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 ASTOUNDING STORIES OF SUPER-SCIENCE

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 VOL. III. No. 3 CONTENTS SEPTEMBER, 1930

 COVER DESIGN H. W. WESSOLOWSKI _Painted in Water-Colors from a Scene in "Marooned Under the Sea. "_

 A PROBLEM IN COMMUNICATION MILES J. BREUER, M. D. 293 _The Delivery of His Country into the Clutches of a Merciless, Ultra-Modern Religion Can Be Prevented Only by Dr. Hagstrom's Deciphering an Extraordinary Code. _

 JETTA OF THE LOWLANDS RAY CUMMINGS 310 _Fantastic and Sinister Are the Lowlands into Which Philip Grant Descends on His Dangerous Assignment. _ (Beginning a Three-Part Novel. )

 THE TERRIBLE TENTACLES, OF L-472 SEWELL PEASLEE WRIGHT 332 _Commander John Hanson of the Special Patrol Service Records Another of His Thrilling Interplanetary Assignments. _

 MAROONED UNDER THE SEA PAUL ERNST 346 _Three Men Stick Out a Strange and Desperate Adventure Among the Incredible Monsters of the Dark Sea Floor. _ (A Complete Novelette. )

 THE MURDER MACHINE HUGH B. CAVE 377 _Four Lives Lay Helpless Before the Murder Machine, the Uncanny Device by Which Hypnotic Thought Waves Are Filtered Through Men's Minds to Mold Them Into Murdering Tools. _

 THE ATTACK FROM SPACE CAPTAIN S. P. MEEK 390 _From a Far World Came Monstrous Invaders Who Were All the More Terrifying Because Invisible. _

 EARTH, THE MARAUDER ARTHUR J. BURKS 408 _Martian Fire-Balls and the Terrific Moon-Cubes Wreak Tremendous Destruction on Helpless Earth in the Final Death Struggle of the Warring Worlds. _ (Conclusion. )

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[Illustration: I saw the famous Science Temple with its constant streamof worshippers. ]

A Problem in Communication

_By Miles J. Breuer, M. D. _

PART I

_The Science Community_

(This part is related by Peter Hagstrom, Ph. D. )

"The ability to communicate ideas from one individual to another, " saida professor of sociology to his class, "is the principal distinctionbetween human beings and their brute forbears. The increase andrefinement of this ability to communicate is an index of the degree ofcivilization of a people. The more civilized a people, the more perfecttheir ability to communicate, especially under difficulties and inemergencies. "

[Sidenote: _The delivery of his country into the clutches of amerciless, ultra-modern religion can be prevented only by Dr. Hagstrom'sdeciphering an extraordinary code. _]

As usual, the observation burst harmlessly over the heads of most of thestudents in the class, who were preoccupied with more immediatethings--with the evening's movies and the week-end's dance. But upon twoyoung men in the class, it made a powerful impression. It crystallizedwithin them certain vague conceptions and brought them to a consciousfocus, enabling the young men to turn formless dreams into concreteacts. That is why I take the position that the above enthusiastic wordsof this sociology professor, whose very name I have forgotten, were theprime moving influence which many years later succeeded in savingOccidental civilization from a catastrophe which would have been worsethan death and destruction. 

 * * * * *

One of these young men was myself, and the other was my lifelong friendand chum, Carl Benda, who saved his country by solving a tremendouslydifficult scientific puzzle in a simple way, by sheer reasoning power, and without apparatus. The sociology professor struck a responsive chordin us: for since our earliest years we had wigwagged to each other asBoy Scouts, learned the finger alphabet of the deaf and dumb so that wemight maintain communication during school hours, strung a telegraphwire between our two homes, admired Poe's "Gold Bug" together anddevised boyish cipher codes in which to send each other postcards whenchance separated us. But we had always felt a little foolish about whatwe considered our childish hobbies, until the professor's words suddenlyroused us to the realization that we were a highly civilized pair ofyoungsters. 

Not only did we then and there cease feeling guilty about our secretciphers and our dots and dashes, but the determination was born withinus to make of communication our life's work. It turned out that both ofus actually did devote our lives to the cause of communication; but thepassing years saw us engaged in widely and curiously divergent phases ofthe work. Thirty years later, I was Professor of the Psychology ofLanguage at Columbia University, and Benda was Maintenance Engineer ofthe Bell Telephone Company of New York City; and on his knowledge andskill depended the continuity and stability of that stupendously complextraffic, the telephone communication of Greater New York. 

 * * * * *

Since our ambitious cravings were satisfied in our everyday work, andsince now ordinarily available methods of communication sufficed ourneeds, we no longer felt impelled to signal across the house-tops withsemaphores nor to devise ciphers that would defy solution. But we stillkept up our intimate friendship and our intense interest in our belovedsubject. We were just as close chums at the age of fifty as we had beenat ten, and just as thrilled at new advances in communication: attelevision, at the international language, at the supposed signals fromMars. 

That was the state of affairs between us up to a year ago. At about thattime Benda resigned his position with the New York Bell TelephoneCompany to accept a place as the Director of Communication in theScience Community. This, for many reasons, was a most amazing piece ofnews to myself and to anyone who knew Benda. 

Of course, it was commonly known that Benda was being sought byUniversities and corporations: I know personally of several temptingoffers he had received. But the New York Bell is a wealthy corporationand had thus far managed to hold Benda, both by the munificence of itssalary and by the attractiveness of the work it offered him. That theScience Community would want Benda was easy to understand; but, that itcould outbid the New York Bell, was, to say the least, a surprise. 

Furthermore, that a man like Benda would want to have anything at all todo with the Science Community seemed strange enough in itself. He hadthe most practical common sense--well-balanced habits of thinking andliving, supported by an intellect so clear and so keen that I knew ofnone to excel it. What the Science Community was, no one knew exactly;but that there was something abnormal, fanatical, about it, no onedoubted. 

 * * * * *

The Science Community, situated in Virginia, in the foothills of theBlue Ridge, had first been heard of many years ago, when it was alreadya going concern. At the time of which I now speak, the novelty had wornoff, and no one paid any more attention to it than they do to Zion Cityor the Dunkards. By this time, the Science Community was a city of amillion inhabitants, with a vast outlying area of farms and gardens. Itwas modern to the highest degree in construction and operation; therewas very little manual labor there; no poverty; every person had all thebenefits of modern developments in power, transportation, andcommunication, and of all other resources provided by scientificprogress. 

So much, visitors and reporters were able to say. 

The rumors that it was a vast socialistic organization, without privateproperty, with equal sharing of all privileges, were never confirmed. Itis a curious observation that it was possible, in this country of ours, for a city to exist about which we knew so little. However, it seemedevident from the vast number and elaboration of public buildings, theperfection of community utilities such as transportation, streets, lighting, and communication, from the absence of individual homes andthe housing of people in huge dormitories, that some different, lessindividualistic type of social organization than ours was involved. Itwas obvious that as an organization, the Science Community must also bewealthy. If any of its individual citizens were wealthy, no one knew it. 

