin of its belly rise and fall. The effect was grotesque, uncanny. 

"Of course, " muttered the shaken aviator, "I'd forgotten a reptile'sganglions will keep on beating for hours, like that shark we killedoff Paumotu. Its heart didn't stop for five hours. "

 * * * * *

Leaving the slain allosaurus behind, the aviator limped onwards, doggedly following a trail which wound down, ever onwards, into thedepths of the earth. Gradually the air became so filled with steamthat he stripped off his fur jumper and trousers. Clad in a khakiflannel shirt, serge trousers and shoepacks, he paused long enough tocount his cartridges, and found there were just fourteen. Hell! Notvery many with which to venture into an unknown abyss. He distributedthem in his pockets, and, somewhat relieved of the weight of the fursuit, took up his advance, playing the flashlight ahead of him as hewent. 

"Poor Alden, " he thought. "I wonder if he's still alive?"

Every moment expecting to stumble over the mangled corpse of hisfriend he hurried on, making better time over the cavern floor, butsoon even the lighter clothing commenced to feel oppressive. 

"Must be the earth's heat, " he muttered, while the steam clouds rolledby him like ghostly serpents. "Guess the crust is very thinhere--something like Yellowstone. Probably I'll find some thermalsprings ahead. "

Just as he spoke the tunnel took a sharp turn to the right. Hescrambled around the bend to stand petrified, for with the suddennessof lightning a flood of dazzling orange-red light sprang into being. Momentarily it blinded him, then revealed strange, incomprehensiblescenes. It appeared that two short shafts of incandescent flameroared through transparent columns of glass on either side of thepassage some fifty yards distant. Subconsciously Nelson realized thatthese columns began and ended in stonework that was smooth and welljoined. 

 * * * * *

As his eyes became accustomed to the glare he distinguished besideeach light pillar two bronze doors, some eight feet high andsemicircular in shape. These had been evidently pulled back to exposethe lights. Then his breath stopped in his throat, for there, standingbeside them, was a gleaming group of six or eight of the strangestcreatures Nelson could ever have imagined. They were men--there was nomistaking that--men of normal size, but they were so helmeted andincased in a curious type of armor that for a moment he believed themgargoyles. 

Quite motionless he stood, clutching the cold barrel of the Winchesterin a spasmodic grip and staring up at those two watch-towers, builtlike gigantic swallows' nests into sheer rock wall. He could see thewarriors stationed there, peering curiously down at him from thedepths of heavy, bronze helmets--helmets which in shape much resembledthose of an ancient Grecian hoplite, for the nose guards and cheekpieces descended so low as to completely mask the features of thosestrange guards. For crests these helmets bore exquisitely wroughtbronze dolphins, with brilliant blue eyes of sapphire. But whatfascinated Nelson most was the curious armor they wore. Beneath breastplates of polished bronze, these strange warriors wore what seemed tobe a kind of chain mail--yet it was not that, for the texture had morethe appearance of some heavy but pliant leather, finished with ametallic surfacing. 

Suddenly the spell of mutual amazement was broken, for a tall warriorin a breast plate that glittered with diamonds and seemed altogethermore ornate than the rest, clapped a short brass horn to his lips andblew a single piercing note. At once there appeared on the tunnel'sfloor, not a hundred yards from the startled aviator, a rank ofperhaps twenty soldiers, accoutred exactly like those he beheld by thelight boxes. They came scrambling over the boulders, their shadowsgrotesquely preceding them. In their hands were long shafted spears, and on their left arms rectangular shields, charged with a livelydolphin in the act of swimming. Some of them, however, held shorthoses in their hands, hoses that sprouted from tight brass coilsstrapped to their broad shoulders. 

 * * * * *

Again the commanding figure aloft raised the horn. From the tail ofhis eye Nelson caught the gleam of metal in the orange glare. While ablast, harsh as the scream of a fire siren, echoed and re-echoedeerily through the passage, there appeared a fresh detachment. Nelsonshrank back in horror, for these bronze-armored warriors led, at theend of a powerful chain, two more of those huge, ferocious allosaurs, exactly like the one he had slain but a short while back. 

Like well regulated automatons the hoplite rank opened to permit thepassage of those repulsive, eager monsters, then closed up again andhalted, spears levelled before them in the precise manner of anancient Grecian phalanx, while the men with those curious hose-likecontrivances ran out to guard the flanks. 

"I'm done for now, " thought Nelson as he threw off the Winchester'ssafety catch. "I suppose they'll turn those nightmares loose on me. "

He was right. For all the world as though they led war dogs, thekeepers in brazen armor advanced, the dull metallic clank of theiraccoutrement clearly discernible above the sibilant hiss of theirhideous charges, which hopped along grotesquely like kangaroos, usingtheir long and powerful tails as a counterpoise. 

Then the officer watching from the left hand swallow's nest shouted ahoarse, unintelligible command, whereupon one of the keepers raisedhis right hand in a sharp gesture that instantly flattened theincredible monster to earth, exactly like an obedient bird dog. 

As in a fantastic dream Nelson watched one of the armored guardiansunsnap the hook of the powerful chain by which his allosaurus wassecured. Then, whistling sharply, he clapped his hands and pointedstraight at the motionless aviator. The creature's green white eyesflickered back and forth, and a chill, colder than the outer Arctic, invaded Nelson's breast as those unearthly eyes came to rest upon him. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile the other allosaurus remained crouched, whining impatientlyfor its keepers to cast it loose. 

Fixing burning eyes upon the American, the foremost keeper threw backhis head. "Ahre-e-e!" he shouted. Instantly the freed allosaurusarose, balanced its enormous bulk, then commenced to leap forward attremendous speed, clearing fifteen or twenty feet with each jump anduttering a curious, whistling scream as it bore down, a terrifyingvision of gleaming teeth and talons. 

Shaking off the paralysis of despair, Nelson whipped up the Winchesterand, as before, sighted squarely between those blazing, gemlike eyes. When the huge monster was but twenty feet away he fired, and thereport thundered and banged in the cavern like the crash of a summerstorm. In mid-air the ghastly carnivore teemed to stagger. Its tailtwitched sharply as in an effort to recover its balance. Then, quitelike any normal creature that is shot through the head, it lost allsense of direction and made great convulsive leaps, around and around, clawing madly at the air, bumping into the rock walls and utteringsoul-shaking shrieks of agony. Like a gargoyle gone mad it reeled backtowards the startled rank of spearmen. As it came, Nelson saw thesecond allosaurus rear itself backwards and, balanced on its tail, strike out with powerful hind legs as its maddened fellow drew near. 

Like razors the great talons ripped through the dying allosaurus'belly, exposing the gray-red intestines as the stricken creature racedby, snapping crazily at the empty air. 

A single mighty sweep of the monster's tail crushed five or six of thepanic-stricken keepers and guards, strewing them like broken andabandoned marionettes among the stones. Hissing and obviouslyterrified, the second dinosaur watched the dying struggles of itsmate; then, obedient to a terrified shout from its keepers, wheeledabout to join in a frantic rout of the spearmen, who, casting asideshield, spear and brass coil, fled for dear life in the direction ofthose invisible passages through which they had appeared. 

CHAPTER II

No less amazed and alarmed than those vanished soldiers, Nelsonremained rooted to the ground, conscious that in the swallow's nestoverhead there remained only the officer--a tall, broad shouldered manwith golden beard showing from under the cheek pieces of his helmet. Across the body of the still writhing monster their glances met. Nelson could see by the light of those strange pillars of fire thatthe other's eyes were blue as any Norseman's. Leaning far out over thestone parapet the other stared down upon the aviator from the depthsof his jewelled helmet in a strange mixture of curiosity and awe. 

Suddenly Nelson's nerves snapped and he shook a trembling fist at themartial figure above. 

"Go away!" he shrieked, and reeled back on the edge of collapse. "Goaway, you damn phantom! You're driving me crazy--crazy, I tell you!"

The other stiffened, then turned and, uttering a hoarse shout, vanished, leaving the noiseless and apparently heatless pillar of fireflaring steadily. 

Recovering somewhat, Nelson set his teeth, advanced to the nearestcorpse, stooped and regarded him who lay there, with bronze helmetfallen off. 

"It's a man and not a ghost, " he murmured as his finger encounteredflesh that was still warm. "Red headed too, or I'm a liar. Now what inhell is all this?"

For all his bewilderment he began to feel better and his swayingreason became steadier. "Bronze, bronze--nothing but bronze, " theaviator told himself as he further examined the scattered equipment. "Evidently these fellows don't know the use of iron or steel. "

 * * * * *

With increased curiosity he bent over another splendidly built deadman who lay with back broken and sightless eyes staring fixedly ontothe steam current meandering silently along the cavern's roof. Fromthe fallen man's belt were slung half a dozen curious weapons thatlooked not unlike potato mashers, except that they were bronze headedand had wooden handles. 

"Hum, " he commented, "kind of like the grenades the Boche used in thelate lamented. Wonder what the devil these are?"

Suddenly his ear detected the sound of a footstep and, on lookingswiftly up, he beheld that same yellow bearded officer who haddirected the attack. This strange being had taken off his ponderoushelmet to carry it in his left hand, while his right was heldvertically in the immemorial sign of peace. On he came with powerfulmartial strides, a brilliant green cloak flapping gently behind himand the jewels in his brazen armor glinting like so many tiny coloredeyes. The stranger was indeed handsome, Nelson noticed--and then hereceived perhaps the greatest shock of the whole chimerical adventure. The gold bearded man halted some twenty feet away, smiled and spoke ina curiously inflected but perfectly recognizable voice. 

"Welcome to the Empire of the Atlans. Prithee, Wanderer, what be thyname?"

For a long moment Nelson was entirely too taken back to make a reply. Desperately his already perplexed brain tried to comprehend. Here wasa handsome six-footer, dressed in the arms of an ancient race, speaking English of the seventeenth century!

 * * * * *

As at a phantom, he regarded the stalwart, faintly ominous figure, from heavy leather sandals to bronze greaves, thence to wide belt fromwhich dangled more of those curious grenadelike objects. His glancepaused on the officer's beautifully wrought bronze cuirasse or breastplate which showed in relief an emerald scaled dolphin and trident. These, Nelson decided, must be the national emblems of thisincomprehensible nation. 

Then their eyes met, held each other a long moment until the tallofficer's features, disfigured by a long red scar across the jaw, broke into a hard smile. 

"Hero Giles Hudson begs thy pardon, " he said, "but methought thouspoke in the language of Sir Henry Hudson, my ancestor?"

"Sir Henry Hudson!" stammered Nelson incredulously. "The old explorerwhose men turned him adrift? So that's why you're talking embalmedEnglish!" In desperation his weary brain strove to understand. 

"I know naught, " replied the other with a grave smile, "save that thefounder of our royal line spoke what he called English. He came fromthe Ice World to rule wisely over Atlans. He was the greatestAtlantean of history. "

"Atlantean?" echoed Nelson, while his mind groped frantically in therecess of his memory. "Atlans, Atlantis!" A great light broke uponhim. "The lost Atlantis! Great God!" Had he stumbled upon a remnant ofthat powerful people whose fabled empire had been drowned tencenturies ago in the cold waves of the Atlantic?

 * * * * *

"Aye, " the yellow haired warrior continued as though reading histhoughts, "long centuries ago this valley was peopled by those whoescaped the great cataclysm which ended the mother country. Later cameanother race, barbarian wanderers like thyself. " He bowed for all theworld like a courtly English gentleman. "But methinks thou art in needof food and sustenance?"

"You bet I'm hungry, " was Nelson's emphatic reply. "I'm one short jumpof starvation and the D. T. 's. But hold on a minute, " he cried. "I'mlooking for a friend of mine. He went by here, didn't he?"

"Aye. " A crafty expression Nelson did not like crept into Hero GilesHudson's face as he solemnly inclined his head. 

"For the nonce, fair sir, thy companion is hale and sound. I beg yourpatience. "

With a quick gesture the Atlantean raised his dolphin-shaped horn andblew three short blasts while Nelson, in sudden alarm, cocked hisrifle and brought it in line with the other's chest. The glitteringofficer saw the motion, but made no effort to move from the line ofsights. 

"Thy gesture avails naught, " said he with stiff courtesy. "When HeroGiles gives his word, it stands good though Heliopolis and the Empireof the Atlans fall. "

One by one half a dozen spearmen appeared, all obviously veryfrightened and only moved by an apparently Spartan discipline. Promptly they saluted, whereupon the Hero--as his title appeared tobe--uttered a number of brief commands in some guttural languageentirely unintelligible to the dazed aviator. 

 * * * * *

Presently a strange column appeared, composed of some fifteen ortwenty disarmed men marching between a double rank of heavily equippedhoplites. As they drew near, they clasped imploring hands andevidently begged for mercy from the stern, tight jawed figure atNelson's side. Contemptuous and unhearing the prisoners' piteouspleadings and lamentations, Hero Giles scowled upon them anddeliberately turned his back. 

"What are they?" inquired Nelson, vaguely alarmed. "Enemies?"

"Yes. " There was a certain bitter savagery in the speaker's voice. "These are the dauntless defenders of Atlans who ran at the report ofthy weapon. Presently they die. "

It was useless to interfere. The horrified aviator knew it and watchedwith compassionate eyes while the condemned soldiers were ranged in asingle, white faced line. They remained silent now, seeming to havefound courage now that hope was dead. 

Upon brief command from a subaltern, the guards wheeled about andretreated perhaps twenty yards down the passage. There they halted, glittering eyes peering through the slots in their helmets to fixthemselves upon the rigid prisoners who stood numbly resigned todeath. 

With surprising speed each member of that weird firing squad detacheda brazen grenade from his belt, then threw back his arm in exactly thesame attitude as a bomb-throwing doughboy. Then there came a short, sharp command and some fifteen or twenty grenades bobbed through theair to crash on the stones at the feet of the victims. 

 * * * * *

His head swimming with repulsion at the slaughter, Nelson beheld acurious sight. It seemed that from the broken grenades appeared ayellowish green vapor which sprung _of its own accord_ upon the silentupright rank! In an instant it settled like falling snow upon thedoomed soldiers. For a breathless fraction of a second they stood, eyes wide with horror, then collapsed, kicking and struggling as mendo under the influence of gas. 

"Horrible!" gasped Nelson. "What was in the bombs?"

"A vapor, " explained Hero Giles shortly. "A fungus vapor which, falling upon exposed flesh, instantly invades the blood and multipliesby millions. See--" He pointed to the nearest dead man and Nelson, with starting eyes, watched a yellowish growth commencing to sproutfrom the dead man's nostrils. Swiftly the poisonous mould threw outtiny branches, spreading with astounding rapidity over the skin until, in less than a minute after the grenades had exploded, the wholetumbled heap of dead were covered with a horrible yellow green fungusgrowth. 

"Thou seest?" Hero Giles demanded. "Powerful, is it not? It is againstthe fungus vapor we wear this body armor made from the skin of a smalllizard which inhabits our mountains. "

Shocked and appalled, Nelson watched the retreat of the solemn, silentexecution party. 

Other soldiers fell to unconcernedly stripping their fallen comradesof equipment; then, to Nelson's horrified surprise, two hideousallosauri reappeared, shepherded by some six or eight keepers. Oncethe horrible creatures were released, they pounced upon the dead and, snarling horribly, commenced to rend and devour the corpses. 

 * * * * *

Too shaken to comment or to make the protest he knew to be futile, Nelson followed the stalwart English-speaking officer into a bronzedoor set in the cavern wall and up a short flight of stairs into whatappeared to be a guard room, where food and wine were immediately setbefore the famished aviator. 

"Yea, " Hero Giles was saying as he set down a beautiful goblet andwiped the last traces of wine from his beard, "we will soon o'ertakethy friend. He was but little hurt, and thou wilt assuredly join himin judgment before our great Emperor, Altorius XXII, at Heliopolis, our capital. "

"Heliopolis?" mumbled Nelson, his mouth full of delicious stew thatseemed to be made of veal. "Heliopolis? How far away is it?"

"A hundred leagues more or less, " the other smiled. "Almost a third ofthe distance up this great valley. "

"One hundred leagues! Three hundred miles! Then we won't be there forseveral days. "

The Hero's deep, rather ominous laughter rang out in the little rockhewn chamber. "Days?" he jeered. "Days? Art thou mad? In two hoursfrom the time we board the tube-road thou shalt learn thy fate fromhis Serene Highness. "

"What!" Nelson's sunken and blood-shot gray eyes widened, while hisjaw dropped incredulously. "One hundred leagues in two hours? As Iremember there are about three miles to a league, so a hundred leaguesin two hours means one hundred and fifty miles an hour! Why, that'sutterly impossible! The Twentieth Century Limited doesn't go half sofast. "

Several enormous emeralds set into the other's bronze cuirasseglittered softly and the Hero's cold blue eyes hardened as his handsought the grenade belt. 

"Impossible? Dost doubt my words, sirrah?" With an effort hecontrolled himself. "Nay, thou shalt see for thyself ere long. Thetube-road runs from Heracles to Heliopolis. Thou canst trace itscourse on this map here on the wall. "

"The dog-born devils of Jarmuth have no such means of travel, "continued the Atlantean, with a touch of smug pride that remindedNelson of a small town Middle Westerner speaking of the "rightest, tightest little town west of the Mississippi. "

Nelson found it extremely weird to be sitting there in a heavy armchair, drinking good red wine with a fierce armor-clad warrior whowore sandals, sword and a war cloak such as might have graced thelimbs of Alexander of Macedon. But with the food and rich warm wine, he felt blood, strength and self-confidence pouring back into hisweary body. "Jarmuth?" he inquired. "What is Jarmuth?"

At his question the domineering, predatory face across the tabledarkened and the scar on his cheek flamed red as a scowl of hatredgripped Hero Giles' visage. 