I knew Benda as well as I knew myself, and if I was sure of anything inmy life, it was that he was not the type of man to leave a fiftythousand dollar job and join a communist city on an equal footing withthe clerks in the stores. As it happens, I was also intimatelyacquainted with John Edgewater Smith, recently Power Commissioner of NewYork City and the most capable power engineer in North America, who, following Benda by two or three months, resigned his position, andaccepted what his letter termed the place of Director of Power in theScience Community. I was personally in a position to state that neitherof these men could be lightly persuaded into such a step, and thatneither of them would work for a small salary. 

 * * * * *

Benda's first letter to me stated that he was at the Science Communityon a visit. He had heard of the place, and while at Washington onbusiness had taken advantage of the opportunity to drive out and see it. Fascinated by the equipment he saw there, he had decided to stay a fewdays and study it. The next letter announced his acceptance of theposition. I would give a month's salary to get a look at those lettersnow; but I neglected to preserve them. I should like to see them becauseI am curious as to whether they exhibit the characteristics of thesubsequent letters, some of which I now have. 

As I have stated, Benda and I had been on the most intimate terms forforty years. His letters had always been crisp and direct, andthoroughly familiar and confidential. I do not know just how manyletters I received from him from the Science Community before I notedthe difference, but I have one from the third month of his stay there(he wrote every two or three weeks), characterized by a verbosity thatsounded strange for him. He seemed to be writing merely to cover thesheet, trifles such as he had never previously considered worth writingletters about. Four pages of letter conveyed not a single idea. YetBenda was, if anything, a man of ideas. 

There followed several months of letters like that: a lot of words, evasion of coming to the point about anything; just conventionalletters. Benda was the last man to write a conventional letter. Yet, itwas Benda writing them: gruff little expressions of his, clear ways oflooking at even the veriest trifles, little allusion to our common past:these things could neither have been written by anyone else, nor writtenunder compulsion from without. Something had changed Benda. 

 * * * * *

I pondered on it a good deal, and could think of no hypothesis toaccount for it. In the meanwhile, New York City lost a third technicalman to the Science Community. Donald Francisco, Commissioner of theWater Supply, a sanitary engineer of international standing, accepted aposition in the Science Community as Water Director. I did not knowwhether to laugh and compare it to the National Baseball League'strafficking in "big names, " or to hunt for some sinister danger sign init. But, as a result of my ponderings, I decided to visit Benda at TheScience Community. 

I wrote him to that effect, and almost decided to change my mind aboutthe visit because of the cold evasiveness of the reply I received fromhim. My first impulse on reading his indifferent, lackadaisical commenton my proposed visit was to feel offended, and determine to let himalone and never see him again. The average man would have done that, butmy long years of training in psychological interpretation told me that acharacter and a friendship built during forty years does not change insix months, and that there must be some other explanation for this. Iwrote him that I was coming. I found that the best way to reach theScience Community was to take a bus out from Washington. It involved adrive of about fifty miles northwest, through a picturesque section ofthe country. The latter part of the drive took me past settlements thatlooked as though they might be in about the same stage of progress asthey had been during the American Revolution. The city of my destinationwas back in the hills, and very much isolated. During the last ten mileswe met no traffic at all, and I was the only passenger left in the bus. Suddenly the vehicle stopped. 

"Far as we go!" the driver shouted. 

I looked about in consternation. All around were low, wild-lookinghills. The road went on ahead through a narrow pass. 

"They'll pick you up in a little bit, " the driver said as he turnedaround and drove off, leaving me standing there with my bag, very muchastonished at it all. 

 * * * * *

He was right. A small, neat-looking bus drove through the pass andstopped for me. As I got in, the driver mechanically turned around anddrove into the hills again. 

"They took up my ticket on the other bus, " I said to the driver. "Whatdo I owe you?"

"Nothing, " he said curtly. "Fill that out. " He handed me a card. 

An impertinent thing, that card was. Besides asking for my name, address, nationality, vocation, and position, it requested that I statewhom I was visiting in the Science Community, the purpose of my visit, the nature of my business, how long I intended to stay, did I have aplace to stay arranged for, and if so, where and through whom. It lookedfor all the world as though they had something to conceal; CzaristRussia couldn't beat that for keeping track of people and prying intotheir business. Sign here, the card said. 

It annoyed me, but I filled it out, and, by the time I was through, thebus was out of the hills, traveling up the valley of a small river; I amnot familiar enough with northern Virginia to say which river it was. There was much machinery and a few people in the broad fields. In thedistance ahead was a mass of chimneys and the cupolas of iron-works, butno smoke. 

There were power-line towers with high-tension insulators, and, farahead, the masses of huge elevators and big, square buildings. Soon Icame in sight of a veritable forest of huge windmills. 

In a few moments, the huge buildings loomed up over me; the bus entereda street of the city abruptly from the country. One moment on a countryroad, the next moment among towering buildings. We sped along swiftlythrough a busy metropolis, bright, airy, efficient looking. The trafficwas dense but quiet, and I was confident that most of the vehicles wereelectric; for there was no noise nor gasoline odor. Nor was there anysmoke. Things looked airy, comfortable, efficient; but rathermonotonous, dull. There was a total lack of architectural interest. Thebuildings were just square blocks, like neat rows of neat boxes. But, itall moved smoothly, quietly, with wonderful efficiency. 

 * * * * *

My first thought was to look closely at the people who swarmed thestreets of this strange city. Their faces were solemn, and their clotheswere solemn. All seemed intently busy, going somewhere, or doingsomething; there was no standing about, no idle sauntering. And lookwhichever way I might, everywhere there was the same blue serge, on menand women alike, in all directions, as far as I could see. 

The bus stopped before a neat, square building of rather smaller size, and the next thing I knew, Benda was running down the steps to meet me. He was his old gruff, enthusiastic self. 

"Glad to see you, Hagstrom, old socks!" he shouted, and gripped my handwith two of his. "I've arranged for a room for you, and we'll have agood old visit, and I'll show you around this town. "

I looked at him closely. He looked healthy and well cared-for, allexcept for a couple of new lines of worry on his face. Undoubtedly thatworn look meant some sort of trouble. 

PART II

_The New Religion_

(This part is interpolated by the author into Dr. Hagstrom's narrative. )

Every great religion has as its psychological reason for existence themission of compensating for some crying, unsatisfied human need. Christianity spread and grew among people who were, at the time, persecuted subjects or slaves of Rome; and it flourished through theMiddle Ages at a time when life held for the individual chiefly pain, uncertainty, and bereavement. Christianity kept the common man consoledand mentally balanced by minimizing the importance of life on earth andoffering compensation afterwards and elsewhere. 

A feeble nation of idle dreamers, torn by a chaos of intertribal feudswithin, menaced by powerful, conquest-lusting nations from without, Arabia was enabled by Islam, the religion of her prophet Mohammed, tounite all her sons into an intense loyalty to one cause, and to turn herdream-stuff into reality by carrying her national pride and honor beyondher boundaries and spreading it over half the known world. 

The ancient Greeks, in despair over the frailties of human emotion andthe unbecomingness of worldly conduct, which their brilliant mindsenabled them to recognize clearly but which they found themselvespowerless to subdue, endowed the gods, whom they worshipped, with all oftheir own passions and weaknesses, and thus the foolish behavior of thegods consoled them for their own obvious shortcomings. So it goesthroughout all of the world's religions. 