"Jarmuth!" snarled the Hero, and his great hand closed like a vise. "Jarmuth! A nation of treacherous, gold-adoring cannibals, whosecountless hordes, spawned in the hot lowlands, ever threaten ourfrontiers. I tell thee, Friend Nelson, the dog-sired Jereboam will notrest until mighty Heliopolis lies in a heap of smoking ashes. "

"Evidently, " thought Nelson, taken aback at the other's vehemence, "this lad's English only in speech. I guess he's all Atlantean outsideof that. "

 * * * * *

Warming to a fiercer pitch, the other fixed his guest with asmoldering gaze. "Jarmuth lies beyond Apidanus, the boiling river, andis the home of a savage horde whose horrid rites in Jezreel, thecapital, stink as an offense to Saturn and the High Gods! Why, markyou, " the warrior prince continued, interrupting his tirade to gulp agoblet of wine, "five years ago, by treachery, they seized thebeauteous Altara, sister of our gracious Emperor, and upon the annualfeast of Beelzebub, that vile demon they worship, the dark dogs wouldhave sacrificed and devoured her, according to their rites, had notour Emperor dispatched a ransom of six fair maidens to take her place. 

"Every year since then Jereboam has exacted that same tribute. Everyyear their princes and priests gorge themselves on the tender whiteflesh of our fairest and noblest maidens. But this tribute must end!The augurs have told us so. Help will come from the Ice World. " HeroGiles brought crashing down on the table a brawny fist, on whosewrist was fixed a bright, gem-studded bracelet. 

Horror-stricken, Nelson nodded. 

"It is for this alone, " continued the Hero somberly, "that thy lifeand that of thy friend have been spared. "

"So? I didn't notice, " broke in Nelson, "that you particularly wentout of your way to preserve my health a while back. "

The heavy golden head shook slowly and a grim smile played about thosethin cruel lips. "Nay, but I could have had thee slain. Come, as we goto the tube-road I'll show thee how much thou liest in the hollow ofthis, my hand. " He thrust out a broad, powerful palm. "Forget not, fair sir. At any moment I or my Imperial Master may choose to closethat hand. "

"Perhaps!" stated Nelson, feeling it imperative to keep up his pose ofindependence. "But it might just happen that your hand would close ona porcupine, and so far from hurting the porcupine it would be yourhand that would be hurt. "

"Sirrah!" The Atlantean sprang to his feet and one hand shot to thegrip of his ponderous, bronze sword; but even more quickly Nelsonsnatched up his rifle, a thin smile playing on his lips. 

"Drop it, " he snapped. "Control yourself, or I'll plug you like thatallosaur. Be reasonable, can't you? We both want something, andperhaps can help each other gain it. "

 * * * * *

The taut, menacing figure in armor relaxed and, with a gentle clank ofaccoutrement, Hero Giles resumed his seat. 

"Prithee pardon me, " he apologized ungraciously. "I was ever ahot-head and there is much in what thou sayest. We wish to force anend to this annual tribute--if not to regain our beloved Altara. Andthou"--his heavy, golden eyebrows shot up--"and thou, what dost thouwish?"

Nelson lowered the menacing barrel. "I want the return of RichardAlden, free passage back to that spot where he was captured and plentyof food and help should we need it. If I aid you in one, you mustpromise me in the other. "

"Aye, " returned the other doubtfully. "But I myself can pledge naughtsave thy immediate safety. 'Tis for our Imperial Majesty to saywhether both thou and thy friend shall live, or whether ye shall feedour war dogs. Come now, we must go to Heliopolis. "

[Illustration: _Map of Jarmuth and Atlans_]

Picking up his heavy, bronze helmet the Atlantean prince set it on hisyellow head and waited impatiently for Nelson to drain the last of hiswine. Then, with a swirl of his green cloak, he vanished through therock wall, closely followed by a singularly distracted and alarmedaviator. 

CHAPTER III

A bright yellow glare steadily increased to mark the end of the tunneldown which the two had progressed; then, with the sharp abruptness ofa hand-clap, there resounded a loud challenge in that unintelligibleAtlantean language, above which the hiss of steam could be loudlyheard. 

Instantly the Atlantean prince strode forward, a commanding figure. Momentarily his helmet and the dangling grenadelike bombs were sharplyoutlined against that unearthly yellow light. He raised his hand anddropped it, palm outward, to his chin in what must have been a salute. The hissing sound of steam then faded into silence. 

Followed at a respectful distance by a pair of silent, bronze-helmetedhoplites, Nelson and his guide descended a narrow stair, whichbroadened at the base. It was a very long staircase composed ofperhaps two or three hundred steps which were occasionally interruptedby wide stone terraces. On these level spaces were fixed what appearedto be enormous field guns of glittering brass. They were similar, yetsomehow oddly dissimilar, to the great guns Nelson had seen inFrance. 

"Behold, oh Wanderer, " Hero Giles declaimed impressively, "the landsof Atlans and Jarmuth!"

It was a weird landscape that met Nelson's half-unbelieving gaze, alandscape green with that brilliance peculiar to spring meadows, lyingbeneath the same deep blue sky that overarched the surrounding barrenice fields which hemmed in this astounding valley. 

 * * * * *

A slight smile played over Hero Giles' thin lips as he watched theamazed aviator. 

"The splendor of our country must indeed astound thee, " he observed, "having come from the dreary fastness of the outer Ice World. Butcome; we are now to pass the great retortii guarding the entrance intothe valley. "

Nelson's eyes turned again to the weapons that so oddly resembledfield guns. He examined them closely, inspecting them narrowly for thedifferences he knew must exist between them and the artillery that hadthundered during the War of the Nations. 

The chief difference lay in the mounting of these starkly beautifulweapons. They seemed to be fixed on a movable pivot set into the coalblack rock itself. Like modern artillery, these curious pieces ofordnance bore a bronze shield to protect their crews, through whichprojected the long and very narrow barrels of the guns. Grouped likecannoneers about their piece stood various red-crested Atlanteanartillerymen. At a glance Nelson recognized the difference in theirequipment from that of the spearmen behind them. These former bore noshields, no swords or bombs, but wore that same kind of leatherbody-armor which graced the powerful limbs of Hero Giles. Theirhelmets, too, were different: only the dolphin crest with a tuft ofred feathers spouting from it bore any resemblance to those of theinfantry, and, moreover, the artillerymen's eyes were shielded bygoggles with thick blue lenses. 

 * * * * *

As the Hero approached, officers among them saluted, then sank on oneknee with head humbly bent. 

"Rather odd looking guns, " commented Nelson. "I'm not much of anartilleryman, but I'm wondering how you take up the recoil?"

The Atlantean's laugh, which always reminded his guest of the purr ofa tiger, rang out. "Why, marry, good sir, there is no recoil! Theseguns do not use that powder which Sir Henry, founder of our line, didspeak of. Thou wouldst see one fired?"

His curiosity immeasurably piqued, Nelson nodded, whereupon theAtlantean wheeled about and barked a brief command. With trulyPrussian precision, the artillerymen sprang to their posts, some to aseries of levers which sprouted from the rock platform without anyapparent connection, and some to wheels and gauges of varying sizethat clustered in bewildering intricacy about the breech of the greatbrass gun. 

"Markest thou that tree yonder, on the ledge of the valley?" TheAtlantean's blunt outstretched finger indicated a towering pinesprouting from among a mass of reddish volcanic rock at the rim ofthat new world. 

"Yes, I see it, but--" Nelson was astounded. A pine tree in the upperArctic! That alone was sufficient cause for amazement. From a stiffred-plumed gun captain issued a brief series of commands which set thewonderfully drilled crew to silently adjusting their training andelevating mechanism. Click! Clack! Sis-s-s-s!

 * * * * *

All up and down the vast staircase other gun crews stood watching. Nelson saw their weird, bluish goggles raised to that platform where, for all the world like a coast defense howitzer, the great cannonswung majestically about on the ponderous, brazen column which seemedto support it. Gradually the muzzle was elevated, then traversed a fewfeet, to finally come to a halt. 

"Jakul, a Hero!" shouted the gun captain, his hand raised to HeroGiles. 

"Thou art ready, Friend Nelson?" he inquired in tolerant amusement. "Mark well yon pine tree!

"Storr!"

Nelson saw one of the armored cannoneers bend forward, firmly grasp ashort lever with both hands. In anticipation of a terrific report, theaviator pressed finger tips to his ears. There followed not athundering crash, but a curious, eery, high-pitched scream, ratherlike that of a fire siren. There was no smoke! Nelson's incredulouseyes sought the muzzle of the gun and detected issuing from it whatappeared to be a thin, white rod. This shimmering stream of silvershot straight towards the pine tree, gradually widening and giving offfeathery billows of steam. In a fraction of a moment the target wascompletely veiled from sight in a furious pall of clouds which, toNelson's great astonishment, did not dissipate nor condense with thespeed of ordinary steam. 

"Nava!"

With impressive suddenness the screaming sound faded, leaving a sortof stunned silence on the gun platform. The gunners stalked back totheir original stations. 

 * * * * *

Slowly, reluctantly, the mist enveloping the pine tree cleared awayand Nelson felt a chill creeping up his spine. The pine was a goodthree hundred yards away, yet now it sagged limp to earth, stripped ofbark, twigs and needles, only the bright yellow trunk and majorbranches remaining. 

"That tree was a good two feet thick, " mused the astounded aviator, "yet the steam gun bent it like a sapling. My God! What would it do toa man?"

"What thinkest thou of our retortii?" The Atlantean's beard glintedlike metal as he shook with a grim, silent laughter. "These greatretortii can shoot half a league and will blast any living thing intheir path. I tell thee, friend Nelson, the discharge of even a smallretortii will strip the flesh from a man's bones as a peasant stripsthe husk from an ear of corn!"

"Fearful, terrible!" was Nelson's awed comment. "Is there no defenceagainst them?"

"Of course. " The Hero's green feather-crested helmet gleamed with anod. "Was there ever an instrument of war that had not its defence?Yea, we have the blue vapor to shatter steam particles--it is calledthe blue maxima. Thou wilt presently see some of our troops armed withit. "

"But where does this steam come from? How is it generated?" These twowere the first of a host of questions which trembled on Nelson's lips. 

"The steam, " replied the Atlantean, "comes from the earth. We compressit many times, then feed it into our retortii. Without the heat ofMother Earth and our flame suns we would all perish. Steam is ourmotive power, our defence and our enemy!"

He flung his hand towards the vast valley stretched before them. Itwas hemmed in on either side by colossal breath-taking mountainranges, whose caps shone and glittered with an eternal snow. 

"Some foothills! They must rise all of 25, 000 feet from the valleyfloor, " decided the aviator, "and I should imagine this valley is agood mile below sea level. Yes! That must be it: this nightmarecountry lies in a huge geographical fault--something like the DeadSea. "

 * * * * *

Mile after mile he could see fertile green land stretching away towardsome low undulating hills on the horizon. Atlans was very thicklysettled--that he recognized at once--for the terrain was divided andsub-divided into a vast checker-board, such as he had seen in Franceand Germany, while terraces, green with produce, had been laboriouslygouged out of the frowning mountain sides. 

Then his eye encountered the source of that curious amber light whichpervaded the whole valley. A titanic flaming gas vent spouted like acyclopean torch from the peak of a nearby mountain. Its steady, subdued roar struck Nelson's ear as he turned away his eyes, for theglare was too intense to be long endured. Further down the valley weretwo more such incandescent vents, shooting their flaming tonguesboldly into the sky, warming the air and casting that rich, amberradiance over all. 

"That is Mount Ossa nearest us, " the Atlantean's voice came as thoughfrom a long distance. Victor Nelson was too staggered, too unspeakablyamazed to register the fact of the Hero's proximity. "Below are Pelionand Jilboa, which, with Jabor, the greatest of all the flames, illuminate and warm the valley. "

Nelson's eye, trained to be all observant, ranged far and wide, notingthe presence of many lacy, frothing geysers which spouted at varyingintervals. There were, also, many steaming ponds and waterfalls whichsprang in smoky confusion from the rock palisades to either side. 

 * * * * *

Nearer at hand he could distinguish a number of huge stone structures, evidently forts and public buildings. Strategically placed all aboutwere more of those terrible brass retortii, gleaming dully under theincandescent glare of the flame sun. 

"Come, " cried Hero Giles with an impatient gesture of his hand, "wemust e'en hasten to the tube-road terminal. Word has long since beensent to Heliopolis of thy arrival. "

Downwards into the valley, which grew ever warmer and more fertile, the Atlantean led on, explaining a thousand and one details to theastounded aviator. Presently they approached the nearest of the greatstone structures and Nelson received yet another shock. In a courtyardwas drilling what would correspond to a troop of cavalry in the outerworld. In orderly ranks the troopers wheeled, marched andcounter-marched, their brazen armor twinkling and clashing softly asthey carried out their evolutions with an amazing precision. But whatastonished Nelson was the fact that each of these strange troopersbestrode a lithe, long-limbed variety of dinosaur, a good half smallerthan the allosauri he had encountered in the tunnel. These agilecreatures ran about on their hind legs with astonishing speed, using along reptilian tail as a balance. 

On the back of each trooper was fastened a compact circular coppertank, from which sprouted a flexible metal hose that ended in whatlooked like a ponderous type of pistol. 

In distinction to the red of the artillerymen and the blue of theHoplites, these curious cavalrymen wore brilliant crests of yellowfeathers, and from their lance tips fluttered tiny pennons of thatsame color. 

"They must travel at least as fast as a race horse, " decided theaviator after studying the swift evolutions of the scaly chargers. Tohis ears came the curious dry scrape and rattle of their horny clawson the stone pavement of the drill yard. 

He would have lingered to see more, for those grotesque, lizard-likechargers interested him immensely, but Hero Giles beckonedimperiously. So, dropping the Winchester to the hollow of his arm, Nelson followed him into the brilliantly gas-lit depths of the greatstructure. 

 * * * * *

Everywhere were red bearded, white skinned soldiers, staring at himwith the frank curiosity of children. Powerful, magnificently builtfellows they were, all in uniforms of different designs. 

The walls about him, Nelson noticed, were covered with reallybeautiful friezes depicting various warlike scenes in that pure beautyof proportion found only in ancient Grecian temples. 

On and on through resounding tunnels, past busy markets and barracks, hurried the two travelers. Then the Atlantean halted before agracefully arched doorway where stood two hoplites, who immediatelylowered spears to bar the passage. At a word from Hero Giles, however, they saluted and fell back in position--immovable, grim guardians. 

Inside was a short staircase, beautifully wrought of bronze. Up thisflashed the Atlantean's mail-clad body; then he came to a halt underthe direct rays of a blinding light. 

Nelson, on arriving above, discovered that the chamber was lined withjointless brass about ten feet high and circular in shape. "What'sthis?" he demanded curiously. 

"The terminal of the tube-road. In a moment thou shalt see the greatcylinder arrive. "

The words were hardly by the Hero's lips when there appeared, noiselessly and amid a great rush of air, a huge metal cylinder thatran upon a sort of truck. It rumbled up to the edge of the platformand from its end a small door was opened. 

 * * * * *

Hero Giles exchanged a few sentences with an elderly man who appearedto act as control master, then he indicated the glowing doorway of thecylinder. 

Firmly clutching his Winchester, Nelson bowed his head and steppedinside, there to discover a luxury he had never anticipated. Theinterior of the cylinder was brilliantly lit and on both sides wereranged wide divans, strewn with many silken cushions. In a rack nearbywere several graceful glass amphora, filled with red and tawny wine. 

"The cylinder must be about thirty feet long, " the marvelling Americantold himself, "and about ten feet in diameter. Guess it works on thesame principle as the compressed air tubes the department stores useto send change with. "

Gingerly he tested the nearest divan and marvelled at the curioussoftness of what appeared to be a gigantic tiger skin. Meanwhile HeroGiles entered, his stern features even more serious, but with him wasa younger man who resembled him not a little. 

"Fair brother, " said the Atlantean to his companion, "this is he ofwhom I spoke. Friend Nelson, this is Hero John, my next youngestbrother--he, too, speaks the language of the great Sir Henry Hudson. "

The metallic clang of the door being shut brought a sharp qualm toNelson's heart. "What are they doing?" he demanded quickly. 

"The menials bolt the door beyond, " explained Hero Giles with amusedgravity. "In a moment our cylinder will be placed in the dispatchingchamber, where steam pressure will be exerted. We shall then be hurledthrough this vacuum tube-road to Heliopolis, greatest city of Atlans. In an hour we will be there. "

Outside sounded the sudden insistent clangor of a gong, andimmediately the hiss of steam grew louder. The car shuddered as thehissing rose to an eery scream, then all at once the cylinder leapedforward, nearly hurling Nelson from his seat. He struggled as best hemight to gain his equilibrium, for the eyes of the others were on him. 

Then, more smoothly, the great cylinder gathered speed and hurtled onthrough the darkness of the tube-road towards Heliopolis, where VictorNelson would read the book of Fate. 

CHAPTER IV

On the arrival platform at Heliopolis reigned a fierce excitement. Nelson noted countless armed and unarmed warriors hurrying to and fro, desperately intent on reaching their various posts, and snarlingill-temperedly as they elbowed their fellows aside. As soon as theyappeared, Hero Giles and his brother became the center of an excitedpress of gorgeously armored officers. 

"Hum!" murmured the aviator under his breath. "Something's happened. Must be a revolution, an earthquake or a Democratic convention intown; these boys seem all steamed up. "

Intently he studied the ring of fierce, red bearded faces surroundinghis late hosts and gathered that indeed some event of overwhelmingimportance had taken place. Presently a splendid falcon-eyed old manin a yellow cloak strode up, struggling to control himself. Hisresemblance to the two Heroes struck Nelson immediately. 