In the middle of the twentieth century there were in the civilizedworld, millions of people in whose lives Christianity had ceased to playany part. Yet, psychically--remember, "psyche" means "soul"--they werejust as sick and unbalanced, just as much in need of some compensationas were the subjects of the early Roman empire, or the Arabs in theMiddle Ages. They were forced to work at the strained and monotonouspace of machines; they were the slaves, body and soul, of machines; theylived with machines and lived like machines--they were expected to _be_machines. A mechanized mode of life set a relentless pace for them, while, just as in all the past ages, life and love, the breezes and theblue sky called to them; but they could not respond. They had to drivemachines so that machines could serve them. Minds were cramped andemotions were starved, but hands must go on guiding levers and keepingmachines in operation. Lives were reduced to such a mechanical routinethat men wondered how long human minds and human bodies could stand therestraint. There is a good deal in the writings of the times to showthat life was becoming almost unbearable for three-fourths of humanity. 

 * * * * *

It is only natural, therefore, that Rohan, the prophet of the newreligion, found followers more rapidly than he could organize them. About ten years before the visit of Dr. Hagstrom to his friend Benda, Rohan and his new religion had been much in the newspapers. Rohan was aSlovak, apparently well educated in Europe. When he first attractedattention to himself, he was foreman in a steel plant at Birmingham, Alabama. He was popular as an orator, and drew unheard-of crowds to hislectures. 

He preached of _Science_ as God, an all-pervading, inexorably systematicBeing, the true Center and Motive-Power of the Universe; a Being who sawmen and pitied them because they could not help committing inaccuracies. The Science God was helping man become more perfect. Even now, men weremuch more accurate and systematic than they had been a hundred yearsago; men's lives were ordered and rhythmic, like natural laws, not likethe chaotic emotions of beasts and savages. 

Somehow, he soon dropped out of the attention of the great mass of thepublic. Of course, he did so intentionally, when his ideas began tocrystallize and his plans for his future organization began to form. Atfirst he had a sort of church in Birmingham, called The Church of theScientific God. There never was anything cheap nor blatant about him. When he moved his church from Birmingham to the Lovett Branch Valley innorthern Virginia, he was hardly noticed. But with him went seventhousand people, to form the nucleus of the Science Community. 

 * * * * *

Since then, some feature writer for a metropolitan Sunday paper hasoccasionally written up the Science Community, both from its physicaland its human aspects. From these reports, the outstanding bit ofevidence is that Rohan believes intensely in his own religion, and thathis followers are all loyal worshippers of the Science God. Theyconceive the earth to be a workshop in which men serve Science, theirGod, serving a sort of apprenticeship during which He perfects them tothe state of ideal machines. To be a perfect machine, always accurate, with no distracting emotions, no getting off the track--that was theideal which the Great God _Science_ required of his worshippers. To be aperfect machine, or a perfect cog in a machine, to get rid of allindividuality, all disturbing sentiment, that was their idea of supremehappiness. Despite the obvious narrowness it involved, there wassomething sublime in the conception of this religion. It certainly hadnothing in common with the "Christian Science" that was in vogue duringthe early years of the twentieth Century; it towered with a noblegrandeur above that feeble little sham. 

The Science Community was organized like a machine: and all men playedtheir parts, in government, in labor, in administration, in production, like perfect cogs and accurate wheels, and the machine functionedperfectly. The devotees were described as fanatical, but happy. Theycertainly were well trained and efficient. The Science Community grew. In ten years it had a million people, and was a worldwide wonder ofcivic planning and organization; it contained so many astonishingdevelopments in mechanical service to human welfare and comfort that itwas considered as a sort of model of the future city. The common manthere was provided with science-produced luxuries, in his daily life, that were in the rest of the world the privilege of the wealthy few--buthe used his increased energy and leisure in serving the more devotedly, his God, Science, who had made machines. There was a great temple in thecity, the shape of a huge dynamo-generator, whose interior was workedout in a scheme of mechanical devices, and with music, lights, and odorsto help in the worship. 

 * * * * *

What the world knew the least about was that this religion was becomingmilitant. Its followers spoke of the heathen without, and were horrifiedat the prevalence of the sin of individualism. They were inspired withthe mission that the message of God--scientific perfection--must becarried to the whole world. But, knowing that vested interests, governments, invested capital, and established religions would opposethem and render any real progress impossible, they waited. They studiedthe question, looking for some opportunity to spread the gospel of theirbeliefs, prepared to do so by force, finding their justification intheir belief that millions of sufferers needed the comforts that theirreligion had given them. Meanwhile their numbers grew. 

Rohan was Chief Engineer, which position was equal in honor and dignityto that of Prophet or High Priest. He was a busy, hard-worked man, blackhaired and gaunt, small of stature and fiery eyed; he looked ratherlike an overworked department-store manager rather than like a prophet. He was finding his hands more full every day, both because of theextraordinary fertility of his own plans and ideas, and because theScience Community was growing so rapidly. Among this heterogenous massof proselyte strangers that poured into the city and was efficientlyabsorbed into the machine, it was yet difficult to find executives, leaders, men to put in charge of big things. And he needed constantlymore and more of such men. 

 * * * * *

That was why Rohan went to Benda, and subsequently to others like Benda. Rohan had a deep knowledge of human nature. He did not approach Bendawith the offer of a magnanimous salary, but came into Benda's officeasking for a consultation on some of the puzzling communication problemsof the Science Community. Benda became interested, and on his owninitiative offered to visit the Science Community, saying that he had tobe in Washington anyway in a few days. When he saw what the conditionswere in the Science Community, he became fascinated by its advantagesover New York; a new system to plan from the ground up; no obsoleteinstallation to wrestle with; an absolutely free hand for the engineerin charge; no politics to play; no concessions to antiquated cityconstruction, nor to feeble-minded city administration--just a dream ofan opportunity. He almost asked for the job himself, but Rohan wastactful enough to offer it, and the salary, though princely, was hardlygiven a thought. 

For many weeks Benda was absorbed in his job, to the exclusion of allelse. He sent his money to his New York bank and had his family move inand live with him. He was happy in his communication problems. 

"Give me a problem in communication and you make me happy, " he wrote toHagstrom in one of his early letters. 

He had completed a certain division of his work on the ScienceCommunity's communication system, and it occurred to him that a fewdays' relaxation would do him good. A run up to New York would be justthe thing. 

To his amazement, he was not permitted to board the outbound bus. 

"You'll need orders from the Chief Engineer's office, " the driver said. 

 * * * * *

Benda went to Rohan. 

"Am I a prisoner?" he demanded with his characteristic directness. 

"An embarassing situation, " the suave Rohan admitted, very calmly and athis ease. "You see, I'm nothing like a dictator here. I have noarbitrary power. Everything runs by system, and you're a sort ofexception. No one knows exactly how to classify you. Neither do I. But, I can't break a rule. That is sin. "

"What rule? I want to go to New York. "

"Only those of the Faith who have reached the third degree can come andgo. No one can get that in less than three years. "

"Then you got me in here by fraud?" Benda asked bluntly. 

Rohan side-stepped gracefully. 

"You know our innermost secrets now, " he explained. "Do you supposethere is any hope of your embracing the Faith?"

Benda whirled on his heel and walked out. 

"I'll think about it!" he said, his voice snapping with sarcasm. 

Benda went back to his work in order to get his mind off the matter. Hewas a well-balanced man if he was anything; and he knew that nothingcould be accomplished by rash words or incautious moves against Rohanand his organization. And on that day he met John Edgewater Smith. 