"Harken ye, " he cried, in that Elizabethan English which appeared tobe the hieratic language of the New Atlantis' rulers. "Have ye heard?The dog-conceived sons of Semites have broken the truce! But threemeasures gone by, a brigade of their mounted podokesons swooped downon this very suburb of Tricca, yea, to the very gates of Heliopolis!The foul man-eating dogs slaughtered royal serfs and burnt twoquarters of the suburb to the ground! Moreover, they seized thatprisoner"--Nelson's heart gave a great leap at the word--"whom thousentest from the mountain passes. "

"What!" In two swift strides Nelson was before the gray beard, hisblood-shot eyes blazing with a strange light. "What did you say aboutthat prisoner?"

 * * * * *

The old man, who had obviously not noticed Nelson's presence, wasthunderstruck to hear him speak in English until Hero Giles brieflyexplained his presence. 

"Yea!" continued the elder, flinging lamentations furiously over hisshoulder, "these swine of the Lost Tribes captured him and slew hisescort. They have retreated towards the Apidanus, slaying, burning andpillaging as they go. "

A sickening, deadly fear gripped the weary aviator. This was too much!Bad as it was to have Richard Alden captured by these weirddescendants of a long vanished race, it was far worse to have himfall into the hands of their deadly enemies, the Jarmuthians, decadentsurvivors of Israel's Five Lost Tribes. The possibility of a rescuenow seemed hopelessly and crushingly vague and distant. What could hedo now?

In dread despair he glanced about, amazed at the prodigious numbers ofscowling men who hurried by, obviously intent upon the commencement ofa campaign for revenge. 

Then Hero Giles turned his scarred, warlike face, now set in granitelines. "Come, Friend Nelson, my uncle Anthony bids me take thee directto the presence of His Serene Splendor, where he lies encamped atCierum, by the shores of Lake Copias. There he marshals the army ofAtlans for a march through the hot country on Jezreel. I tell thee, thou hast come in stirring times. From Heraclea, Thebes, Ys and Maydawill come the Phalanxes. Once and forever we will deal the dogs ofJarmuth a final blow. "

 * * * * *

Victor Nelson never forgot the hours that followed. Issuing at a fasttrot from the tube-road terminal, the two Heroes led the way to a vaststructure, in which were stabled both the terrific allosauri and thepodokesauri, those swift dinosaurs which seemed to serve theAtlanteans as horses. The dreadful hiss and snarl of these monstersresounded in his ears long before the stables came in sight, and thatcurious musky odor he had noted in the tunnel was sickeningly strong. 

Everywhere he read signs of hurried preparations for war. Savage, surly allosauri were led from their stables, one by one, long neckswrithing snakelike backwards and forwards. Then their keepers would, after a moment's tussle, secure huge leather muzzles over their gapingjaws, and the huge reptiles would be led waddling along on their hindlegs out into a vast courtyard, there to hiss and strike at theirnearest fellows. 

"Thinkest thou couldst ride a podoko?" inquired Hero John, an anxiouslook on his handsome, friendly features. "They are difficult tomanage--but swift in flight as the birds themselves!"

"I don't know, " replied the aviator, "but I'm damn well going to try. If your Emperor can help me rescue Alden, the sooner we get started, the better. "

For all his brave resolutions, his heart sank, as the green kiltedkeeper led forth three podokesauri. Nelson stared curiously at themas, hopping along, they drew near, to bare needle-sharp teeth at himwhile, brazen stirrups on either side jangled softly against theirrough, scaly hides. 

In evident high spirits the beasts snuffed the air and pawed withtheir tiny front legs excitedly, making their sharp talons glistenlike polished steel. A bridle dangled from the mouth of each and aring set in the thick upper lip served as a further means of control. 

 * * * * *

At a sharp "_Oya_!" from an old and toothless keeper, the first podokosank flat to the stone floor like a kneeling camel. 

"A sturdy beast, " commented Hero Giles, tightening his belt andsecuring the clasps to the emerald-green war cloak. "Here, FriendNelson, thou hadst best don a helmet; the podokos on occasion throwback their heads and so might wound thee. " So saying, he set foot instirrup and swung up into a saddle which was built up high in thecantle to correct the sharp downward slope of the reptile's muscularback. 

At a signal, Hero Giles' ugly mount rose to its height and shuffledawkwardly sidewise, as the old keeper, his eyes very wide and curious, led forward Nelson's charger. 

"Look, " said Hero John with a reassuring smile. "The chin strapbuckles so--be sure it fits snug, else it will pound on thy head tothe podoko's stride. If thou wouldst turn to the left, pull the reinso, to the right so, and if thou wouldst stop, pull strongly on thenose ring; 'tis not so difficult. " He laid a friendly hand on Nelson'sflannel clad shoulder. "How wilt thou manage thy curious weapon?" heinquired doubtfully. "Perhaps thou hadst best leave it behind. "

There was a grim smile on Nelson's weary and wind burned features. "Not on your life, old son! This Winchester and I stick closertogether than the Siamese twins. "

Nelson thrust his foot into a heavy stirrup, eased his weight into thehigh peaked saddle and gripped the pommel, for though an excellenthorseman, he had no clue as to what motion would ensue. It was wise hedid so, for the podoko reared suddenly, almost flinging his rider fromthe saddle. 

 * * * * *

Immediately Hero John mounted, raised his right hand and dealt hispodoko a stinging slap on the fore-shoulder. The great reptile hissedin protest, but commenced to walk off with an awkward, hopping step. Nelson's mount followed suit. 

Faster and faster ran the podokos, their long and scale-covered necksstretched far out ahead while their tails lifted correspondingly, muchlike that of an airplane about to take off. 

"Whew! He must be doing all of forty-five, " gasped Nelson, while thewind whistled about his ears and snapped madly at the yellow crest ofhis brazen helmet. 

The ride which ensued remained forever fixed in the aviator's memory. Like so many shots from a gun the three podokos darted off out of thestables, past a gate guarded by a battery of retortii, whose redplumed cannoneers sprang to attention as the three strangely assortedriders sped out into the amber, perpetual light of Atlans. 

Nelson, on finding his balance, looked about him to receiveimpressions of immensely tall structures, of pyramids which, like theziggurats of Sumaria, and Babylon, were surmounted with beautifullyproportioned temples. 

"Must be at least a million people in this burg of Heliopolis, "thought Nelson, easing his Winchester. 

Hour after hour they sped along, frequently overtaking detachments oftroops. Twice they halted to change mounts, though the podokos seemedquite tireless. 

At the end of five hours' furious riding, Nelson beheld a dense whitecloud low on the horizon. 

"What's that?" he demanded. "Fog?"

"No, " Hero John informed him. "Yonder flows the Apidanus, the boilingriver. Not far away to the left lies the frontier fortress of Cierum, where is encamped the Emperor, who will sit in judgment upon thee. "

Nelson's heart sank. He had been so occupied with his fears for Aldenthat he had not dwelt upon his own precarious position. 

 * * * * *

Scarcely half an hour elapsed, if Nelson's wrist watch were runningcorrectly, before he reached the tremendous, swarming camp of AltoriusXXII, Emperor of Atlans. Hero Giles proved to be a powerful talisman, for everywhere officers and men alike saluted respectfully and sank onone knee as he passed. 

"Wait here, " he snapped, as the podokos sank obediently to the dust. "Brother John, do thou guard Friend Nelson while I seek permission ofHis Serene Splendor to bring the Wanderer into the Presence. "

Almost immediately the elder Atlantean returned, a frown on hisscarred, rather brutal visage. "Come, " he muttered, "but I fear forthee, Friend Nelson; His Splendor is in a savage mood--this raid hathstirred his ire beyond all bounds. "

"Nothing like cheering up a patient before he goes into the operatingroom, " thought Nelson, and quietly threw off the safety on hisWinchester. "Six shots, " he reflected. "Well, if I go, I reckon I'lltake some damn good company along. "

The aviator was led down a long passage, at every ten feet of whichwas posted an enormous scowling guard, whose spears, retortii andarmor were painted a brilliant jade-green. Then a musical, deep-tonedgong boomed twice, and Hero Giles halted before an exquisitely wroughtdoor, which, without any apparent propulsion, silently slid back intothe massive stone walls, revealing a huge, brilliantly lit circularchamber that was hung with emerald-green hangings. In the center, surrounded by a royal guard of nobles in splendidly jeweled armor, wasreared a dais, upon which stood a throne that blazed with the mostvaried collection of diamonds that Nelson could ever have imagined. 

"Down on your face, " rasped Hero Giles as, in common with his brother, he knelt and then fell prostrate on the cool black marble floor. 

"Damned if I will, " murmured Nelson, and remained erect. 

 * * * * *

Bolt upright, he looked across the interval and found himself staringinto the furious eyes of one of the handsomest men he had ever beheld. Gripping his Winchester in a kind of "port arms" position, he stood toattention--by some curious kink of the brain reverting to his militarydays. And so the two men, different as day and night, faced eachother. Altorius XXII clad in robes of scarlet, and a glitteringcuirasse that glowed like the evening sun. His yellow head was trulysplendid, reminiscent of that of a young Roman Emperor. The hair, likethat of the Hudsonian Heroes, was blond, curly and close cropped. Yes, thought the awed but self-contained American, there was somethinggenuinely imperial about the Emperor's aquiline visage, for a highintelligent forehead and piercing blue eyes dominated a strong mouth, which was marred by a decidedly cruel twist at the corners. On him, also, was set the stamp of Sir Henry Hudson's dauntless race. 

"Put him is a business suit and a soft gray hat, " mused Nelson, "andyou would find a dozen like him in any of London's best clubs. "

"Down on thy face, sirrah!" Outraged, the Emperor's voice rang likethe peal of a brazen trumpet through the great pillared audiencechamber. The nearest guardsmen held themselves ready, hand on swordhilt. 

"No. " Nelson's shaggy black head went back as he found his tongue atlast. "No, Your Majesty. In America we have our own way of showingrespect for authority. I'm an American and, with all respect, I'llsalute you as one. "

So saying, his hand flicked up in a sharp military salute to the visorof that Atlantean helmet which he still wore. 

"All damn foolishness, " he silently told himself. "I feel like thelead in a ten, twenty, thirty melodrama. But I suppose it's got to bedone. "

 * * * * *

The Emperor's teeth gleamed in a half snarl as he sprang with Jovianwrath to his feet. 

"Dog! How darest thou bandy words with us?"

"Have mercy!" hoarsely pleaded Hero John as he lay on the floor. "Havemercy, oh Splendor! He is but an ignorant wanderer from the IceWorld. "

It appeared that the young Hero was something of a favorite, for themasterful, thunder-browed Emperor checked himself and, stillglowering, settled back on the diamond throne. 

"Ye have my permission to enter and approach. "

Whereupon, Hero Giles arose and, with many black looks at his guest, strode forward to briefly explain his presence. 

Nelson felt Altorius' blazing blue eyes search his face. 

"Then he whom the dog-born Jereboam captured was thy friend?"

"Yes, " replied Nelson with dignity, "my best friend. Alden and I havetraveled and wandered all over the world together. "

"Over the world? The Ice World?" Altorius seemed interested, for heleaned forward, muscle corded arms very brown against the frostybrilliance of the stones studding his throne. He flipped back ascarlet cloak and bent a searching look on the straight, unafraidfigure below. 

Impatient to reach a decision, Nelson forebore to amplify theEmperor's assumption that the outside world was all ice and snow. 

"Yes, " he said, "from the land of America. I've spoken with HeroGiles, Your Majesty's Captain-General. "

"So, then, no doubt, he has told you of the law of our country?"Altorius' white teeth shown again in the depths of his short, curlingbeard. 

"Perhaps. " Nelson was vague, wishing no further amplification. 

"The law of Atlans, " pronounced the Emperor with a frown, "states thata stranger must prove his worth to the State, else he must be put todeath. Thank thou thy gods that thou hast not fallen into the hands ofthe Lost Tribes, for assuredly thou would perish miserably, as mustthy comrade. "

 * * * * *

"What is the law of Jarmuth?" inquired Nelson, his mind furiously atwork. 

"Their law states that the stranger within their gates must perish onthe altar of Beelzebub, Jarmuth's blood-hungry demon god. " A momentaryexpression of sadness crept into the Emperor's blue eyes and he beat asquare, powerful hand on the arm of his throne. "Aye, blood-hungry!Lack-a-day! But yesterday, six of our fairest maidens crossed theboiling river, never to return. "

Nelson was about to speak when from outside came the blast of atrumpet. The assembled Atlanteans started, paused, and remainedsilent, listening intently. 

Hero Giles looked up, a light kindling in his deep-set eyes. "Yon wasan Israelite trumpet. "

As the words left his lips there came a hurried rapping at the portal, whereupon the guards sprang forward. 

"Bid them enter. " Altorius seemed strangely tense and uneasy. 

Quietly the door rolled back as before, revealing an Atlantean whoseeyes rolled with alarm. He hurried forward and flung himself on thefloor at the Emperor's sandaled feet. 

"Harken, oh Serene Splendor! Waiting without is an embassy from hisMajesty of Jarmuth. They bear words for thine Imperial Highness. "

"Now, by Saturn! Here's insolence--at an hour such as this!" With afurious swirl of his scarlet cloak Altorius leaped to his feet, handon the ivory handle of his sword, which, to Nelson's amusement was notof bronze, but of good, blue-gray steel. 

"I'll bet it's old Sir Henry's original pet sticker, " he thought. 

"Bring on these dogs of Israel, " growled Altorius. "They shall die!"

"Gently, gently, oh Splendor, " murmured Hero John. "Our full force isnot yet camped on the Plains of Poseidon. "

"Nay! Have the rogues flayed alive!" was the advice of the hot-headedelder brother. He, like the Emperor, was scowling and livid with fury. 

 * * * * *

Presently there appeared four men, stalwart warriors as totallydifferent in aspect from the Atlanteans as humans might be. The tworaces were alike only in splendid physical proportions and humanfigures. They, the Jarmuthians, were black haired and dark skinned, whereas the Atlanteans, with the exception of Sir Henry's progeny, were red headed. Truculently the half naked ambassadors strode overthe polished floor, which reflected their rude images. Their hairychests, arms and legs afforded a sharp contrast to the neat Atlanteannobles, who drew back with expressions of disgust. 

"Good God!" gasped Nelson in lively surprise. "A bunch of the boysfrom Seventh Avenue!"

It was true: each Jarmuthian clearly betrayed his Hebraic origin inhuge, fleshy nose and pendulous lower lip, so characteristic of theSemitic race. They were fierce, shaggy fellows, naked from the waistup save for a kind of jointed body armor, reminiscent of a Romanlegionnaire's. Their long abundant blue-black hair was either plaitedor flowed uncut over splendidly muscled shoulders. Their beards on theother hand were short and frizzed into tight curls, in the Assyrianmanner. On each man's head was set a highly polished, pointed casqueof copper, surmounted in each instance by the six-pointed star ofSolomon. Otherwise the brutal looking emissaries wore nothing butdirty, food-spotted kilts and rough hide sandals secured by thongs. 

 * * * * *

With all the insolence and self assurance of conquerors in thepresence of slaves the four jet-eyed ambassadors swaggered up to thediamond throne. Then the foremost briefly inclined his head towardsAltorius in a grudging salute and began to speak in deep, resonanttones. 

From that point Nelson could understand nothing of the conversation asit was carried on in the guttural and unintelligible language of thatlost realm, but, from time to time Hero John found opportunity totranslate an occasional phrase. 

Darker and darker grew the brows of the gorgeously attired Emperor andhis eagle-visaged Captain-General as they listened to the pompousoratory of the foremost Jarmuthian, and in dark fury more than oneAtlantean noble half drew his sword when the speaker fell silent atlast. 

"He said, " the younger Atlantean whispered, "that Jereboam is nolonger satisfied with six maidens. Beelzebub demands a furtheroffering of six more damsels to be delivered before the third divisionof time on the morrow. By Saturn! The insolence of these besottedswine passes all tolerance!"

From the Atlantean Emperor's outraged negative gestures, Nelsonsurmised that Altorius was making an emphatic refusal and even addingsome vicious threat. The foremost Jarmuthian slapped huge dirty handson armored hips and fell to laughing with an insolence that would haveprovoked a rabbit. 

 * * * * *

Forgetting dignity and self-control, Altorius, in a single tigerishleap sprang from his throne and knocked the mocker senseless with apowerful blow to the jaw. Then, spurning the fallen Jarmuthian with asandaled foot, the Atlantean fixed blazing eyes upon the three otherambassadors who, nothing daunted, closed up, muttering savagely intheir frizzed black beards, while their hands sought the spot whereswords would normally have hung. 

"Nice right to the jaw, " commented Nelson with a grin. "He's stillEnglish enough to use his fists. " He turned to Hero John, who stoodwith an expression of horror on his comely features. "What caused therow?"

"Verily, our plight is grave indeed. That braggart dog threatened tomarch on Heliopolis in the first division of morning, and, "--HeroJohn's lips compressed into a hopeless, taut expression--"ourreinforcing phalanxes can never arrive in time to defend Cierum atthat hour. Should the defense fail, as it must--since they outnumberus three to one for the nonce--it would cost us many thousands of mento stay the blood-hungry hordes of Jereboam once freed on the greatplain. "

Like a star shell bursting on a cloudy night came the inception of anidea. 

"Here, " cried Nelson, "I've an idea! Maybe I can fix a stall until therest of your boys do a General Phil Sheridan and get here. "

Hero John's blue eyes widened uncomprehendingly. "What?" he demanded. "What dost thou propose?"

 * * * * *

Nelson's hand crept to his head, for the unaccustomed weight and heatof the helmet made it itch. "You say these bright boys from over theborder want to chow six more girls? Am I right?"