"You here?" Benda gasped. He lost his equilibrium for a moment inconsternation at the sight of his fellow-engineer. 

Smith was too elated to notice Benda's mood. 

"I've been here a week. This is certainly an ideal opportunity in myline of work. Even in Heaven I never expected to find such a chance. "

By this time Benda had regained control of himself. He decided to saynothing to Smith for the time being. 

 * * * * *

They did not meet again for several weeks. In the meantime Bendadiscovered that his mail was being censored. At first he did not knowthat his letters, always typewritten, were copied and objectionablematter omitted, and his signature reproduced by the photo-engravingprocess, separately each time. But before long, several letters cameback to him rubber-stamped: "Not passable. Please revise. " It took Bendatwo days to cool down and rewrite the first letter. But outwardly no onewould have ever known that there was anything amiss with him. 

However, he took to leaving his work for an hour or two a day andwalking in the park, to think out the matter. He didn't like it. Thiswas about the time that it began to be a real issue as to who was thebigger man of the two, Rohan or Benda. But no signs of the issueappeared externally for many months. 

John Edgewater Smith realized sooner than Benda that he couldn't getout, because, not sticking to work so closely, he had made the attemptsooner. He looked very much worried when Benda next saw him. 

"What's this? Do you know about it?" he shouted as soon as he had comewithin hearing distance of Benda. 

"What's the difference?" Benda replied casually. "Aren't you satisfied?"

Smith's face went blank. 

Benda came close to him, linked arms and led him to a broad vacant lawnin the park. 

"Listen!" he said softly in Smith's ear. "Don't you suppose thesepeople who lock us in and censor our mail aren't smart enough to spy onwhat we say to each other?"

"Our only hope, " Benda continued, "is to learn all we can of what isgoing on here. Keep your eyes and ears open and meet me here in a week. And now come on; we've been whispering here long enough. "

 * * * * *

Oddly enough, the first clue to the puzzle they were trying to solve wassupplied by Francisco, New York's former Water Commissioner. Why werethey being kept prisoners in the city? There must be more reason forholding them there than the fear that information would be carried out, for none of the three engineers knew anything about the ScienceCommunity that could be of any possible consequence to outsiders. Theyhad all stuck rigidly to their own jobs. 

They met Francisco, very blue and dejected, walking in the park a coupleof months later. They had been having weekly meetings, feeling that morefrequent rendezvous might excite suspicion. Francisco was overjoyed tosee them. 

"Been trying to figure out why they want us, " he said. "There issomething deeper than the excuse they have made; that rot about aperfect system and no breaking of rules may be true, but it has nothingto do with us. Now, here are three of us, widely admitted as having goodheads on us. We've got to solve this. "

"The first fact to work on, " he continued, "is that there is no real jobfor me here. This city has no water problem that cannot be worked out byan engineer's office clerk. Why are they holding me here, paying me aprofligate salary, for a job that is a joke for a grown-up man? There'ssomething behind it that is not apparent on the surface. "

The weekly meetings of the three engineers became an establishedinstitution. Mindful that their conversation was doubtless the object ofattention on the part of the ruling powers of the city through spiesand concealed microphones, they were careful to discuss trivial mattersmost of the time, and mentioned their problem only when alone in theopen spaces of the park. 

 * * * * *

After weeks of effort had produced no results, they arrived at theconclusion that they would have to do some spying themselves. The greattemple, shaped like a dynamo-generator attracted their attention as thefirst possibility for obtaining information. Benda, during his work withtelephone and television installation, found that the office of somesort of ruling council or board of directors were located there. Laterhe found that it was called the Science Staff. He managed to slip inseveral concealed microphone detectors and wire them to a privatereceiver on his desk, doing all the work with his own hands under thepretense of hunting for a cleverly contrived short-circuit that hissubordinates had failed to find. 

"They open their meeting, " he said, reporting several days of listeningto his comrades, "with a lot of religious stuff. They really believethey are chosen by God to perfect the earth. Their fanaticism has theMohammedans beat forty ways. As I get it from listening in, this city isjust a preliminary base from which to carry, forcibly, the gospel ofScientific Efficiency to the whole world. They have been divinelyappointed to organize the earth. 

"The first thing on the program is the seizure of New York City. And, itwon't be long; I've heard the details of a cut-and-dried plan. When theyhave New York, the rest of America can be easily captured, for citiesaren't as independent of each other as they used to be. Getting the restof the world into their hands will then be merely a matter of routine;just a little time, and it will be done. Mohammed's wars weren't in itwith this!"

Francisco and Smith stared at him aghast. These dull-faced, blue-sergeclad people did not look capable of it; unless possibly onenoted the fiery glint in their eyes. A worldwide Crusade on a scientificbasis! The idea left them weak and trembling. 

"Got to learn more details before we can do anything, " Benda said. "Comeon; we've been whispering here long enough; they'll get suspicious. "Benda's brain was now definitely pitted against this marvelousorganisation. 

 * * * * *

"I've got it!" Benda reported at a later meeting. "I pieced it togetherfrom a few hours listening. Devilish scheme!

"Can you imagine what would happen in New York in case of a break-downin water-supply, electric power, and communication? In an hour therewould be a panic; in a day the city would be a hideous shambles ofsuffering, starvation, disease, and trampling maniacs. Dante's Infernowould be a lovely little pleasure-resort in comparison. 

"Also, have you ever stopped to think how few people there are in theworld who understand the handling of these vital elements of our moderncivilized organization sufficiently to keep them in operation? There youhave the scheme. Because they do not want to destroy the city, butmerely to threaten it, they are holding the three of us. A littleskilful management will eliminate all other possible men who couldoperate the city's machinery, except ourselves. We three will be placedin charge. A threat, perhaps a demonstration in some limited section ofwhat horrors are possible. The city is at their mercy, and promptlysurrenders. 

"An alternative plan was discussed: just a little quiet violence couldeliminate those who are now in charge of the city's works, and the panicand horrors would commence. But, within an hour of the city'scapitulation, the three of us could have things running smoothly again. And there would be no New York; in its place would be Science CommunityNumber Two. From it they could step on to the next city. "

The other two stared at him. There was only one comment. 

"They seem to be sure that they could depend on us, " Smith said. 

"They may be correct, " Benda replied. "Would you stand by and see peopleperish if a turn of your hand could save them? You would for the moment, forget the issue between the old order and the new religion. "

They separated, horrified by the ghastly simplicity of the plan. 

 * * * * *

Just following this, Benda received the telegram announcing theprospective visit of his lifelong friend, Dr. Hagstrom. He took it atonce to Rohan. 

"Will my friend be permitted to depart again, if he once gets in here?"he demanded with his customary directness. 

"It depends on you, " Rohan replied blandly. "We want your friend to seeour Community, and to go away and carry with him the nicest possiblereports and descriptions of it to the world. I wonder, do I make myselfclear?"

"That means I've got to feed him taffy while he's here?" Benda askedgruffly. 

"You choose to put it indelicately. He is to see and hear only suchthings about the Science Community as well please the world and impressit favorably. I am sure you will understand that under no othercircumstances will he be permitted to leave here. "

Benda turned around abruptly and walked out without a word. 