"Yea, oh Friend Nelson, they demand the victims to-morrow morn, elsethey advance. "

"All right. " Nelson was thinking fast now, a dreadful vision ofRichard Alden stretched for sacrifice on the brass altar of Beelzebubever floating before his aching eyes. "Tell those Semites that theycan have those six girls _if_ they can take them away from me. "

A puzzled frown creased the younger Hero's brow and he tuggedthoughtfully at his scant yellow beard. "Prithee pardon me, but I donot comprehend. "

"All right, get this now! Tell the Jarmuthians that they can send sixof their biggest and best scrappers, one for each girl. If they cantake any one of those girls away from me, they take them all--takingme as well--and we'll all get the works in Jezreel together. But, onthe other hand, if I kill their six champions, then Alden is returnedunharmed, the six girls come home and the six other girls come backtoo--and there'll be no more hostages. I don't think they'll agree toor even consider surrendering Your Princess, Altara. I'm sorry I can'taccomplish that, too. But if I can stop this annual tribute, it won'tbe so bad, will it?"

 * * * * *

Rounder and rounder grew the Atlantean's eyes, and he gaped like aschool boy in a side show. 

"What sayest thou? Thou alone to overcome six of their best warriors?Nay, but this is folly! Moonshine! What knowest thou of theirweapons?"

"Nothing, " admitted Nelson, "but I do know Brother Winchester here. "He patted the smooth stock. "He's mighty persuasive, properlyhandled. "

"But they are armored! They have the fungus bombs, the light retortiiand the javelin!"

"Righto!" agreed Nelson a trifle carelessly, "but you don't know whatthis old boy can do when he's put to it. Well?"

"By Saturn!" An uncertain ring crept into the Atlantean Prince'svoice. "A moment, while I address His Splendor. "

"I'm a fool, a damn fool!" thought Nelson. "Still, it's Alden's onlychance--unless the Jarmuthians've got some trick I'm not on to, Iought to stand a fighting chance. " Meanwhile Emperor andCaptain-General drew to one side, listening to Hero John's impassionedoratory. That the idea met with disapproval, Nelson quietly recognizedfrom the incredulous, even contemptuous, glances Altorius shot at him. Leaving the four sneering Jarmuthians under guard of the nobles, theEmperor came striding impatiently over the inlaid floor. 

"What madness is this?" he demanded harshly. "Dost thou realize whatwould hang upon thy skill? If thou shouldst fail, our annual hostagefor the divine Altara would be twelve instead of six of our maidens. Further, the dog-conceived Jereboam would wax unbearably overweeningand insolent. Nay, there is too much at hazard! Though outnumbered wewill give battle in the morning. "

"Yes?" demanded Nelson, in turn impatient. "A fine chance you'd stand!Why, less than half of your army is here at Cerium and Hero John tellsme that the enemy have massed their entire forces on the salient ofPoseidon. Isn't that so?"

 * * * * *

Altorius' handsome brow darkened. "Aye, " he admitted, "but ourreinforcing corps will come up before the third hour of the thirddivision. "

Here Hero Giles broke in and, speaking with the quick, impassionedtones of one whose reactions are violent, pled for confidence in theAmerican. "Nay, fair cousin, " he replied, casting a sidewise look atthe Jarmuthians standing in muttered colloquy with their leader, whohad now gotten to his feet and was angrily dabbing the blood from hischin with the hem of his yellow kiltlike garment. "I saw with mine owneyes what miracles Friend Nelson doth perform with his curiousnoise-making retortii. If Jereboam falls upon us ere our regiments aremarshaled, then, verily, are we doomed. We have no choice but to playfor time. Harken to the counsel of Hero John! Methinks this strangerfrom the Ice World is no braggart. He will fight well. If he loses hedies horribly--that he knows. The thought will strengthen his arms, and if he wins--!"

Then broke in Nelson firmly. "If I win I must have the word of YourMajesty that Alden and I are to be afforded all help and free passageto that place where your soldiers captured my friend. It thatunderstood?"

Altorius' blue eyes shifted and there was a slight hesitation in hismanner. Then, coming to a decision, he whirled and extended his hand. 

"Good, 'tis agreed, " he said. "On my head be it. Have patience whileHero Giles confers with these outlandish dogs. "

It was with intense interest that the anxious aviator watched theensuing conference. He could see the four Jarmuthians listening, darkeyes restlessly flitting back and forth, and their mouths twisted intocontemptuous half snarls. Then, as Nelson's offer was made clear, alook of cunning seemed to creep into the eyes of the leader. He askedfor clarification of several points, then, being informed of thedetails, his thick lips parted in an evil, crafty grin. 

 * * * * *

Taken aback at the suspiciously ready acquiescence of the enemy, HeroGiles turned about. "They agree, " he translated, "that, should FriendNelson win, they will return to their own land, they will forfeit theannual tribute forever and return the other stranger unharmed. Theyspeak fair, but I fear--" He bit his lips in perplexity. "These dogs, who talk with the forked tongues of serpents, plan some snare, somecunning trickery. "

"Repeat the terms. " Altorius seemed gripped with apprehension too. "Let all be clearly understood: at the third division of morning willthe wanderer fight six warriors. No more and no less. "

This was agreed and reaffirmed. Then, with an insolent, triumphantlaugh, the Jarmuthian delegation whirled about and stalked from theroom, their dark greaved legs flashing in military unison over thepolished floor. 

"'Tis done, " quoth Hero Giles gloomily. "The encounter will take placeon the plain of Gilboa at the third hour of the third division. Andmay Saturn help us if thy might fails. Friend Nelson! For then surelywill the hordes of Jarmuth despoil us and there will come a desolationand a darkness upon the Empire of Atlans. "

CHAPTER V

It seemed incredibly soon that Victor Nelson found himself stridingout from the serrated ranks of the Atlantean army which, drawn up in arough diamond formation, looked discouragingly small in comparison tothat vast sea of helmets twinkling ominously across the plain ofPoseidon amid a haze of bright yellow dust which climbed lazily intothe breathless heavens. The Jarmuthian army, numbering perhaps sixtyor seventy thousand effective troops, lay encamped in a great salientformed by a convolution of the Apidanus and formed the only Jarmuthiantract of the great valley lying south of the boiling river. 

Like low-lying snow drifts, the sheen of the enemy tents struckNelson's eye as he strode over the bright green turf to battle forRichard Alden's life. 

"There was something back of those nasty grins of the ambassadors, " hereflected. "I wonder what deviltry they're cooking up?"

He glanced at a stalwart Atlantean herald who, nervous in the extreme, clutched his brazen, dolphin-shaped horn and followed in theAmerican's wake together with a sad little company. Weeping, moaningand dressed in plain black robes marched six really lovely girls--theywho would perish on Beelzebub's altar if Nelson failed. Bitter werethe looks of the guards as they secured the hands of the victims andmany the hopeful look cast at the impassive American when they turnedback, leaving the helpless girls to their fate. 

The ground where the one-sided duel was to take place was marked offby means of little yellow flags on a level plain perhaps a quarter ofa mile long and wide. Arriving on the nearest border Nelson brieflymotioned the herald to halt. 

"Might as well start shooting at the best range possible, and beattheir steam throwers, " he decided. "Wish to the devil I'd a few morecartridges. Only thirteen shots between me and Beelzeebub's altar inJezreel, so I'd better not miss. All right, son, toot your horn. "

 * * * * *

With his thumb be gestured the command, whereupon the Atlantean noddedeagerly and, filling his chest, set horn to lips to blow a long, strident note that rang harshly, boldly out over the great plain. 

While the note of the challenge rang out, Nelson's eyes turned back toregard the Atlantean array and detected, far in the rear, a hugepillar of dust which must mark the progress of the Atlanteanreinforcements. Would they arrive at Cierum in time? Then his eyessought that spot where Altorius and his staff sat anxiously on theirpodokos, watching intently the impending struggle. Very clearly theflash of their armor came to him. 

"I guess, like the girls back there, they're kind of nervous andjumpy, " thought Nelson. "Well, I don't blame them. I've had quietermoments myself. "

Having blown three blasts, the Atlantean herald saluted; then, withdisconcerting haste, made his way back to the ranks of his fellowssome two hundred yards away. 

From the Jarmuthian army came an answering blast. Nelson cast a lastlook on the Atlantean army, breathlessly awaiting the impending duel. There was the allosauri corps on the far left; he could see thechimeric monsters' long, repulsive necks writhing endlessly back andforth through the air as they squealed and tugged strongly at theirrestraining chains. On the right were stationed perhaps ten thousandpodokesons, their slender, yellow-shafted lances swaying like asapling forest in the distance. In the center were eleven thousandprotection infantry, green-crested and armed with compact tanks ofblue-maxima vapor, fungus bombs and swords. Behind them, andcorresponding to heavy infantry, were ranged some twenty thousandblue-plumed hoplites, eagerly fingering the brazen hoses of theirdeath dealing portable retortii. 

 * * * * *

Nelson had no time to further study the array, for he whirled about asfrom the Atlantean army arose a deep, horrified shout. He stoodparalyzed, his jaw slack. For there, waddling slowly forward, came themost fantastic huge creature imaginable. Unspeakably repellent andhorrible, it stood on short legs thick as mature trees, to tower atleast thirty-five feet above the ground at the fore-shoulders! Animmense reptilian neck some twenty-five feet long weaved continuouslyback and forth, while a surprisingly small, bullet-shaped head emittedrumbling grunts. 

"Great God!" gasped the horrified aviator, and felt the ground swayunder him. "It must be ninety feet long!"

Paralyzed by a dreadful fascination he watched the ungainly, hill-likereptile shuffle ponderously forward and realized that, high on itsback, was fixed a small fort, rather like those howdahs or boxes whichare fastened to the backs of elephants. Chilled with the nearness ofdeath, Nelson counted six mail-clad warriors in the howdah. Then thetrue import of the Jarmuthians evil jest struck him with full force. 

"Six men, they said. And six men there are--but the treacherous devilsmounted them on that walking hill-side! Guess Altorius can kiss hissix girls good-by right now. Poor Alden! Well, I did my best--a rottentrick. "

 * * * * *

At that moment he felt as an ant must feel on beholding the approachof a human. It was terrifying, the inexorable advance of thatcolossal, fantastic monster. From behind he could hear the infuriatedshouts of the Atlantean army. They knew even he could not hope towithstand the murderous onslaught of the beast now entering theduelling space. 

On came the diplodocus, its vast warty tail trailing over the groundand raising a heavy column of dust, while its mud smeared sides boreout Hero Giles' statement that here was one of those semi-aquatictitans from the steaming swamps of Jarmuth. 

"Hell! Poor Alden's as good as finished now! What a fool I was tothink I could save him!"

Obedient to an overwhelming fear, Nelson whirled to flee, thenstopped, as, from the depths of his being, a stronger power forbadehim to desert his friend to certain death. 

"Range two hundred and fifty yards, " he estimated, and, whipping upthe Winchester, sighted full at the ponderous creature's slimysnakelike head. When the recoil jarred his shoulder, Nelson droppedthe barrel an inch or so to watch. Nothing happened. The great beastwas advancing as before, its incredibly long neck weaving steadilyback and forth as though to sniff the air. 

"Hell!"

Struck by a sudden thought, he snatched a cartridge from his pocketand, with that strength which comes to men in their hour of mortalperil, wrenched out the metal-jacketed bullet, to reinsert itbackwards into the brass cartridge case. 

Meanwhile the vast brute had drawn nearer, crushing flat a young oakin its path as easily as though it had been a wheat stalk. 

"Maybe this dum-dum will do some good, " panted Nelson. "If it doesn't, nothing will stop it!"

 * * * * *

Again he sighted until, finding those small, orange red eyes in linewith his sight, he fired. This time the gray-brown monster uttered atitantic bellow of rage, halted, and began shaking its clumsy blunthead. 

"Hit it, by God!" exulted Nelson, and seized the momentary respite toslip two fresh cartridges into the Winchester's magazine. 

But, to his inexpressible dismay, the monster presently resumed itsponderous progress while the Jarmuthians in the howdah utteredtaunting yells that reached him faintly, while the sun flares glintedon their brandished swords and lances. One of them plucked a fungusgrenade from his belt and flung it with all his might in Nelson'sdirection. The missile fell to the earth far short of its destinationand seemed to break rather than explode, at the same time expellingthat deadly, greenish-yellow vapor which, blown away by a strong wind, fortunately came nowhere near the doomed aviator. 

"Oh! You will?"

Nelson sighted swiftly at the grenade-thrower and fired, whereupon theJarmuthian, some hundred and fifty yards distant, spun crazily about, flung both arms towards the amber-yellow sky and toppled from thehowdah, for all the world like a diver in quest of pearls. 

From both breathless armies rose a terrific shout. Accustomed as theywere to the visible destruction of the retortii, this noisy yetinvisible death was appalling. 

But Nelson's agonized attention was not on the assembled armies, fornearer came the mountainous diplodocus, its lumbering strides makingthe howdah sway like a ship in a gale and preventing use of theportable retortii. 

 * * * * *

Nelson planted both feet, took fresh grip on his waning courage andshot again, this time aiming at a gigantic, black bearded warrior whoseemed to be training one of those portable retortii upon him. 

Again the Winchester cracked and this time the black bearded man sankfrom sight back into the howdah, while his companions, utteringvengeful shouts, tossed more fungus bombs at the lone heroic figurebarring their progress towards the six bound and shrieking maidens. 

Towering thrice as high as the largest African elephant, thediplodocus was now but seventy-five yards away. He had hit it, thatNelson could tell, for a large shower of blood sprayed from themonster's neck. Then, uttering a despairing curse, he sent a shotsmacking squarely into the left shoulder, at the base of that mastlikeneck with fervent hope of finding the heart. But the heavy bulletbothered the cyclopean reptile no more than a sting of a mosquito. 

On, on it came. In another minute it must stamp out Victor Nelson'slife beneath feet as large as hogsheads. 

"Damn!"

Nelson snapped the ejector lever, throwing out the spent cartridge. 

"No use, " he whispered, "can't faze that hill of meat! But I might aswell kill all of those bloody cannibals I can. "

With amazing speed and accuracy he picked off two of the remainingJarmuthians, whose shining, bronze armor could nowise withstand thewicked impact of modern nickel-jacketed bullets. One of the strickenmen for a moment dangled with the last of his strength from one of thechains securing the howdah to the enormous creature's back, thentumbled heavily some forty feet to the earth. 

Only two shots more in the magazine--! Nelson suddenly found himselfvery cool. "Two shots and then--"

He was conscious of that great, snakelike head darting viciously inhis direction. A huge, slobbering mouth, studded with teeth a footlong, yawned redly before him like a nightmare incarnate, blotting outconsciousness of all else. Then Victor Nelson, fighting to control hisstrumming nerves, deliberately sighted into a great, orange coloredeye, saw the narrow black iris over the Winchester's front sight andknew the huge warty head was not ten feet away. 

 * * * * *

He pressed the trigger and never heard the report, but felt the blastof a furnace-hot breath in his face--a breath that stank like the foulreek of burning rubber. 

With a detached sense of surprise he saw the eye miraculously anddreadfully disintegrate; then, as the bitter smell of burned corditestung his nostrils, he sprang violently sidewise to find himselfstaring up at the howdah, now towering at least forty feet above. 

The next few moments were indescribable. Horrible roars and bellows, loud as those of a thousand angered bulls, shattered the air. Thediplodocus halted, stunned by pain and the partial loss of eyesight;then, its infinitesimal brain becoming gripped with fear, it plungedand lumbered sidewise, nearly shaking the warriors from the howdah, where they clung for dear life. Nelson was barely able to avoid thesweep of the powerful tail as the diplodocus wheeled about on hindlegs, reeled and started blindly back towards the Jarmuthian ranks. Suddenly it stood stock still, shaking with super-elephantine motions. Then, for all the world like a balky mule, it sank to the earth andcowered there, despite the frantic efforts of the survivingJarmuthians to stir it to obedience. 

By the strong amber light of the sun flare Nelson had a vision of thelast two warriors swinging in apelike agility to the ground. They weregiants, those two men of Jarmuth, and their conical helmets addedadditional stature. One of them, shouting an unintelligible taunt, reached for his belt to snatch out a fungus bomb, but Nelson, droppingon one knee, sent a bullet crashing between the Jarmuthian's scowlingeyes. Even as he fell, the last of the six champions unwisely ignoredhis retortii and frantically sprang forward, razor-edged swordupraised. 

Nelson frantically worked the ejector lever but only an empty clickresulted! His heart sank. "Hell! the magazine's empty!"

 * * * * *

He had just time to swing the Winchester about and grasp its barrel asthe Jarmuthian, with a loud shout, sprang in, slashing viciously atNelson's unprotected neck. Using the clubbed rifle like a baseballbat, the American struck out with the strength of despair. There camea resonant clang as blade and barrel encountered each other. Steel isever stronger than bronze, so Nelson had the satisfaction of seeingthe Jarmuthian's sword blade break squarely in two near the hilt. 

Horrified, the black bearded warrior glanced at the empty hilt in hishand but, courageous to the end, sprang in like a tiger to grapplewith that small, agile man in khaki and serge. 

"You would--eh?" gasped Nelson. 

Putting all his strength behind a blow he whirled up the heavyWinchester, struck out and felt the solid walnut stock smash fair andsquare on the conical helmet. Like an eggshell the bronze helm brokeand the six-pointed star above went spinning off into the dust. As atree sways before it falls beneath a forester's ax, so the darkJarmuthian giant tottered, while the wide dusty plain of Poseidonechoed with a rumbling, incredulous shout. 