"Just a moment, " Rohan called after him. "I am sure you appreciate thefact that every precaution will be taken to hear the least word that yousay to him during his stay here? You are watched only perfunctorily now. While he is here you will be kept track of carefully, and there will bethree methods of checking everything you do or say. I am sure you do notunderestimate our caution in this matter. "

Benda spent the days intervening between then and the arrival of hisfriend Hagstrom, closed up in his office, in intense study. He figuredthings on pieces of paper, committed them to memory, and scrupulouslyburned the paper. Then he wandered about the park and plucked at leavesand twigs. 

PART III

_The Cipher Message_

(Related by Peter Hagstrom, Ph. D. )

Benda conducted me personally to a room very much like an ordinary hotelroom. He was glad to see me. I could tell that from his grip of welcome, from his pleased face, from the warmth in his voice, from the eager wayin which he hovered around me. I sat down on a bed and he on a chair. 

"Now tell me all about it, " I said. 

The room was very still, and in its privacy, following Benda'sdemonstrative welcome, I expected some confidential revelations. Therefore I was astonished. 

"There isn't much to tell, " he said gaily. "My work is congenial, fascinating, and there's enough of it to keep me out of mischief. Thepay is good, and the life pleasant and easy. "

I didn't know what to say for a moment. I had come there with my mindmade up that there was something suspicious afoot. But he seemedthoroughly happy and satisfied. 

"I'll admit that I treated you a little shabbily in this matter ofletters, " he continued. "I suppose it is because I've had a lot of newand interesting problems on my mind, and it's been hard to get my minddown to writing letters. But I've got a good start on my job, and I'llpromise to reform. "

I was at a loss to pursue that subject any further. 

"Have you seen Smith and Francisco?" I asked. 

He nodded. 

"How do they like it?"

"Both are enthusiastic about the wonderful opportunities in theirrespective fields. It's a fact: no engineer has ever before had suchresources to work with, on such a vast scale, and with such a free hand. We're laying the framework for a city of ten millions, all thoroughlysystematized and efficient. There is no city in the world like it; it'san engineer's dream of Utopia. "

 * * * * *

I was almost convinced. There was only the tiniest of lurking suspicionsthat all was not well, but it was not powerful enough to stimulate me tosay anything. But I did determine to keep my eyes open. 

I might as well admit in advance that from that moment to the time whenI left the Science Community four days later, I saw nothing to confirmmy suspicions. I met Smith and Francisco at dinner and the four of usoccupied a table to ourselves in a vast dining hall, and no one paid forthe meal nor for subsequent ones. They also seemed content, and talkedenthusiastically of their work. 

I was shown over the city, through its neat, efficient streets, throughits comfortable dormitories each housing hundreds of families asluxuriously as any modern hotel, through its marvelous factories whereproduction had passed the stage of labor and had assumed the conditionof a devoted act of worship. These factory workers were not toiling:they were worshipping their God, of Whom each machine was a part. Touching their machine was touching their God. This machinery, whileinvolving no new principles, was developed and coordinated to a degreethat exceeded anything I had ever seen anywhere else. 

I saw the famous Science Temple in the shape of a hugedynamo-generator, with its interior decorations, paintings, carvings, frescoes, and pillars, all worked out on the motive of machinery; withits constant streams of worshippers in blue serge, performing theirconventional rites and saying their prayer formulas at altars in theforms of lathes, microscopes, motors, and electron-tubes. 

"You haven't become a Science Communist yourself?" I bantered Benda. 

There was a metallic ring in the laugh he gave. 

"They'd like to have me!" was all he said. 

 * * * * *

I was rather surprised at the emptiness of the large and well-kept parkto which Benda took me. It was beautifully landscaped, but only a fewscattering people were there, lost in its vast reaches. 

"These people seem to have no need of recreation, " Benda said. "They donot come here much. But I confess that I need air and relaxation, evenif only for short snatches. I've been too busy to get away for long at atime, but this park has helped me keep my balance--I'm here every dayfor at least a few minutes. "

"Beautiful place, " I remarked. "A lot of strange trees and plants Inever saw before--"

"Oh, mostly tropical forms, common enough in their own habitats. Theyhave steam pipes under the ground to grow them. I've been trying tolearn something about them. Fancy _me_ studying natural history! I'venever cared for it, but here, where there is no such thing asrecreation, I have become intensely interested in it as a hobby. I findit very much of a rest to study these plants and bugs. "

"Why don't you run up to New York for a few days?"

"Oh, the time will come for that. In the meanwhile, I've got an idea allof a sudden. Speaking of New York, will you do me a little service? Eventhough you might think it silly?"

"I'll do anything I can, " I began, eager to be of help to him. 

"It has been somewhat of a torture to me, " Benda continued, "to find somany of these forms which I am unable to identify. I like to bescientific, even in my play, and reference books on plants and insectsare scarce here. Now, if you would carry back a few specimens for me, and ask some of the botany and zoology people to send me their names--"

"Fine!" I exclaimed. "I've got a good-sized pocket notebook I can carrythem in. "

"Well then, please put them in the order in which I hand them to you, and send me the names by number. I am pretty thoroughly familiar withthem, and if you will keep them in order, there is no need for me tokeep a list. The first is a blade of this queer grass. "

I filed the grass blade between the first two pages of my book. 

"The next is this unusual-looking pinnate leaf. " He tore off a dryleaflet and handed me a stem with three leaflets irregularly disposed ofit. 

"Now leave a blank page in your book. That will help me remember theorder in which they come. "

 * * * * *

Next came a flat insect, which, strangely enough, had two legs missingon one side. However, Benda was moving so fast that I had to put it awaywithout comment. He kept darting about and handing me twigs of leaves, little sticks, pieces of bark, insects, not seeming to care much whetherthey were complete or not; grass-blades, several dagger-shapedlocust-thorns, cross-sections of curious fruits, moving so rapidly thatin a few moments my notebook bulged widely, and I had to warn him thatits hundred leaves were almost filled. 

"Well, that ought to be enough, " he said with a sigh after his livelyexertion. "You don't know how I'll appreciate your indulging my foolishlittle whim. "

"Say!" I exclaimed. "Ask something of me. This it nothing. I'll take itright over to the Botany Department, and in a few days you ought to havea list of names fit for a Bolshevik. "

"One important caution, " he said. "If you disturb their order in thebook, or even the position on the page, the names you send me will meannothing to me. Not that it will be any great loss, " he addedwhimsically. "I suppose I've become a sort of fan on this, like thebusiness men who claim that their office work interferes with theirgolf. "

We walked leisurely back toward the big dormitory. It was while we werecrossing a street that Benda stumbled, and, to dodge a passing truck, had to catch my arm, and fell against me. I heard his soft voice whisperin my ear:

"Get out of this town as soon as you can!"

I looked at him in startled amazement, but he was walking along, shakinghimself from his stumble, and looking up and down the street for passingtrucks. 

"As I was saying, " he said in a matter-of-fact voice, "we expect toreach the one-and-one-quarter million mark this month. I never saw aplace grow so fast. "

 * * * * *

I felt a great leap of sudden understanding. For a moment my musclestightened, but I took my cue. 

"Remarkable place, " I said calmly; "one reads a lot of half-truths aboutit. Too bad I can't stay any longer. "

"Sorry you have to leave, " he said, in exactly the right tone of voice. "But you can come again. "

How thankful I was for the forty years of playing and working togetherthat had accustomed us to that sort of team-work! Unconsciously weresponded to one another's cues. Once our ability to "play together" hadsaved my life. It was when we were in college and were out on across-country hike together; Benda suddenly caught my hand and swung itupward. I recognized the gesture; we were cheerleaders and workedtogether at football games, and we had one stunt in which we swung ourhands over our heads, jumped about three feet, and let out a whoop. Thiswas the "stunt" that he started out there in the country, where we wereby ourselves. Automatically, without thinking, I swung my arms andleaped with him and yelled. Only later did I notice the rattlesnake overwhich I had jumped. I had not seen that I was about to walk right intoit, and he had noticed it too late to explain. A flash of geniussuggested the cheering stunt to him. 

"_Communication_ is a science!" he had said, and that was all thecomment there was on the incident. 

So now, I followed my cue, without knowing why, nor what it was allabout, but confident that I should soon find out. By noon I was on thebus, on my way through the pass, to meet the vehicle from Washington. Asthe bus swung along, a number of things kept jumbling through my mind:Benda's effusive glee at seeing me, and his sudden turning and bundlingme off in a nervous hurry without a word of explanation; his lined andworried face and yet his insistence on the joys of his work in TheScience Community; his obvious desire to be hospitable and play the goodhost, and yet his evasiveness and unwillingness to chat intimately anddiscuss important thing as he used to. Finally, that notebook full ofodd specimens bulging in my pocket. And the memory of his words as heshook hands with me when I was stepping into the bus:

"Long live the science of communication!" he had said. Otherwise, he wasrather glum and silent. 

 * * * * *

I took out the book of specimens and looked at it. His caution not todisturb the order and position of things rang in my ears. The Science ofCommunication! Two and two were beginning to make four in my mind. Allthe way on the train from Washington to New York I could hardly, keepmy hands off the book. I had definitely abandoned the idea of hunting upbotanists and zoologists at Columbia. Benda was not interested in thenames of these things. That book meant something else. Some message. TheScience of Communication!

That suddenly explained all the contradictions in his behavior. He wasbeing closely watched. Any attempt to tell me the things he wanted tosay would be promptly recognized. He had succeeded brilliantly ingetting a message to me. Now, my part was to read it! I felt a suddensinking within me. That book full of leaves, bugs, and sticks? How couldI make anything out of it?

"There's the Secret Service, " I thought. "They are skilled in readinghidden messages. It must be an important one, worthy of the efforts ofthe Secret Service, or he would not have been at such pains to get it tome--

"But no. The Secret Service is skilled at reading hidden messages, butnot as skilled as I am in reading my friend's mind. Knowing Benda, hisclear intellect, his logical methods, will be of more service in solvingthis than all the experts of the Secret Service. "

I barely stopped to eat dinner when I reached home. I hurried to thelaboratory building, and laid out the specimens on white sheets ofpaper, meticulously preserving order, position, and spacing. To be onthe safe side I had them photographed, asking the photographer to varythe scale of his pictures so that all of the final figures would beapproximately the same size. Plate I. Shows what I had. 

 * * * * *

I was all a-tremble when the mounted photographs were handed to me. Thefirst thing I did was to number the specimens, giving each blank spacealso its consecutive number. Certainly no one could imagine a moremeaningless jumble of twigs, leaves, berries, and bugs. How could Iread any message out of that?

Yet I had no doubt that the message concerned something of far moreimportance than Benda's own safety. He had moved in this matter withastonishing skill and breathless caution; yet I knew him to be recklessto the extreme where only his own skill was concerned. I couldn't evenimagine his going to this elaborate risk merely on account of Smith andFrancisco. Something bigger must be involved. 

I stared at the rows of specimens. 

"Communication is a science!" Benda had said, and it came back to me asI studied the bent worms and the beetles with two legs missing. I wasconfident that the solution would be simple. Once the key idea occurredto me I knew I should find the whole thing astonishingly direct andsystematic. For a moment I tried to attach some sort of heiroglyphicsignificance to the specimen forms; in the writing of the AmericanIndians, a wavy line meant water, an inverted V meant a wigwam. But, Idiscarded that idea in a moment. Benda's mind did not work along thepaths of symbolism. It would have to be something mathematical, rigidlylogical, leaving no room for guess-work. 

No sooner had the key-idea occurred to me than the basic conceptionunderlying all these rows of twigs and bugs suddenly flashed into clearmeaning before me. The simplicity of it took my breath away. 

"I knew it!" I said aloud, though I was alone. "Very simple. "

I was prepared for the fact that each one of the specimens represented aletter of the alphabet. If nothing else, their number indicated that. Now I could see, so clearly that the photographs shouted at me, thateach specimen consisted of an upright stem, and from this middle stemprojected side-arms to the right and to the left, and in variousvertical locations on each side. 

The middle upright stem contained these side-arms in various numbersand combinations. In five minutes I had a copy of the message, translated into its fundamental characters, as shown on Plate II. 

[Illustration: Plate I]

The first grass-blade was the simple, upright stem; the second, threeleaflets on their stem, represented the upright portion with two arms tothe left at the top and middle, and one arm to the right at the top; andso on. 

That brought the message down to the simple and straightforward matterof a substitution cipher. I was confident that Benda had no object inintroducing any complications that could possibly be avoided, as hissole purpose was to get to me the most readable message without gettingcaught at it. I recollected now how cautious he had been to hand me nopaper, and how openly and obviously he had dropped each specimen into mybook; because he knew someone was watching him and expecting him to slipin a message. He had, as I could see now in the retrospect, beenconspicuously careful that nothing suspicious should pass from his handsto mine. 

[Illustration: Plate II]

Substitution ciphers are easy to solve, especially for those having someexperience. The method can be found in Edgar Allen Poe's "Gold Bug" andin a host of its imitators. A Secret Service cipher man could have readit in an hour. But I knew my friend's mind well enough to find ashort-cut. I knew just how he would go about devising such a cipher, infact, how ninety-nine persons out of a hundred with a scientificeducation would do it. 

If we begin adding horizontal arms to the middle stem, from top tobottom and from left to right, the possible characters can be worked outby the system shown on Plate III. 

[Illustration: Plate III]

It is most logical to suppose that Benda would begin with the first signand substitute the letters of the alphabet in order. That would give usthe cipher code shown on Plate IV. 

It was all very quick work, just as I had anticipated, once the key-ideahad occurred to me. The ease and speed of my method far exceeded thatof Poe's method, but, of course, was applicable only to this particularcase. Substituting letters for signs out of my diagram, I got thefollowing message:

 AM PRISONER R PLANS CAPTURE OF N Y BY SEIZING POWER WATER AND PHONES THEN WORLD CONQUEST S O S

[Illustration: Plate IV]

PART IV

_L'Envoi_

(By Peter Hagstrom, M. D. )

My solution of the message practically ends the story. Events followedeach other from then on like bullets from a machine-gun. A wild drive ina taxicab brought me to the door of Mayor Anderson at ten o'clock thatnight. I told him the story and showed him my photographs. 