"There, " choked Nelson, incredulous to be still alive, "I guessthat'll be about all for to-day. "

But he was wrong. From the ranks of Jarmuth rose a terrible, ominouscry and at the same time there broke out the sibilant hiss of athousand retortii. From the Atlantean army came an answering yell andNelson turned to race back to the shelter of Altorius' body-guard, pausing but to arouse the terrified hostages. Swiftly he cast loosetheir bonds and pointed to the nearest detachment of Atlanteans. Sobbing with joy the six girls fled for dear life just as the first ofthe allosauri went racing over the plains. Screaming, all-powerful anduncanny war dogs, they bounded grotesquely high in the air, plungingstraight towards the Jarmuthian ranks which greeted them with asearing, billowing blast of their retortii. Though dozens of theterrible creatures fell kicking and writhing beneath the scaldingdischarge of the retortii, the main body, perhaps forty or fifty innumber, sprang like rending fiends into the dense packed masses ofJarmuthian infantry. 

 * * * * *

Of the ensuing battle, Nelson had but the most confused recollections. The dominating impression was that the fray was awesome, horriblebeyond power of description. He recalled feeding the five remainingcartridges into the magazine, then clapping on an Atlantean noble'shelmet. With Hero John at his side he joined in an furious headlongcharge of the podoko corps. 

Like a vast glittering wedge the gallant Atlantean lancers advancedunder shelter of the blue maxima vapor which, discharged by theprotectons or light infantry, dispelled the scalding steam cloudslaunched from the Jarmuthian portable retortii. 

"Halor vàn!" Hero John shouted the Atlantean war cry. "Halor vàn!Come Friend Nelson, this day shall the treacherous swine of Jarmuthdrown in their own blood! Halor vàn!"

Nelson replied nothing. He was too busy drawing a bead on a gorgeouslyarrayed enemy officer who appeared to be directing the defence. 

Faster and faster rushed the podokos, forty, fifty miles an hour, acarnate thunderbolt hurled straight at the enemy center. Under a hotfire of grenades dozens of the lancers fell and once, when a fungusbomb broke near by, Nelson saw half a dozen Atlanteans tumble fromtheir saddles, the hideous yellow growths already sprouting fromnostrils, mouth and ears. The turmoil became deafening, indescribable--like the roar of a crowded subway. 

The American had a brief glimpse of a mountainous diplodocus assailedby half a dozen hissing, shrieking allosauri who, employing jaws andclaws, ripped great, shuddering chucks of flesh from the agonized andunwieldy monster on whose back the frantic Jarmuthians fought withterrible ferocity. 

 * * * * *

As agile as grasshoppers, those fierce war dogs ripped and worriedtheir prey. One of them clung like a bulldog to the doomed diplodocus'head, though the twenty-foot neck writhed and whirled frantically ineffort to shake it loose. Another allosaurus, whining with eagerness, actually clambered up the back of an assailed giant only to fall backunder the blast of a retortii mounted in the howdah. Bathed in livesteam, with bones showing through its melting, quivering flesh, theallosaurus collapsed backwards, but another instantly took its placeand, gaining its goal with a terrific leap, made a shambles of thehowdah, tearing the men in it apart as a lion does an antelope. 

Nelson found himself very busy. The charging podokesos were now in themidst of the Jarmuthian heavy infantry, slashing down at a maze ofyelling, black-bearded, Semitic faces. Once Nelson was nearlyspeared, shooting his assailant just as the lance glimmered over hisheart. Again he saw the Atlantean hoplites beaten back amid apestilential fog of fungus gas which stretched them in kicking, loathsome heaps on the dusty plain. The uproar became terrific, indescribable, as the whistling screams of the allosauri and thesaurean bellows of the diplodoci rose above the shouts of the soldieryto fill the dust-laden air with a dreadful clamor. The battle nowswayed critically; a feather's weight on either side and one armywould roll back in red, irretrievable ruin. It was the psychologicalinstant. Nelson sensed it unerringly. 

"Look!" shouted Hero John, dashing a rivulet of blood from his eyes, "there fights the dog-begotten Jereboam himself! Halor vàn! Smite, yesoldiers of Atlans! Smite!"

Following the line of the outstretched hand. Nelson caught a glimpseof an enormous, eagle nosed warrior who, clad in gleaming, diamondstudded harness, fought like a paladin of old. Powerful as a dark Aresthe sable browed Jereboam raged among the dismayed Atlantean hoplites, beating them to earth with terrible ferocity. 

 * * * * *

It was a long shot, one he might readily have been forgiven in missingbut with the speed of thought Victor Nelson sprang from his podoko, dropped on one knee behind a pile of corpses and, uttering a ferventprayer, fired full at Jereboam's black head. 

The nearest combatants drew back momentarily at the unfamiliar thunderof the report and fell silent while the groans and shrieks of thewounded rose loud. As a man looking through many thickness of glass, so Nelson saw Jereboam reel on his splendidly caparisoned podoko, clasp both hands to his forehead and sink to earth. 

Hero Giles, somewhere far in the Atlantean van, saw what transpiredand capitalized it with the inspiration of a genius. 

"Jereboam is dead!" he shouted in ringing tones, and flashed his redstained sword. "Woe to Jarmuth this day! Smite, ye sons of Atlans. Woeto Jarmuth--Jereboam is fallen!"

And smite hard the reinforced Atlanteans did. Filled with a newcourage they advanced so determinedly that the disconcerted anddismayed Jarmuthians broke and fled in a disastrous, panic-strickenrout back over the plain of Poseidon towards the boiling river. 

The ground was already carpeted with dead and with abandonedequipment, when fresh packs of allosauri were loosed on the fleeingJarmuthians to wreak havoc indescribable and, ere long, only thetriumphant, panting Atlanteans remained on the field. 

CHAPTER VI

There was music and high revelry in the fortress of Cierum that night, and Victor Nelson, embarrassed and flushed with the extravagantadoration of all Atlans, sat by the Emperor Altorius' side waiting, watching for the appearance of a humbled Jarmuthian delegation. 

"Never since the world began has there been such a hero in Atlans!"cried Altorius, his face more Roman than ever. "Prithee tarry amongstus, Hero Nelson. Thou shalt be as my brother. A marble palace shaltthou have and twenty wives, each fair as those damsels which thouhast, by thy might, rescued from the profane altar of the fiend, Beelzebub!"

"Thanks, " laughed Nelson, and drained a goblet of tawny wine. "I'd bedelighted to stay, but the point is--He broke off short, for therecame a sudden tramp of feet at the door of the great hall and there, just visible above the green crests of the royal guards, he recognizedthat pale, drawn face which had haunted him ever since he had returnedto find the abandoned aeroplane. 

"Dick!" he shouted. "Dick Alden!"

"Nelson!"

With that same irresistible form which had won a certain Novemberclassic for Harvard, Richard Alden bucked and plunged through a doublerank of startled guards and came running across the marble floor, hiseyes lit with an unspeakable gladness. 

"Nelson! Nelson!" he panted. "What in hell are you doing up there?"

"Oh!" replied the aviator with a joyous grin, "just visiting with myfriend, the Emperor. "

 * * * * *

Alden halted, on his handsome features a curious mixture of surpriseand delight. "The Emperor?" he stammered. "You sitting beside anEmperor?"

"Would it not seem so?" inquired Altorius with a low laugh. 

"It would, " chuckled Alden. "Victor Nelson, as I remember, always wasa good politician. "

"And, " thought Nelson, "I'll have to be a damn sight better one to getus out of Atlans without injuring Altorius' feelings. I don't supposehe'll ever be able to realize that all the desirable things in theworld don't lie in this valley. "

Throngs of brilliantly armored and plumed officers and courtiers, someof them nursing wounds and bandaged heads, came up to hail the mightywanderer who had subdued the might of Jarmuth. 

Flushed and pleased, as is any normal man under well-earned praise, Nelson shook one wiry fist after another, while Alden chatted with theEmperor. Nobles, officers and courtiers all pressed close to fawn uponthe new hero--but, far back in the council chamber, a group of darkrobed priests were crowded together. Haranguing the priests was afierce, white bearded old man who seemed to be arguing violently. 

"Hum!" thought the American. "That's at least one outfit that doesn'tlike the way I part my hair. Wonder what devilment the priests arecooking up?"

 * * * * *

He was not long in finding out, for the black robed arch-priestsuddenly left his group of underlings to boldly make his way forward, while princes, courtiers and warriors drew respectfully aside and benttheir heads. 

"Hail! All conquering Emperor!" The stern old man halted squarelybefore Altorius' gem encrusted throne, while Alden checked some remarkto look curiously down upon the hawk-featured arch-priest. 

Altorius flushed and the lines about his mouth tightened, from whichNelson guessed that there was more than a little bad blood between thespiritual and temporal heads of the empire. 

"What wouldst thou, oh Heracles?"

"I would know why the all powerful Wanderer, of whom thou makest somuch, did not rescue Princess Altara?"

The Emperor stiffened. "Her rescue, being impossible ofaccomplishment, was not nominated in the agreement, " he said coldly. "The Wanderer has in full carried out his share--and so shall we. Honored and beloved of Atlans, these great warriors shall abide amongus in peace. "

Here Nelson thought it wise to dispel any illusions Altorius mightentertain about their staying in Atlans. "No, oh Splendor: remember, our agreement was that, should I conquer the Jarmuthian champions, Alden and I were to be allowed to go free. "

"Nay, oh Splendor, " fiercely broke in the arch-priest, "permit themnot to go. I tell thee the Princess Altara _must_ be restored toAtlans! Else, "--a distinct note of threat crept into the old man'svoice--"--else evil days shall fall upon this empire, and the line ofHudson will wither and fade. "

Up sprang Altorius in a towering rage. "Sirrah! Dost dare make threatsto thy liege lord?"

 * * * * *

Fire flashed from the young Emperor's bright blue eyes, and undertheir fierce glare the old man quailed and stepped back with eyeslowered. 

"Altorius keeps his word, " the Emperor thundered. "The strangers shallgo, though all the black-robed kites in the realm say me nay. The wordof a Hudsonian prince is as sure as the fire of Pelion. Get thee gone, rash priest!"

A long moment, the two strangely contracting figures glared at eachother, the young, splendid Emperor and the malevolent, withered oldman. 

"The Gods demand their daughter, " cried Heracles in parting, "and woeto him who says them nay!"

With this parting shot, the arch-priest turned and, scarlet faced, stalked from the council room, while Altorius threw back his head androared with laughter. 

"Come, oh ye Heroes, ye princes and captains! Come, let us makefestival before these mighty wanderers go their way!"

Roar upon roar of enthusiasm echoed through the marble throne room, and Nelson would have felt wholly at ease had not that little knot ofpriests remained gathered like ill-omened carrion crows about thedoor. Muttering among themselves, they were watching him with acurious intentness that aroused deep misgivings in the American'smind, and it was with something like a sigh that he joined theprocession forming to proceed to the triumphal feast on which thewealth and luxury of the whole empire of Atlans had been lavished. 

(_To be continued. _)

[Illustration: Advertisement. ]

The Pirate Planet

_By Charles W. Diffin_

CONCLUSION

CHAPTER XVII

[Illustration: _He shot feet first into the waiting heads. _]

[Sidenote: From Earth and sub-Venus converge a titanic offensive ofjustice on the unspeakable man-things of Torg. ]

The little ship that Captain Blake had thrown with reckless speedthrough the skies over Washington, D. C. , made history that day in therecords of the earth. None, now, could doubt that here, at last, wasthe answer that the world had hoped for until hope had died. Unbelievable in its field of action, incredible in its wild speed, butreal, nevertheless!--the countries of the earth were frantic in theiracclaim. Only the men who formed the International Board of Defensefailed to join in the enthusiasm. They sat by day and night in earnestconference on ways and means. 

This little ship--so wonderful, and so inadequate! It was only apromise of what might come. There must be new designs made; men mustlearn to dream in new terms and set down their dreams in cold linesand figures on drafting boards. A cruiser of space must be designed, to mount heavy guns, carry great loads, absorb the stresses that mustcome to such a structure in flight and in battle. And above all, itmust take the thrust of this driving force--new and tremendous--ofwhich men knew so little as yet. And then many like it must be built. 

The fuel must be prepared, and this, alone, meant new and differentmachinery, which itself must be designed before the manufacturingprocess could begin. 

There was work to be done--a world of work!--and so few months inwhich to do it. The attack from the distant gun had long since ceasedand the instruments of the astronomers showed the enemy planetshrinking far off in space. But it would return; there was only a yearfor preparation. 

 * * * * *

Captain Blake was assigned to the direction of design. An entireoffice building in Washington was vacated for his use, and in a fewhours he rallied a staff of assistants who demanded the entire use ofa telephone system that spread countrywide. And the call went out thatwould bring the best brains of the land to the task before them. 

The windows of the building shone brightly throughout the nights whenthe call was answered, and engineers and draftsmen worked at feverheat on thrusts and stresses and involved mathematical calculations. And, while owners of great manufacturing plants waited withunaccustomed patience for a moment's talk with Blake, the white sheetson the drafting boards showed growing pictures of braces and strutsand curved plates, of castings for gun mounts, and ammunition hoists. And the manufacturers were told in no uncertain terms exactly whatpart of this experimental ship they would produce, and when it must bedelivered. 

"If only we dared go into production, " said Blake; "but it is out ofthe question. This first ship must demonstrate its efficiency; we mustget the 'bugs' out of our design; correct our errors and be ready witha production schedule that will work with precision. "

Only one phase of this proposed production troubled him; themanufacture must be handled all over the world. He talked with menfrom England and France, from Germany and Italy and a host of otherlands, and he raged inwardly while he tried to drive home to them thenecessity for handling the work in just one way--his way--if resultswere to be achieved. 

The men of business he could convince, but his chief disquiet camefrom those whose thoughts were of what they termed "statesmanship, "and who seemed more apprehensive of the power that this new weaponwould give the United States of America than they were of the threatfrom distant worlds. 

From his friends in high quarters came hints of the same friction, buthe knew that the one demand Winslow had laid down was being observed:the secret of the mysterious fuel would remain with us. Winslow hadshown little confidence in the countries of the old world, and he hadsworn Blake to an agreement that his strange liquids--that new form ofmatter and substance--should remain with this country. 

 * * * * *

And swiftly the paper ship grew. The parts were in manufacture, andarriving at the assembly plant in Ohio. Blake's time was spent therenow, and he caught only snatches of sleep on a cot in his office, while he worked with the forces of men who succeeded each other tokeep the assembly room going night and day. 

There was an enormous hangar that was designed for the assembling of agiant dirigible; it housed another ship now. Hardly a ship, yet itbegan to take form where great girders held the keel that was laid, and duralumin plates and strong castings were bolted home. 

A thousand new problems, and innumerable vexing errors--the "bugs"that inhere with a new, mechanical job--yet the day came when the shipwas a thing of sleek beauty, and her thousand feet of length encloseda maze of latticed struts where ammunition rooms and sleepingquarters, a chart room and control stations were cleverly interspaced. And above, where the great shape towered high in the big hangar, werethe lean snouts of cannon, and recesses that held rapid-fire guns andwhole batteries of machine guns for close range. 

Rows of great storage batteries were installed, to furnish the firstcurrent for the starting of the ship, till her dynamos that weredriven by the exhaust blast itself could go into action and carry on. And then--

An armored truck that ground slowly up under heavy guard to delivertwo small flasks of liquid whose tremendous weight must be held incontainers of thick steel, and be hoisted with cranes to their restingplace within the ship. And Captain Blake, with his heart in his throatthrough fear of some failure, some slip in their plans--Captain Blake, of the gaunt, worn frame, and face haggard from sleeplessnights--stood quietly at a control board while the great doors of thehangar swung open. 

 * * * * *

At the closing of a switch the current from the batteries flowedthrough the two liquids, to go on in conductors of heavy copper to agenerator that was heavy and squat and devoid of moving parts. Withinit were electrodes that were castings of copper, and between them themiracle of regenerated matter was taking place. 

What came to them as energy from the cables was transformed to atangible thing--a vast bulk of gas, of hydrogen and oxygen that hadonce been water, and the pressure of the gas made a roaring inferno ofthe exhausts. A spark plug ignited it, and the heat of combustionadded pressure to pressure, while the quivering, invisible live steampoured forth to change to vaporous clouds that filled the hangar. 

The man at the control board stood trembling with knowledge of thepower he had unleashed. He moved a lever to crack open a valve, andthe clouds poured now from beneath the ship, that raised slowly andsmoothly in the air. It hung quietly poised, while the hands thatdirected it sent a roaring blast from the great stern exhaust, and thecreation of many minds became a thing of life that moved slowly, gliding out into the sunlight of the world. 

The cheers of crowding men, insane with hysterical emotion at sight oftheir work's fulfillment, were lost in the thunder of the ship. Theblunt bow lifted where the sun made dazzling brilliance of hersweeping curves, and with a blast that thundered from her stern thefirst unit of the space forces of the Earth swept upward in an arc ofspeed that ended in invisibility. No enveloping air could hold hernow; she was launched in the ocean of space that would be her home. 

 * * * * *

Captain Blake, the following day, sat in Washington before a deskpiled high with telegrams of congratulation. His tired face wassmiling as he replaced a telephone receiver that had spoken words ofconfidence and commendation from the President of the United States. But he pushed the mass of yellow papers aside to resume hisexamination of a well-thumbed folder marked: "Production Schedule. "The real work was yet to be done. 

It was only two short months later that he sat before the same desk, with a face that showed no mark of smiles in its haggard lines. 

His ship was a success, and was flying continuously, while men of theair service were trained in its manipulation and gunners receivedpractice in three-dimensioned range finding and cruiser practice inthe air. Above, in the airless space, they learned to operate the gunsthat were controlled from within the air-tight rooms. They werelearning, and the ship performed the miracles that were now taken asmatters of fact. 

But production!

Captain Blake rose wearily to attend a conference at the WarDepartment. He had asked that it be called, and the entire service wasrepresented when he reached there. He went without preamble orexplanation to the point. 

"Mr. Secretary, " he said, and faced the Secretary of War, "I have toreport, sir, that we have failed. It is utterly impossible, underpresent conditions, to produce a fleet of completed ships. 

"You know the reason; I have conferred with you often. It was amistake to depend on foreign aid; they have failed us. I do notcriticize them: their ways are their own, and their own problems loomlarge to them. The English production of parts has come through, or isproceeding satisfactorily, but the rest is in hopeless confusion. TheRed menace from Russia is the prime reason, of course. With the Redsmobilizing their forces, we cannot blame her neighbors for preparingto defend themselves. But our program!--and the sure invasion thatwill come in six short months!--to be fighting among ourselves--it isdamnable!"

 * * * * *

He paused to stare in wordless misery at the silent gathering beforehim. Then--

"I have failed, " he blurted out. "I have fallen down on the job. Itwas my responsibility to get the cooperation that insured success. Let me step aside. Is there anyone now who can take up the work andbring order and results from this chaos of futility?"

He waited long for a reply. It was the Secretary of War who answeredin a quiet voice. 

"We must not be too harsh, " he said, "in our criticism of our foreignfriends, but neither should we be unfair to Captain Blake. You doyourself an injustice; there is no one who could have done more thanyou. The reason is here. " He struck at a paper that he held in hishand. "Europe is at war. Russia has struck without warning; her troopsare moving and her air force is engaged this minute in an attack uponParis. It is a traitor country at home that has defeated us in our warwith another world. "

"I think, " he added slowly, "there is nothing more that could havebeen done: you have made a brave effort. Let us thank you, CaptainBlake, while we can. We will fight, when the time comes, as best wecan; that goes without saying. "

A blue and gold figure arose slowly to speak a word for the navy. "Itis evident by Captain Blake's own admission, that the proposed venturemust fail. It has been evident to some of us from the start. " It was afighter of the old school who was speaking; his voice was that of onewhose vision has dimmed, who sees but the dreams of impracticalvisionaries in the newer inventions, and whose reliance for safety isplaced only in the weapons he knows. 

"The naval forces of the United States will be ready, " he told them, "and I would ask you to remember that we can still place dependenceupon the ships that float in the water, and the forces who have mannedthem since the history of this country began. "

 * * * * *

Captain Blake had sprung to his feet. Again he addressed the Secretaryfor War. 

"Mr. Secretary, " he said, and there was a fighting glint in his eyes, "I make no reply to this gentleman. His arm of the service will speakfor itself as it has always done. But your own words have given me newhope and new energy. I ask you, Mr. Secretary, for another chance. Theindustrial forces of the United States are behind us to the last manand the last machine. I have talked with them. I know!

"We have only six months left for a prodigious effort. Shall we makeit? For the safety of our country and the whole world let us attemptthe impossible: go ahead on our own; turn the energy and the mind ofthis whole country to the problem. 

"The great fleet of the world can never be. Shall we build and launchthe Great Fleet of the United States, and take upon our own shouldersthe burden and responsibility of defense?

"It cannot be done by reasonable standards, but the time is past forreason. Possible or otherwise, we must do it. We will--if you willback me in the effort!"

There was a rising discord of excited voices in the room. Men wereleaping to their feet to shake vehement fists in the faces of thosewho wagged their heads in protest. The Secretary of War arose to stillthe storm. He turned to walk toward the waiting figure of CaptainBlake. 

"You can't do it, " he said, and gripped the Captain by the hand; "youcan't do it--but you may. This country has seen others who have donethe impossible when the impossible had to be done. It's your job; thePresident will confirm my orders. Go to it, Blake!"

CHAPTER XVIII

The wires that bound the two men were removed, and McGuire and Sykesworked in agony to bring life back to the hands and feet that wereswollen and blue. Then--red guards who forced them to stumble on theirnumbed legs, where darting pains made them set their lips tight--acar that went swiftly through the darkness of a tube to stop finallyin another building--a room with metal walls, one window with abalcony beyond, high above the ground--a door that clanged behindthem; and the two men, looking one at the other with dismayed andswollen eyes, knew in their hearts that here, beyond a doubt, wastheir last earthly habitation. 

They said nothing--there was nothing of hope or comfort to besaid--and they dropped soddenly upon the hard floor, where finally theheavy breathing and nervous starts of Professor Sykes showed that tohim at least had come the blessed oblivion of exhausted sleep. Butthere was no sleep for Lieutenant McGuire. 

There was a face that shone too clearly in the dark, and his thoughtsrevolved endlessly in words of reproach for his folly in allowingAlthora's love to lead her to share his risk. From the night outsidetheir window came a ceaseless clatter and hubbub, but to this he wasoblivious. 

Only with the coming of morning's soft golden light did McGuire knowthe reason for the din and activity that echoed from outside--and thereason, too, for their being placed in this room. 

 * * * * *

Their lives should end with the sailing of the fleet, and there, outside their window, were the ships themselves. Ships everywhere, asfar as he could see across the broad level expanse, and an army of menwho scurried like ants--red ones, who worked or directed the others, and countless blues and yellows who were loading the craft withenormous cargoes. 

"Squawk, damn you!" said Lieutenant McGuire to the distant shriekingthrong; "and I hope they're ready for you when you reach the earth. "But his savage voice carried no conviction. What was there that Earthcould do to meet this overwhelming assault?

"What is it?" asked Sykes. He roused from his sleep to work gingerlyat his aching muscles, then came and stood beside McGuire. 

"They have put us here as a final taunt, " McGuire told him. "There isthe fleet that is going to make our world into a nice little hell, andTorg, the beast! has put us here to see it leave. Then we get ours, and they don't know that we know that. "

"Your first way was the best, " the scientist observed; "we should havedone it then. We still can. "

"What do you mean?" The flyer's voice was dull and lifeless. 

Sykes pointed to the little balcony and the hard pavement below. 

"Althora, " he said, and McGuire winced at the name, "seemed to thinkthat we were in for some exquisite torture. Here is the way out. It isa hundred-foot drop; they think we are safe; but they have beenunintentionally kind. "

"Yes, " his companion agreed, "they don't know that we know of the torture. We will wait . .. And when I am sure that--Althora--is--gone . .. When thereis nothing I can do to help--"

"Help?" queried the professor gently. "There is nothing now of help, nor anyone who can help us. We must face it, my boy; _c'est fini_. Ourlittle journey is approaching its end. "

 * * * * *

There was no reply, and McGuire stood throughout the day to stare witheyes of smouldering hatred where the scurrying swarms of living thingsmade ready to invade and infest the earth. 

Food and water was pushed through the doorway, but he ate sparingly ofthe odd-colored fruits; the only thing that could hold his thoughtsfrom the hopeless repetition of unanswerable "whys" was the sight ofthe fleet. And every bale and huge drum was tallied mentally as itpassed before his eyes. The ships were being loaded, and with theirsailing--But, no! He must not let himself think of that!

Throughout the day ships came and departed, and one leviathan, ablazein scarlet color; sailed in to settle down where great steel armsenfolded it, not far from the watching men. Scarlet creatures inauthority directed operations, and workmen swarmed about the greatship. Once McGuire swore softly and viciously under his breath, for hehad seen a figure that could be only that of Torg, and the crowdsaluted with upraised arms as the scarlet figure passed into thescarlet ship. This, McGuire knew, was the flagship that should carryTorg himself. Torg and ----. He paled at the thought of the othername. 

The only break in the long day came with the arrival of a squad ofguards, who hustled the two men out into a passageway and drove themto another room, where certain measurements were taken. The muscularfigures of the two were different from these red ones, but it was amoment before McGuire realized the sinister significance of theproceedings. Their breadth of shoulders, the thickness of theirchests--what had these figures to do with their captivity? And thenthe flyer saw the measures compared with the dimensions of a steelcage. Its latticed shape could be endlessly compressed, and within, hesaw, were lancet points that lined the ghastly thing throughout. Longenough to torture, but not to kill; a thousand delicate blades topierce the flesh; and the instrument, it seemed, was of a size thatcould enclose the writhing, helpless body of a man. 

Other unnameable contrivances about the room took on new significancewith the knowledge that here was the chamber of horrors whose workingshad been seen by Althora in the mind of their captor--horrors of whichshe could not speak. 

 * * * * *

McGuire was sick and giddy as the guards led him roughly back to theirprison room. And Professor Sykes, too, required no explanation of whatthey had seen. 

The guards were many, and resistance was useless, but each man lookedsilently at the other's desperate eyes when the metal cords weretwisted again about their wrists, and their hands were tied securelyto metal rings anchored in the wall beside the window. 

"And there, " said the flyer, "goes our last chance of escape. Theywere not as dumb as we thought: they knew how good a leap to thepavement would look after we had been in there. "

"Less than human!" Sykes was quoting the comment of Althora's brother. "I think Djorn was quite conservative in his statement. "

McGuire examined carefully the cords that tied his hands to the wallbeside him. The knots were secure, and the metal ring was smooth andround. "I didn't know, " he said, as he worked and twisted, "but theremight be a cutting edge, but we haven't a chance. No getting rid ofthese without a wire cutter or an acetylene torch--and we seem to bejust out of both. "

Professor Sykes tried to adopt the other's nonchalant tone. "Carelessof us, " he began--then stopped breathless to press his body againstthe wall. 

"It's there!" he said. "Oh, my God, if I could only get it, it mightwork--it might!"

"The battery, " he explained to the man beside him, whose assumedindifference vanished at this suggestion of hope; "--the littlebattery that I used on the gun, to fire the explosive. It has anastounding amperage, and a voltage around three hundred. It's in mypocket--and I can't reach it!"

"You can't keep a good man licked!" McGuire exulted. "You mean thatthe current might melt the wire?"

"Soften it, perhaps, depending upon the resistance. " Sykes refused toshare the other's excitement. "But we can't get at it. "

"We've got to, " was the answer. "Move over this way. " The man in khakitwisted his arms awkwardly to permit him to bend his body to one side, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as the strain forced thethin bonds into his wrists. But he brought his agonized face againstthe other's body, and gripped the fabric of Sykes' coat between histeeth. 

 * * * * *

The twisting of his head raised the cloth an inch at a time, anddespite Sykes' efforts to hold the garment with his elbow, it slippedback time and again. McGuire straightened at intervals to draw achoking breath and ease the strain upon his tortured wrists; then backagain in his desperate contortions to worry at the cloth and pull andhold--and try again to raise the heavy pocket where a battery madesagging folds. 

He was faint and gasping when finally the cloth was brought where thescientist's straining fingers could grasp it to writhe and twist inclumsy efforts that would force the battery's terminals within reach. 

"I'll try it on mine, " said Sykes. "It may be hot--and you've had yourshare. " He was holding the flat black thing to bring the copper tipsagainst the metal about his wrists. McGuire saw the man's lips gowhite as a wisp of smoke brought to his nostrils the sickening odor ofburned flesh. 

The metal glowed, and the man was writhing in silent self-torture whenat last he threw his weight upon the strands and fell backward to thefloor. He lay for a moment, trembling and quivering--but free. And theknowledge of that freedom and of the greater torture they would bothescape, gave him strength to rise and work with crippled hands at hiscompanion's bonds, till McGuire, too, was free--free to forget his ownswollen, bleeding wrists in compassionate regard for the other. 

Like an injured animal, Professor Sykes had licked with his tongue athis wrists, where hot wire had burned deep and white, and he wastrying for forgetfulness an hour later, in examination of the door totheir room. 

"What is the idea?" McGuire inquired, when he turned from hisceaseless contemplation of the fleet. "Not trying to get out, areyou?"

"I am trying to stay in, " said Sykes, and looked again at the objectthat interested him. "These long bolts, " he explained: "top andbottom; operated from outside, but exposed in here. They come togetherwhen unlocked; five inches apart now. If I had something to hold themapart--

"You haven't a piece of steel about five inches long, have you?--oranything to substitute for it? If you have, I can lock this door sothe devils won't come in and surprise us before we can make the jump. "

"The battery?" suggested McGuire. 

 * * * * *

Sykes shook his head. "I tried it. Too long, and besides it wouldcrumble. They operate these with a lever; I saw it outside. " He wenton silently with his study of the door and the little gap betweenheavy bolts, which, if closed, would mean security from invasion. 

"They're about through, " McGuire spoke from his post at the windowafter some time. "The rush seems to be about over. I imagine they'llpull out in the morning. "

He pointed as Sykes stood beside him. "Those big ones over beyond havenot been touched all day; only some of the crew, I judge, workingaround them. And way over you see forty or fifty whaling big ones:they must have been ready before we came. They have finished on thesenearer by. It looks like a big day for the brutes. "

And Professor Sykes led him on to talk more of the preparations he hadseen, and his deductions as to the morrow. It was all too evident whatwas really on the lieutenant's mind. It was not the thought of theirown immediate death, but the terrible dread and horror of Althora'sfate, that hammered and hammered in his brain. To speak of anythingelse meant a moment's relief. 

Sykes pointed to a tall mast that was set in the plaza pavement, somehundred feet away. Wires swung from it to several points, one of themending above their window and entering the building. "What is that?"he asked, "--some radio device? That ball of metal on the top might bean aerial. " But McGuire had fallen silent again, and stared stonily atthe deadly fighting ships he was powerless to combat. 

 * * * * *

On the morning that followed, there was no uncertainty. This was theday! And from a balconied window up high in the side of a tall stonebuilding, two men stood wordless and waiting while they watched thepreparations below. 

The open space was a sea of motion like flowing blood, where thousandsof figures in dull red marched in rank after rank to be swallowed inthe mammoth ships that McGuire had noted in the distance. Then othercolors, and swarms of what they took to be women-folk of this wildrace--a medley of color that flowed on and on as if it would nevercease, to fill one after another of the great ships. 

"Transports, that's what they are, " said McGuire. "I can see now whythey have no steel beaks like the others. They don't need any rams, nor ports for firing that beastly gas. They are gray, too, while thefighting ships are striped with red, all except the scarlet one ofTorg's. Those are colonists we are watching, and soldiers to conquerthe Earth where the damned swarm settles. "

He stopped to stare at a body of red-clad soldiers, drawn up atattention. They made a lane, and their arms were raised in the salutethat seemed only for Torg. They stood rigid and motionless; then, frombelow the watching men, came one in the full splendor of his scarletregalia. The air echoed with the din of his shouted name, but thebedlam of noise fell on deaf ears for McGuire. He could hear nothing, and in all the vast kaleidoscope of color he could see only oneobject--the white face of a girl who was half led and half carried bya guard of the red ones, where their Emperor led the way. 

 * * * * *

It was a strangled cry that was torn from the flyer's throat--the nameof this girl who was going to the doom she had failed to avoid. Herlife, she had said, was hers to keep only if she willed, but her planshad failed, and she went faltering and stumbling after a scarlet manbeast. 

"Althora!" called the flyer, and the figure of the girl was strugglingwith her guards in a frenzy that tore their hands free. She turned tolook toward the sound of the voice, and her face was like that of onedead as her eyes found the man she loved. 

"Tommy, " she called: "oh, Tommy, my dear! Good-by!" The words wereended by the clutch of the scarlet Emperor who turned to seize her. 

A clatter came from the door behind them, but Lieutenant McGuire gaveno heed. Only Professor Sykes sprang back from the balcony to seizeand struggle with the moving bolts. 

The man on the balcony was hardly less than a maniac as he glaredwildly about, but he was not too unreasoning to see the folly of awild leap into the throng below. He could never reach her--never. Andthen his eyes fell upon the wire that led from above him to the greatpole in the open plaza. There was shouting from behind where theexecutioners were wrestling with the bolts. 

"Hold them, " the flyer shouted, "just for a minute! For God's sake, Sykes, keep them back! There's a chance!"

He sprang to the balustrade of the balcony, but he saw as he leapedwhere Professor Sykes had raised his leg to force the thickness of hisknee between the bolts whose levers outside were bringing them closertogether. 

"Go to it, " was the answer. "I can hold them"--a stifled groan--"fora--minute!" Professor Sykes had found his substitute for five inchesof steel, and the living flesh yielded but slowly to the pressure ofthe bolts. 

 * * * * *

McGuire was working frantically at the wire, then held himself incheck while he carefully unwound it from its fastening. There was asplice, and he worked with bleeding fingers to unfasten the tightcoils. And then the end was free and in his hands. He dropped to thebalcony to pull in the slack, and he wrapped the end about beneath hisarms and twisted it tight, then leaped out into space. No thought ofhimself nor of Sykes in this one wild moment, only of Althora in thegrip of those beastly hands. 

He was struggling to turn himself in the air as the colored masses ofpeople seemed sweeping toward him, and he shot as a living pendulum, feet first, into the waiting heads. 

He was on his feet in an instant and tearing at the twisted wire thatheld him. About him was clamor and confusion, but beyond the nearerfigures he saw the one who waited, and beside her a thing in scarletthat shrieked orders to his men. 

He flung off one who leaped toward him, and ducked another to dashthrough and reach his man. And he neither saw nor felt the creature'sripping talons as he drove a succession of rights and lefts to theblood-red face. 

The scarlet one went backward under the fusillade of blows; he wasdown, a huddle of color upon the pavement, and a horde of paralyzedsoldiers had recovered from their stupefaction and were rushing uponthe flyer. He turned to meet them, but their rush ended as quickly asit began: only a step or two they came, then stopped, to add theirwild voices to the confusion of ear-splitting shrieks that rose fromall sides. 

 * * * * *

McGuire crouched rigid, tense and waiting, nor did he sense for aninstant that the assault was checked and that the faces of all abouthim were turned to the sky. It was the voice of Althora that arousedhim:

"Tommy! Tommy!" she was calling, and now she was at his side, herarms about him. "What is it, Tommy? Look! Look!" And she too wasgazing aloft. And then, above all other sounds McGuire heard theroar--

The clouds were golden above with the brilliance of midday--andagainst them, hard and sharp of outline, was a shining shape. A cloudof vapor streamed behind it as it shot down from the clouds, and thethunder of its coming was like the roar of many cannon. 