Following that I spent many hours telling my story to and consultingwith officers in the War Department. Next afternoon, photographic mapsof the Science Community and its environs, brought by airplanes duringthe forenoon, were spread on desks before us. A colonel of marines and acolonel of aviation sketched plans in notebooks. After dark I sat in atransport plane with muffled exhaust and propellers, slipping throughthe air as silently as a hawk. About us were a dozen bombing planes, andabout fifty transports, carrying a battalion of marines. 

I am not an adventure-loving man. Though a cordon of husky marines aboutme was a protection against any possible danger, yet, stealing alongthrough that wild valley in the Virginia mountains toward the darkmasses of that fanatic city, the silent progress of the long, dark linethrough the night, their mysterious disappearance, one by one, as weneared the city, the creepy, hair-raising journey through the darkstreets--I shall never forget for the rest of my life the sinkingfeeling in my abdomen and the throbbing in my head. But I wanted to bethere, for Benda was my lifelong friend. 

I guided them to Rohan's rooms, and saw a dozen dark forms slip in, oneby one. Then we went on to the dormitory where Benda lived. Bendaanswered our hammering at his door in his pajamas. He took in theCaptain's automatic, and the bayonets behind me, at a glance. 

"Good boy, Hagstrom!" he said. "I knew you'd do it. There wasn't muchtime left. I got my instructions about handling the New York telephonesystem to-day. "

As we came out into the street. I saw Rohan handcuffed to two bigmarines, and rows of bayonets gleaming in the darkness down the streets. Every few moments a bright flare shot out from the planes in the sky, until a squad located the power-house and turned on all the lights theycould find. 

[Illustration]

Jetta of the Lowlands

BEGINNING A THREE-PART NOVEL

By Ray Cummings

_Foreword_

_Have you ever stood on the seashore, with the breakers rolling at yourfeet, and imagined what the scene would be like if the ocean water weregone? I have had a vision of that many times. Standing on the AtlanticCoast, gazing out toward Spain, I can envisage myself, not down at thesea-level, but upon the brink of a height. Spain and the coast ofEurope, off there upon another height. _

[Sidenote: Fantastic and sinister are the Lowlands into which PhilipGrant descends on his dangerous assignment. ]

_And the depths between? Unreal landscape! Mysterious realm which now wecall the bottom of the sea! Worn and rounded crags; bloated mud-plains;noisome reaches of ooze which once were the cold and dark and silentocean floor, caked and drying in the sun. And off to the south thelittle fairy mountain tops of the West Indies rearing their verduredcrowns aloft. _

[Illustration: "Look around, Chief. See where I am?"]

_If the ocean water were gone! Can you picture it? A new world, greaterin area than all the land we now have. They would call the formersea-level the zero-height, perhaps. The depths would go down as farbeneath it as Mount Everest towers above it. Aeroplanes would fly downinto them. _

_And I can imagine the settlement of these vast new realms: New littlenations being created, born of man's indomitable will to conquer everyadverse condition of inhospitable nature. _

_A novel setting for a story of adventure. It seems so to me. Can yousay that the oceans will never drain of their water? That an earthquakewill not open a rift--some day in the future--and lower the water intosubterranean caverns? The volume of water of all the oceans is no moreto the volume of the earth than a tissue paper wrapping on an orange. _

_Is it too great a fantasy? Why, reading the facts of what happened in1929, it is already prognosticated. The fishing banks off the Coast ofNewfoundland have suddenly sunk. Cable ships repairing a broken cable, snapped by the earthquake of November 18th, 1929, report that fordistances of a hundred miles on the Grand Banks the cables havedisappeared into unfathomable depths. And before the subterraneancataclysm, they were within six hundred feet of the surface. And all thebottom of that section of the North Atlantic seems to have caved in. Tenthousand square miles dropped out of the bottom of the ocean! Fact, notfancy. _

_And so let us enlarge the picture. Let us create the Lowlands--twentythousand feet below the zero-height--the setting for a tale ofadventure. The romance of the mist-shrouded deeps. And the romance oflittle Jetta. _

CHAPTER I

_The Secret Mission_

I was twenty-five years of age that May evening of 2020 when they sentme south into the Lowlands. I had been in the National Detective ServiceBureau, and then was transferred to the Customs Department, AtlanticLowlands Branch. I went alone; it was best, my commander thought. Anassignment needing diplomacy rather than a show of force. 

It was 9 P. M. When I catapulted from the little stage of Long Islandairport. A fair, moonlit evening--a moon just beyond the full, rising topale the eastern stars. I climbed about a thousand feet, swung over theheadlands of the Hook, and, keeping in the thousand-foot local lane, took my course. 

My destination lay some thirteen hundred miles southeast of Great NewYork. I could do a good normal three-ninety in this fleet little Wasp, especially if I kept in the rarer air-pressures over the zero-height. The thousand-foot lane had a southward drift, this night. I was makingnow well over four hundred; I would reach Nareda soon after midnight. 

The Continental Shelf slid beneath me, dropping away as my course tookme further from the Highland borders. The Lowlands lay patched with inkyshadows and splashes of moonlight. Domes with upstanding, rounded heads;plateaus of naked black rock, ten thousand feet below the zero-height;trenches, like valleys, ridged and pitted, naked in places like apockmarked lunar landscape. Or again, a pall of black mist wouldshroud it all, dark curtain of sluggish cloud with moonlight tinging itsedges pallid green. 

To my left, eastward toward the great basin of the mid-AtlanticLowlands, there was always a steady downward slope. To the right, itcame up over the continental shelf to the Highlands of the UnitedStates. 

There was often water to be seen in these Lowlands. A spring-fed lakefar down in a caldron pit, spilling into a trench; low-lying, land-locked little seas; cañons, some of them dry, others filled withtumultuous flowing water. Or great gashes with water sluggishly flowing, or standing with a heavy slime, and a pall of uprising vapor in the heatof the night. 

At 37°N. And 70°W. , I passed over the newly named Atlas Sea. A lake ofwater here, more than a hundred miles in extent. Its surface lay fifteenthousand feet below the zero-height; its depth in places was a fullthree thousand. It was clear of mist to-night. The moonlight shimmeredon its rippled surface, like pictures my father had often shown me ofthe former oceans. 

I passed, a little later, well to the westward of the verdured mountaintop of the Bermudas. 

There was nothing of this flight novel to me. I had frequently flownover the Lowlands; I had descended into them many times. But never uponsuch a mission as was taking me there now. 

I was headed for Nareda, capital village of the tiny Lowland Republic ofNareda, which only five years ago came into national being as aprotectorate of the United States. Its territory lies just north of themountain Highlands of Haiti, Santo Domingo and Porto Rico. A few hundredmiles of tumbled Lowlands, embracing the turgid Nares Sea, whose bottomis the lowest point of all the Western Hemisphere--some thirty thousandfeet below the zero-height. 

The village of Nareda is far down indeed. I had never been there. Mycharts showed it on the southern border of the Nares Sea, at minustwenty thousand feet, with the Mona Valley behind it like a gash in thesteep upward slopes to the Highlands of Porto Rico and Haiti. 

Nareda has a mixed population of typical Lowland adventures, among whichthe hardy Dutch predominate; and Holland and the United States havecombined their influence in the World Court to give it nationalidentity. 

 * * * * *

And out of this had arisen my mission now. Mercury--the quicksilver ofcommerce--so recently come to tremendous value through its universal usein the new antiseptics which bid fair to check all human disease--wasbeing produced in Nareda. The import duty into the United States wasbeing paid openly enough. But nevertheless Hanley's agents believed thatsmuggling was taking place. 