A ship of the red ones was in the air--a fighting ship, whose stripesshowed red--and it drove at the roaring menace with its steel beak anda swirling cloud of gas. It seemed that they must crash, when toMcGuire's eyes came the stabbing flash of heavy guns from the shiningshape. A crashing explosion came down to them as the great beak partedand fell, and the body of the red-striped monster opened in burstingsmoke and flame, tore slowly into fragments and fell swiftly to theearth. 

It struck with a shattering crash some distance away, but one pair ofeyes failed to follow it in its fall. For in the clear air above, withthe golden light of distant clouds upon it, a roaring monster ofsilvery sheen had rolled and swept upward to the heights. And itshowed, as it turned, a painted emblem on its bow, a design ofclear-cut color, unbelievably familiar--a circle of blue, and withinit a white star and a bull's eye of red--the mark of the flyingservice of the United States!

 * * * * *

McGuire never knew how he got Althora and himself back to the buildingwhence he had come. Nor did he see the struggling figures on abalcony, or the leap and fall of a maimed body, where Professor Sykes, when the door had yielded, found surcease and oblivion on the pavementbelow. 

He was to learn that later, but now he had eyes only for a sight thatcould be but a dream, an unreal vision of a disordered brain. He heldthe slim form of Althora to him in a crushing grip, while he stared, dry-eyed, above, and his own voice seemed to shout from afar off:"They're ours!" that voice was screaming in a frenzy of exultation. "They're our ships! They've come across!"

The fighting fleet of the red man-things of Venus was taking to theair! The ships rose in a swarm of speeding, darting shapes, and thegreat one of Torg was in the lead, climbing in fury toward theheights. 

Far above them the clouds of gold silhouetted a strange sight, and theair was shaking with the thunder from on high, where, straight andtrue, a line of silver ships in the sharp V of battle formation drovedownward in a deadly, swift descent. 

And even afar off, the straining eyes of a half-crazed man could seethe markings on their bow--a circle and a star--and the colors of hisown lost fighters of the air. 

CHAPTER XIX

The Earth-fleet was a slanting line of swiftness that swept downwardfrom the clouds. A swarm of craft was rising from below. Thered-striped fighters met the attack first with a cloud of gas. 

The scarlet monster--the flagship of Torg, the Emperor--was in thelead, and they shot with terrific speed across the bows of theoncoming fleet to leave a whirlwind of deadly vapor as they passed. McGuire held his breath in an agony of fear as the cloud enveloped theline of ships, but their bow guns roared staccato crashes in thethunder of their exhausts as they entered the cloud. And they werefiring from the stern as they emerged, while two falling cylinders ofred and white proved the effectiveness of their fire. 

The formation held true as it swept upward and back where the swarmingenemy was waiting. They were outnumbered three to one, McGuire saw, and his heart sang within him as he watched the sharp, speeding V thatclimbed upward to the enemy's level then swung to throw itself like alance of light at the massed ships that awaited the attack. 

Another cloud of gas!--and a shattered ship!--and again the lineemerged to correct its broken formation and drive once more toward thecircling swarm. 

They came to meet them now, the clusters of red-striped fightingships, and they tore in from all sides upon the American line, theirhooked beaks gleaming in the sun. 

 * * * * *

And now, at an unseen signal, the formation broke. Each ship foughtfor its life, and the stabbing flashes of their guns made ceaselessjets of light against the smoke and gas clouds that were darkening thesky. 

"A dog-fight!" breathed Lieutenant McGuire; "and what a dog-fight!"His words were lost in the terrific thunder from above: the roar ofthe ships and the dull thuds of the guns engulfed them in a maelstromof noise that battered like physical blows on the watchers below. Heswore unconsciously and called down curses upon the enemy as he sawtwo fighters meet while the shining beak of a ship of the reds crashedthrough the body of an opposing craft. 

The red ship dipped at the bow; it backed off with terrific force; andfrom the curved beak a ship with the insignia of the red, white andblue slid downward in a swift fall to the death that waited. 

They had fought themselves clear, and the Americans, by what must havebeen arrangement or wireless order, went roaring to the heights. Therewere some who followed, but the guns of the speeding ships drove themoff. Red-and-white shapes fell swiftly from the clouds where thefighting had been, and McGuire knew that his fellows had given anaccount of themselves in the fighting at close range. 

Again the thundering line was sharp and true, and another unswervingattack was launching itself from above. And again the deadlyformation, with ever-increasing speed, drove into the enemy withflashing guns, then parted to close with the ones that drovecrushingly upon them, while the sharper clatter of rapid-firing gunscame to shatter the air. 

The fighting craft had been rising from their level field in asuccession that seemed endless. They were all in the air now, and onlythe great transports remained on the paved field. 

 * * * * *

A red-striped fighter swept downward in retreat, and, from the smokeclouds, a silvery shape followed in pursuit. It reached the red andwhite one with its shells, and the great mass crashed with terrificimpact on the field. Its pursuer must have seen the monsters still onthe ground, and it swung to rake them with a shower of small-calibershells. 

There were machine-guns rattling as it passed above the throngedreds--the troops who were huddled in terror in the open court. It toreon past them--past a figure in khaki who raced forward with the goldenform of a girl within his arms, then released her to wave franticallyas the silver ship shot by. 

Unobserved, McGuire and Althora had been, where they stood beside thebuildings: the eyes of their enemies, like their own, were on themonstrous battle above. But now they had called themselves to theattention of the reds, and there were some who rushed upon them withfaces livid with rage. 

McGuire reached for a weapon from a victim of the machine-gun fire andprepared to defend himself, but the weapon was never used. He saw thesilvery shape reverse itself in the air; it turned sharply to throwitself back toward the solitary figure in uniform of their service andthe golden-clad girl beside him. 

The flyer raised his weapon, but the jostling swarm that rushed uponhim melted: the ripping fire of machine guns was deafening in hisears. Their deadly tattoo continued while the great ship sank slowlyto touch and rest its huge bulk upon the pavement. A door in theship's curved side opened that the blocky figure of a man might leapforth. 

He was grimy of face, and his uniform was streaked with the smoke andsweat of battle, but the face beneath the grime, and the hands thatreached to embrace and pound the flyer upon the back, could be onlythose of one he had known as his captain--Captain Blake. 

"You son-of-a-gun!" the shouting figure was repeating. "You damnedIrish son-of-a-gun! A. W. O. L. --but you can't get away with it! Comeon--get in here! I'm needed up above!"

 * * * * *

McGuire was struggling to speak from a throat that was suddenly tightand voiceless. Then--

"Althora, " he gasped; "take Althora!" and he motioned toward the girl. And then he remembered the companion he had left in the room above. The battle that had flashed so suddenly had blasted from his mind allother thoughts. 

"My God!" he said. "--Sykes! I--must get Sykes!"

He turned to run back to the building, only to stop in consternationwhere a huddle of clothing lay beneath the balcony of their prisonroom. 

It was Sykes--Sykes who had sacrificed himself to make possible theescape of his friend--and McGuire dropped to his knees to touch thebody that he knew was shattered beyond any hope of life. He raised thelimp burden in his arms and staggered back where more khaki-cladfigures had gathered. Two came quickly out to meet him, and he letthem take the body of his friend. 

"_C'est fini!_"--he repeated the words that Sykes had said; "the endof our little journey!" The arms of Althora were about him as Blakehurried them into the waiting ship, and the roar of enormous powermarked the rising of this space ship to throw itself again into thefray. 

 * * * * *

A small room with a dome of shatter-proof glass; a pilot who sat thereto look in all directions, a control-board beneath his hands. Besidehim on his elevated station was room for Captain Blake, and McGuireand Althora, too. The ship was climbing swiftly. McGuire saw whereflashing shapes circled and roared in a swelling cloud of smoke andgas. 

Blake spoke sharply to an aide: "General orders! All ships climb toresume formation!"

An enemy ship was before them: it flashed from nowhere to bear downwith terrific speed. The floor beneath them shook with the jarring ofheavy guns, and McGuire saw the advancing shape bursting with puffs ofsmoke, while their own ship shot upward with a sickening twist. Asilver ship was falling!--and another!

"Two more of ours gone, " said Captain Blake through set teeth. "Howmany of them are there, Mac? Tell me what you know: we've got a hellof a fight on our hands. "

"They're all here, " McGuire told him, in jerky, breathless speech. "These are transports on the ground. Their weapons are gas and speed, and the rams on their beaked ships. There are other weapons--deadlierones!--but they haven't got them: they belong to another race. I'lltell you all that later!"

"Keep them at a distance, Blake, " he said. "Make them come toyou--then nail them as they come. "

"Right!" was the answer; "that's good dope. We didn't know what theyhad; expected some devilish things that could down us before we gotwithin effective range; had to mix it with them to find out what theycould do, and get in a few solid cracks before they did it. 

"How high are we?" He glanced quickly at an instrument. "Ten thousand. Order all ships to withdraw, " he instructed his aide. "Rendezvous atfifty thousand feet for echelon formation. "

 * * * * *

Another brush with an enemy craft that slipped quickly to oneside--then the smoke clouds were behind them, and a score, of silveryshapes were climbing in vertical flight for the level at fiftythousand. 

They were fewer now than they had been, and the line that formedbehind the flagship of Blake was shorter than the one that had madethe V which shot down so bravely to engage with an unknown foe. 

The enemy was below; an arrangement of mirrors showed this from thecommander's station. They were emerging from the clouds of smoke toswarm in circling flight through the sky. And now the bow of their owncraft was depressed at an order from Blake, and the others were behindthem as they drove to renew the attack. 

"They're ganging up on us again, " said Blake. "We'll fool them thistime; we'll just kid them a little. "

The flagship swerved before reaching the enemy, and the othersfollowed in what looked like frightened retreat. Again they were inthe heights, and some few of the enemy were following. Blake led inanother descent. 

 * * * * *

No waiting swarm to greet them now! Blake gave a quick order. Theroaring column shifted position as it fell: the flagship was the apexof a great V whose arms flung out and backward on either side--a Vformation that curved and twisted through space and thundered upon thesmaller formations that scattered before the blasting guns. 

"Our bow guns are the effective weapons, " Blake observed; his casualtone was a sedative to McGuire's tense nerves. "We can use a broadsideonly of lighter weight; the kick of the big 'sights' has to be takenstraight back. But we're working, back home, on recoil-absorbing guns:we'll make fighting ships of these things yet. "

He spoke quietly to the pilot to direct their course toward a groupthat came sweeping upon them, and the massed fire of the squadron wassquarely into the oncoming beaks that fell beneath them where themirrors showed them crashing to the earth. 

They were scattered now; the enemy was in wild disorder; and Blakespoke sharply to his aide. 

"Break formation, " he ordered; "every ship for itself. Engage theenemy where they find them; shoot down anything they see; prevent theenemy reforming!" He was taking quick advantage of the other'sscattered forces, and he scattered his own that he knew could takecare of themselves while they engaged the enemy only by ones or twosor threes. 

"Clear the air of them!" he ordered. "Not one of them must escape!"

The skies were a maze of darting shapes that crossed and recrossed tomake a spider's web of light. Ship drove at ship, to swerve off at thelast, while the air quivered and beat upon them with the explosion ofshells and guns. 

"There's our meat!" Blake directed the pilot, and pointed ahead wherea monster in scarlet was swelling into view. 

It came swiftly upon them, darting down from above, and McGuireclutched at the arm of the man beside him to shout: "It's the leader;the flagship! It's the Emperor--Torg, himself! Give him hell, Blake, but look out--he's fast!"

 * * * * *

The ship was upon them like a flash of fire; no time for anything butdodging, and the pilot threw his craft wildly aside with a swerve thatsent the men sprawling against a stanchion. Then up and back, wherethe other had turned to come up from below. 

"Fast!" McGuire had said, but the word was inadequate to describe thespeed of the fiery shape. 

Another leap in the air, as their pilot swung his controls, and thered shape brushed past them in a cloud of gas, while the quick-firersripped futilely into space where the great ship had been. 

"Get your bow guns on him!" Blake roared. The ship beneath themstrained and shuddered with the incredible thunder of the generatorthat threw them bodily in the air. The pilot had opened in full forcethe ports that blasted their bows aside. 

No time to gather new speed; they were motionless as the scarletmonster came upon them, but they were in position to receive him. Theeight-inch rifles of the forward turret thundered again and again, tobe answered by flashes of flame from the scarlet ship. 

McGuire crouched over the bent form of the pilot, whose steady fingersheld the ship's bow straight upon the flashing death that bore downupon them. Another salvo!--and another!--hits all of them. .. . Smokebursting from ripping plates, and flaming fire more vivid than thescarlet shape itself!--and the floor beneath McGuire's feet drovecrushingly upward as their pilot pulled a lever to the full. 

The great beak flashed beneath--and the mirrors, where McGuire's eyeswere fastened, showed the terrific drive continue down and down, wherea brilliant cylinder that marked the power of Venus tore shriekinglyon to carry an Emperor to his crashing death. 

 * * * * *

The skies were clear of the red-striped ships: only the survivors ofthe attacking force showed their silvery shapes as they gathered neartheir flagship. There were two that pursued a small group of theenemy, but they were being outdistanced in the race. 

"We have won, " said Blake in a tone of wonder that showed how only nowhad come a realization of what the victory meant. "We have won, andthe earth--is saved!"

And the voice of McGuire echoed his fervent "Thank God!" while hegripped the soft hand that clung tightly to his, as if Althora, thisradiant creature of Venus, were timid and abashed among the joyful, shouting men-folk from another world. 

"And now what, Captain?" asked McGuire of his command. "Will you land?There is an army of reds down there asking for punishment. "

Blake had turned away; his hand made grimy smears across his facewhere he wiped away the tears that marked a brave man's utterthankfulness. He covered his emotion with an affectation ofdisapproval as he swung back toward McGuire. 

"Captain?" he inquired. "Captain? Where do you get that captainstuff?"

He pointed to an emblem on his uniform, a design that was unfamiliarto the eyes of McGuire. 

"You're talking to an admiral now!--the first admiral of the newestbranch of your country's fighting service--commanding the first fleetof the Space, ships of the United States of America!" He threw one armabout the other's shoulders. "We'll have to get busy, Mac, " he added, "and think up a new rank for you. 

"And, yes, we are going to land, " he continued in his customary tones;"there may be survivors of our own crashes. But we'll have to count onyou, Mac, to show us around this little new world of yours. "

 * * * * *

There was an army waiting, as McGuire had warned, but it was waitingto give punishment and not to take it. The vast expanse of the landingfield was swarming with them, and the open country beyond showedcolumns of marching troops. 

They had learned, too, to take shelter; barricades had been hastilyerected, and the men had shields to protect them from the fire ofsmall arms. 

Their bodies were enclosed in their gas-tight uniforms whose uglyhead-pieces served only to conceal the greater ugliness beneath. Theymet the ships as they landed with a showering rain of gas that wasfired from huge projectors. 

"Not so good!" Blake was speaking in the safety of his ship. "We havemasks, but great heavens, Mac!--there must be a million of thosebrutes. We can spray them with machine-gun fire, but we haven'tammunition enough to make a dent in them. And we've got to get out andget to our crashed ships. "

He waited for McGuire's suggestions, but it was Althora who replied. 

"Wait!" she said imperatively. She seemed to be listening to somedistant word. Then:

"Djorn is coming, " she exclaimed, and her eyes were brilliantlyalight. "He says to you"--she pointed to McGuire--"that you wereright, that we must fight like hell sometimes to deserve ourheaven--oh, I told him what you said--and now he is coming with allhis men!"

"What the devil?" asked Blake in amazement. "How does she know?"

"Telepathy, " McGuire explained: "she is talking with her brother, theleader of the real inhabitants of Venus. "

He told the wondering man briefly of his experience and of the peoplethemselves, the real owners of this world. 

"But what can they do?" Blake demanded. 

And McGuire assured him: "Plenty!"

 * * * * *

He turned to Althora to ask, "How are they coming? How will they gethere?"

"They are marching underground; they have been coming for two days. They knew of our being captured, but the people have been slow indeciding to fight. Djorn dared not tell me of their coming; he fearedhe might be too late. 

"They will come out of that building, " she said, and indicated thetowering structure that had been their prison. "It has the oldconnection with the underground world. "

"Well, they'd better be good!" said Blake incredulously. 

He was still less optimistic when the building before them showed thecoming of a file of men. They poured forth, in orderly fashion andranged themselves in single file along the walls. 

There must be a thousand, McGuire estimated, and he wondered if thewomen, too, were fighting for their own. Then, remembering Althora'sbrave insistence, he knew his surmise was correct. 

Each one was masked against the gas; their faces were concealed; andeach one held before him a tube of shining metal with a larger bulbousend that rested in their hands. 

"Electronic projectors, " the lieutenant whispered. "Keep your eye onthe enemy, Blake; you are going to learn something about war. "

The thin line was advancing now and the gas billowed about them asthey came. There were some few who dropped, where masks weredefective, but the line came on, and the slim tubes were before themin glittering menace. 

 * * * * *

At a distance of a hundred feet from the first of the entrenched enemythere was a movement along the line, as if the holders of the tubeshad each set a mechanism in operation. And before the eyes of theEarth-men was a spectacle of horror like nothing in wars they hadknown. 

The barricades were instantly a roaring furnace; the figures thatleaped from behind them only added to the flames. From the steady rankof the attackers poured an invisible something before which the hostsof the enemy fell in huddles of flame. Those nearest were blasted fromsight in a holocaust of horror, and where they had been was ascattering of embers that smoked and glowed; even the figures ofdistant ones stumbled and fell. 

The myriad fighters of the army of the red ones, when the attackersshut off their invisible rays, was a screaming mob that raced wildlyover the open lands beyond. 

Althora's hands were covering her eyes, but McGuire and Blake, and thecrowding men about them, stared in awe and utter astonishment at thedevastation that was sweeping this world. An army annihilated beforetheir eyes! Scores of thousands, there must be, of the dead!

The voice of Blake was husky with horror. "What a choice little bitout of hell!" he exclaimed. "Mac, did you say they were our friends?God help us if they're not!"

"They are, " said McGuire grimly. "Those are Althora's people who hadforgotten how to fight; they are recapturing something that they lostsome centuries ago. But can they ever destroy the rest of that swarm?I don't think they have the heart to do it. "

"They do not need. " It was Althora speaking. "My people are sickenedwith the slaughter. But the red ones will go back into the earth, andwe will seal them in!--it is Djorn who tells me--and the world will beours forevermore. "

 * * * * *

A matter of two short days, crammed to the uttermost with therealization of the astounding turn of events--and McGuire and Althorastood with Blake and Djorn, the ruler, undisputed, of the beautifulworld of Venus. A fleet of great ships was roaring high in air. Oneonly, the flagship, was waiting where their little group stood. 

The bodies of the fallen had been recovered; they were at rest now inthe ships that waited above. McGuire looked about in final wonder atthe sparkling city bathed in a flood of gold. A kindly citynow--beautiful; the terrors it had held were fading from his mind. Heturned to Althora. 

"We are going home, " he said softly, "you and I. "

"Home?" Althora's voice was vibrant with dismay. 

"We need you here, friend Mack Guire, " the voice of Djorn broke in, inprotest. "You have something that we lack--a force and vision--somethingwe have lost. "

"We will be back, " the flyer assured him. "You befriended me: anythingI can do in return--" The grip of his hand completed the sentence. 

"But there is a grave to be made on the summit of Mount Lawson, " headded quietly. "I think he would have preferred to lie there--at theend of his journey--and I must return to the service where I have notyet been mustered out. "

"But you said--you were going home, " faltered Althora. "Will thatalways be home to you, Tommy?"

"Home, my dear, " he whispered in words that reached her only, "is justwhere you are. " His arm went about her to draw her toward the waitingship. "There or here--what matter? We will be content. "

Her eyes were misty as they smiled an answer. Within the ship that waslifting them, they turned to watch a city of opal light grow faintlyluminous in the distance . .. An L-shaped continent shrunk to tiny size . .. And the nebulous vapors of the cloudland that enclosed this world foldedsoftly about. 

"We will lead, " the voice of Blake was saying to an aide: "sameformation that we used coming over. Give the necessary orders. But, "he added slowly to himself, "the line will be shorter; there are fewerof us now. "

An astronomical officer laid a chart before the commander. "We are onthe course, sir, " he reported. 

"Full speed, " Blake gave the order, and the thundering generatoranswered from the stern. The Space Fleet of America was going home. 

(_The End_)

_A meeting Place for Readers of_ Astounding Stories

[Illustration: _The Readers' Corner_]

_"Absurd" to "Superb"_

 Dear Editor:

 Unfortunately, I missed the January number of your very excellent magazine, which I consider superior to any of its type. I brought seven copies--February to August--with me on my vacation, and have so far read the first three from cover to cover. 

 The February and March numbers were almost above reproach, but the April number contained two stories so surprisingly poor that I can only conjecture the Editor was ill at that time. They were "The Man who was Dead, " by Thomas H. Knight and "Monsters of Moyen, " by Arthur J. Burks. For Mr. Knight there is no hope. To him I can only say "Stop trying to write and get a job. " I am a rapid and omnivorous reader, but never have I read a story so utterly bad as his. He gets the booby prize. 

 Arthur J. Burks, although a master artist in comparison to Knight, is pretty poor--terrible, in fact. His style is dull, repetitious, and stilted. His melodrama is exaggerated to the point of nauseating absurdity. His characters are lifeless and unnatural puppets. So much for the faults. 

 Among the best Science Fiction stories I have read is "The Planet of Dread, " by R. F. Starzl in the August number. I also very much enjoyed the "Dr. Bird" stories by Capt. Meek, and indeed all the others, barring the two I criticized in such a helpful, friendly spirit. Leinster and Cummings are old favorites of mine. 

 I prefer your present cover but disagree with your attitude towards reprinting the older works of such authors as George Allen England, Serviss and Cummings, which are now unobtainable and would, I believe, be received with pleasure and applause. 

 Congratulations--Joseph S. Stull, 291 Barrington St. , Rochester, N. Y. 

 P. S. Since I wrote I have read the May and June numbers--both perfect. C. D. Willard is a superb storyteller. 

_Wrong Numbers Still!_

 Dear Editor:

 I agree with the rest of your readers in the good things they say about your magazine in "The Readers' Corner. " There is one story, however, "The Planet of Dread, " in your August issue, that gives me a rather sickening feeling of disgust. The trouble was in the climax. After the hero has wandered over quite a portion of the planet Inra, he arrives at some mountains where, lo and behold! an unexpected space ship drops from the clouds to an unfrequented ledge of rock and makes a rescue. After this sensational climax comes an equally thrilling anti-climax--the hero is offered three years' salary for his story. To accuse the future world of doing such a thing is an open insult to our posterity. Ten per cent of my high school freshmen took just such an ending to their first themes. 

 As that story took up about one-seventh of your space and your magazine cost twenty cents. I figure you owe your readers three cents on that issue. But, due to the fineness of the rest of your stories, I am willing to forget your debt as far as I am concerned. 

 I am happy to see that you are beginning to print articles. I read with interest the one about Mechanical Voices for Telephone Numbers in your September issue. But can't something be done about wrong numbers? The article states that a person dialed the number 8561T. Two seconds later the loud-speaker spoke up, clearly, in an almost human voice, 8651T. Wrong number! Must this evil be with us always!

 I am NOT in favor of reprints. You are printing stories every month just as good as any of those suggested to you. I have read most of those classic scientific stories referred to. The best stories along this line have not been written yet. Keep your space clear for them. Let us have young blood with new ideas. Let our authors eat. Good stories were never written on an empty stomach. 

 I believe yours is the highest type of the few magazines that lay a greater stress on the brains of the hero than on his good looks. But, for the sake of one of your ardent readers, let that hero use his brains to get himself out of whatever he has gotten into. Don't let a space ship swoop down from above to rescue him. That type of story reminds me a lot of the one where Jonah was rescued from the deep by the timely arrival of the friendly whale. By the way, there's a suggestion for a reprint. I will admit that it would be just about as new to me as some of the others that have been suggested in this "Corner. "--Richard Lewis, 448 Marion St. , Knoxville, Iowa. 

_Not So "Green" in Ireland_

 Dear Editor:

 I suppose it's not often you get a letter from an Irish "Paddy, " but here's one now. Here in Cork we don't get magazines like Astounding Stories regularly, but I got the May issue to-day and could not stop until I had devoured it from cover to cover. "The Atom Smasher" is a story which I have been hunting for for years. When I had finished it, I had to sit back and leave out all the breath which I was holding in in a prolonged "whew!" If ever I get the luck to find another Astounding Stories I'll burn up the pages looking for the name Victor Rousseau. Next in order I liked "Brigands of the Moon" and "The Jovian Jest. " Thought the story "Into the Ocean's Depths" an awful fairy tale, but otherwise good reading. The painter of the cover design is a real artist and I wish to express my appreciation of his wonderful rendering of a difficult subject. --Fitz-Gerald Grattan, 11 Frankfield Terrace, Summerhill South, Cork, Irish Free State. 

_Worthy His Evening and Pipe_

 Dear Editor:

 I have read my first copy of Astounding Stories, the September. 

 The first paragraph in the first part of "A Problem in Communication" assured me that I had found a book worthy of my evening and pipe. 

 Read that paragraph and you will find Dr. Miles Breuer is most brilliant in his philosophy and clever in the application of that philosophy in his masterpiece of the science of communication. --Don L. Schweitzer, 1402 Bancroft St. , Omaha, Nebr. 

_"Taking a Claw Hold"_

 Dear Editor:

 Was just reading the September issue of A. S. And find it ranging first among the Science Fiction magazines now printed. I'm certain your "Jetta of the Lowlands" is going to be a masterpiece of Ray Cummings. He is my favorite writer. 

 I did not like "Earth, the Marauder. " It was too much drawn out and very dry. "Brigands of the Moon" was excellent. 

 I wish you would print my letter, as I'd like any one, male of female, interested in science to write to me. Would you kindly oblige me?

 I'm glad to see girls taking interest in your magazine, as it shown science is taking a claw hold on everyone--Harold BegGell, 29 Stewart St. , Washington, N. J. 

_This and That_

 Dear Editor:

 In the October issue of Astounding Stories, Mr. Woodrow Gelman casts vote No. 1 for reprints. Well, here is vote No. 2. I intended to reply to all your arguments against reprint, but Mr. Gelman has done this very satisfactorily, indeed. I only wish to make a few additional comments. 

 You say that only one out of a hundred haven't read reprints [?]. Fifty out of a hundred would be more correct. Five years ago there wasn't a single magazine devoted exclusively to Science Fiction. Now there are six of them, more or less. These magazines have converted thousands of readers into Science Fiction fans. These readers ought to be given a chance to read the old masterpieces. Even those who have read them would be glad to reread them. 

 With the exception of the reprints you have pretty near carried out all the readers' wishes. You have put in a readers' department, increased Wesso's illustrations, given us many interplanetary stories, and given us the stories of the leading authors of the day. Surely you can give us reprints when the demand for them is so universal. The ones I want are those written by Cummings, Merritt, Rousseau and Serviss, and I am sure that the rest of the readers want them too. If you are still doubtful, the fairest thing to do is to conduct a vote among the readers. I hope that you will pardon me for being so persistent, but I am sure that you are working in the best interests of the readers and that you will accede to a great and growing popular demand. 

 Now about the latest issue of Astounding Stories. "The Invisible Death" is the best novelette you have printed up to now. With the exception of Ray Cummings, the best author you have is Victor Rousseau. I am glad to see that there is another story by Rousseau scheduled for next month. Murray Leinster is a close third, and I hope to see more of his stories soon. The second part of "Jetta of the Lowlands" was better than the first. "Stolen Brains" was also excellent. Keep on printing the Dr. Bird stories. I like them very much. 

 Although the stories were splendid, the cover illustration was poor. I believe that this is the worst cover that Wesso has ever drawn. The main fault with it is that there is no science in it. It would be more appropriate for one of those detective magazines. "The Invisible Death" has many other interesting scenes from which Wesso could have chosen a more fitting subject. However, Wesso is your best artist and you ought to keep him. --Michael Forgaris, 157 Fourth St. , Passale, N. J. 

_"Not Spoiled by . .. Editor"_

 Dear Editor:

 There is one advantage that Astounding Stories has over all of the other Science Fiction magazines. It does not overburden one with an exposition of scientific facts. Too often a story is ruined by a lot of dry textbook stuff that turns an exciting story into a lecture. 

 In Astounding Stories we can soar away on the wings of imagination, escaping the humdrum everyday world to new and amazing adventures. The hours fly away like the speed of light, and upon finishing the book our only regret is that we have to wait a whole month before another issue takes us aloft again. 

 Having unburdened myself thus far, I think it is most fitting to comment upon your latest (October) issue. To my mind, the stories in order of merit are: "The Invisible Death, " "Stolen Brains, " "Jetta of the Lowlands, " "Prisoners on the Electron, " and "An Extra Man. "

 I certainly am glad to see Ray Cummings writing for your most excellent magazine. He is and A-1 author. 

 It does not make a particle of difference to me about the size of the magazine, but I wish you would have smooth edges like those of your Five-Novels Monthly. 

 Am glad to see that "The Readers' Corner" is enlarged. I always turn to this first, even before reading the stories. This is a most entertaining department, and I'm glad it is not spoiled by any perfunctory remarks from the editor. 

 How about publishing Astounding Stories twice a month?--E. Anderson, 1765 Southern Blvd. , New York City, New York. 

_Roses, Daisies and Violets_

 Dear Editor:

 In appreciation of an enjoyable evening of reading--which extended, by the way, into the wee, sma' hours of early morning--I thought to drop you a few lines, speaking of the high regards your magazine. Astounding Stories, has won from me through merit alone. Your October number particularly fitted into my reading mood last night. 

 After the daily grind of newspaper work, it might seem odd that relaxation is sought in "more reading"--but it has been my experience, and that of many of my co-workers. I find, that the relief from the high tension of our trade comes from the change in the character of what we read, rather than in "something else, " such as physical recreation. Fiction relaxes where "news" has keyed up. 

 And in the Science Fiction of your magazine's stories of super-science, I find the keenest periods of mental enjoyment through the admirable selection of Astounding Stories' mixed adventure, unique travel and prophetic science. In this I am not alone--a number of my acquaintances have reveled likewise in your magazine at my suggestion. 

 I have not quite settled in my mind as to whether you have trained your writers to exploit this special field of magazine fiction, which you occupy so successfully, or, in your editorial capacity, have so well selected the stories that bear the hallmarks of this peculiar interest that appeals so strongly to my leisure hours. 

 By whichever road your success has been reached is immaterial--Astounding Stories has registered with me in a degree which should be flattering to your editorial supervision, if I represent, as I think I do, that large class of magazine readers who prefer and seek a science-coated outlet from the humdrum of every day living in mental adventure and travel-thrill reading. 

 Have I presented clearly why and how much I like your magazine of Astounding Stories!--E. P. Neill, 910 East Ave. , Red Wing, Minn. 

_"Much Easier to Turn"_

 Dear Editor:

 Once more I am impelled to give a roar. The last few issues have been filled with letters from readers who are evidently not satisfied with a "different" magazine. If they do not like to read "our" magazine then let them quit, but don't let a heckling minority spoil a real treat. My particular growl this time is directed towards Robert Baldwin and others of his ilk, who squawk about the size (i. E. Length and width) of the mag and the uneven pages. The size is perfect (and just because the craze for standardization has hit some of the other Science Fiction mags and they have gone ga-ga over being an awkward shape, that is no reason for your going ahead and spoiling this one) and the uneven pages are a relief when reading because it is much easier to turn over a leaf when they are of a slightly different width. 

 However, to take some of the sting off, I must say some of the ideas of said Mr. Baldwin are O. K. Enlarge the mag--of course you will, as readers increase and sales go up. Larger, as he says, "It will be worth the other jitney. " Put ads in the rear. Have full page illustrations when possible. But another thing he is absolutely wrong on. Please do not adopt the antique method of continuing a story on page umptyump. 

 Some of the readers are still yowling for reprints. Well, it is true that some reprints would be very acceptable. However, as most of the really good old-time tales of Science Fiction can be procured in any good sized library, why bother to print them and thus decrease the space allotted to our new authors, some of whom are even better than Wells, Verne, etc. , much as I like the old masters. 

 By the way, my "enlarge" in the second paragraph means in thickness (amount of reading matter), not shape. 

 Wesso has always been good, and he seems to be improving, though he and others might be still better if they would carefully read the descriptions of persons and animals of other planets before picturing them. I don't wish to make this blurb too long, so will not be specific, but you and others probably have seen the same as I, where the illustration has not been true to the description. 

 It might interest you to know that I have been instrumental in getting several new readers for Astounding Stories. Long live "our" new mag. --Robert J Hyatt, 1353 Kenyon St. , N. W. , Washington, D. C. 

_Ow! Ow! Ow!_

 Dear Editor:

 I have just looked at "The Reader's Corner" in the October issue of Astounding Stories. It disgusted me. What you print there--only letters praising your magazine to the skies?--or do you occasionally print a brickbat?

 I've bought your magazine each time since it was first printed. And many times I've felt like quitting. Why? There are a number of reasons. 

 First, you print stories that have nothing to do with science, such as "The Soul Master. " Second, your illustrations are poor. They would look better if they were full page ones. Wesso is the best artist you have. Gould and Sabo are just plain cartoonists, and mighty poor ones at that. Third, you print stories that give a weak and implausible scientific basis. Diffin, Gee, Leinster and several others err in this respect. Fourth, rotten paper--it goes to pieces after being handled. Fifth, no editorial or science questionnaire. 

 Your authors will not starve if you print reprints. Rousseau and a lot of others write for other magazines. And reprints would occupy such a measly space that they could hardly be called down for being printed. 

 Your magazine has some good features: a good cover; good authors like Breuer, Vincent, Meek, Ernst and Starzl; clear type; and handy size. 

 If anyone thinks I'm wrong--well my address is given. This challenge includes the editor. I sincerely hope you will improve your magazine--Edwin C. Magnuson, 1205 E. Ninth St. , Duluth, Minn. 

_Suggestions_

 Dear Editor:

 I have read your excellent magazine ever since it came out, and though it needs a few corrections like the others, A. S. Is nearly perfect. Why not have your pages evened up, and add a department of science on subjects such as Rocket Propulsion etc. , so the readers could become familiar with the mystifying problems stated in the stories? Have the advertisements in the back, and don't change your artists as their work is satisfactory. 

 Robert Baldwin of Illinois has an excellent list of suggestions. Why not have a page devoted to the pictures and biographies of your writers, and full page illustrations? Why not have a space for good reprints and charge a nickel more? I am sure it will be appreciated by readers. Why don't you put out a Quarterly, twice as thick or containing twice as many stories for fifty cents?--A satisfied reader--Hume V. Stephani, 37-1/2 Wood St. , Auburn, New York. 

_"The Readers' Corner"_

All readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "comeover in 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion ofstories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everythingthat's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories. 

Although, from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, thisis a department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make fulluse of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations roses, brickbats, suggestions--everything's welcome here; so "come over in 'The Readers'Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!

--_The Editor. _

[Illustration: Advertisement. ]

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