It was to investigate this condition that Hanley was sending me. I hadintroduction to the Nareda government officials. I was to consult withHanley by ether-phone in seeking the hidden source of the contrabandquicksilver, but, in the main, to use my own judgment. 

A mission of diplomacy. I had no mind to pry openly among the people ofthese Lowland depths, looking for smugglers. I might, indeed, find themtoo unexpectedly! Over-curious strangers are not welcomed by theLowlanders. Many have gone into the depths and have never returned. .. . 

I was above the Nares Sea, by midnight. I was still flying a thousandfeet over the zero-height. Twenty-one thousand feet below me lay theblack expanse of water. The moon had climbed well toward the zenith, now. Its silver shafts penetrated the hanging mist-stratas. The surfaceof the Nares Sea was visible--dark and sullen looking. 

I shifted the angles of incidence of the wings, re-set my propellerangles and made the necessary carburetor adjustments, switching on thesupercharger which would supply air at normal zero-height pressure tothe carburetors throughout my descent. 

I swung over Nareda. The lights of the little village, far down, dwarfedby distance, showed like bleary, winking eyes through the mists. Thejagged recesses of the Mona valley were dark with shadow. The Nares Sealay like some black monster asleep, and slowly, heavily panting. Moonlight was over me, with stars and fleecy white clouds. Calm, placid, atmospheric night was up here. But beneath, it all seemed so mysterious, fantastic, sinister. 

My heart was pounding as I put the Wasp into a spiral and forced my waydown. 

CHAPTER II

_The Face at the Window_

With heavy, sluggish engines I panted down and came to rest in the dullyellow glow of the field lights. A new world here. The field was flat, caked ooze, cracked and hardened. It sloped upward from the shore towardwhere, a quarter of a mile away, I could see the dull lights of thesettlement, blurred by the gathered night vapors. 

The field operator shut off his permission signal and came forward. Hewas a squat, heavy-set fellow in wide trousers and soiled white shirtflung open at his thick throat. The sweat streamed from his forehead. This oppressive heat! I had discarded my flying garb in the descent. Iwore a shirt, knee-length pants, with hose and wide-soled shoes of thenewly fashioned Lowland design. What few weapons I dared carry werecarefully concealed. No alien could enter Nareda bearing anythingresembling a lethal weapon. 

My wide, thick-soled shoes did not look suspicious for one who plannedmuch walking on the caked Lowland ooze. But those fat soles werecleverly fashioned to hide a long, keen knife-blade, like a dirk. Icould lift a foot and get the knife out of its hidden compartment withfair speed. This I had in one shoe. 

In the other, was the small mechanism of a radio safety recorder andimage finder, with its attendant individual audiophone transmitter andreceiver. A miracle of smallness, these tiny contrivances. Withbatteries, wires and grids, the whole device could lay in the palm ofone's hand. Once past this field inspection I would rig it for use undermy shirt, strapped around my chest. And I had some colored magnesiumflares. 

 * * * * *

The field operator came panting. 

"Who are you?"

"Philip Grant. From Great New York. " I showed him my name etched on myforearm. He and his fellows searched me, but I got by. 

"You have no documents?"

"No. "

My letter to the President of Nareda was written with invisible ink uponthe fabric of my shirt. If he had heated it to a temperature of 180°F. Or so, and blown the fumes of hydrochloric acid upon it, the writingwould have come out plain enough. 

I said, "You'll house and care for my machine?"

They would care for it. They told me the price--swindlingly exorbitantfor the unwary traveller who might wander down here. 

"All correct, " I said cheerfully. "And half that much more for you andyour men if you give me good service. Where can I have a room andmeals?"

"Spawn, " said the operator. "He is the best. Fat-bellied from his owngood cooking. Take him there, Hugo. "

I had a gold coin instantly ready; and with a few additional directionsregarding my flyer, I started off. 

It had been hot and oppressive standing in the field; it was infinitelyworse climbing the mud-slope into the village; but my carrier, trudgingin advance of me along the dark, winding path up the slope, shoulderedmy bag and seemed not to notice the effort. We passed occasionaltube-lights strung on poles. They illumined the heavy rounded crags. Atumbled region, this slope which once was the ocean floor twentythousand feet below the surface. Rifts were here like gulleys; littlebuttes reared their rounded, dome heads. And there were caves andcrevices in which deep sea fish once had lurked. 

 * * * * *

For ten minutes or so we climbed. It was past the midnight hour; thevillage was asleep. We entered its outposts. The houses were smallstructures of clay. In the gloom they looked like drab little beehivesset in unplanned groups, with paths for streets wandering between them. 

Then we came to a more prosperous neighborhood. The street widened andstraightened. The clay houses, still with rounded dome like tops, stoodback from the road, with wooden front fences, and gardens and shrubbery. The windows and doors were like round finger-holes plugged in the clayby a giant hand. Occasionally the windows, dimly lighted, stared likesleeping giant eyes. 

There were flowers in all the more pretentious private gardens. Theirperfume, hanging in the heavy night air, lay on the village, making oneforget the over-curtain of stenching mist. Down by the shore of theNares Sea, this world of the depths had seemed darkly sinister. But inthe village now, I felt it less ominous. The scent of the flowers, thestreet lined in one place by arching giant fronds drowsing and noddingoverhead--there seemed a strange exotic romance to it. The sultry airmight almost have been sensuous. 

"Much further, Hugo?"

"No. We are here. "

He turned abruptly into a gateway, led me through a garden and to thedoorway of a large, rambling, one-story building. The news of my cominghad preceded me. A front room was lighted; my host was waiting. 

Hugo set down my bag, accepted another gold coin; and with a queersidelong smile, the incentive for which I had not the slightest idea, he vanished. I fronted my host, this Jacob Spawn. Strange fate thatshould have led me to Spawn! And to little Jetta!

 * * * * *

Spawn was a fat-bellied Dutchman, as the field attendant had said. Afellow of perhaps fifty-five, with sparse gray hair and a heavy-jowled, smooth-shaved face from which his small eyes peered stolidly at me. Helaid aside a huge, old-fashioned calabash pipe and offered a pudgy hand. 

"Welcome, young man, to Nareda. Seldom do we see strangers. "

The meal which he presently cooked and served me himself was lavishlydone. He spoke good English, but slowly, heavily, with the gutturalintonation of his race. He sat across the table from me, puffing hispipe while I ate. 

"What brings you here, young lad? A week, you say?"

"Or more. I don't know. I'm looking for oil. There should be petroleumbeneath these rocks. "

For an hour I avoided his prying questions. His little eyes roved me, and I knew he was no fool, this Dutchman, for all his heavy, stolidlook. 

We remained in his kitchen. Save for its mud walls, its concave, dome-roof, it might have been a cookery of the Highlands. There was atable with its tube-light; the chairs; his electron stove; his orderlyrows of pots and pans and dishes on a broad shelf. 

I recall that it seemed to me a woman's hand must be here. But I saw nowoman. No one, indeed, beside Spawn himself seemed to live here. He wasreticent of his own business, however much he wanted to pry into mine. 

I had felt convinced that we were alone. But suddenly I realized it wasnot so. The kitchen adjoined an interior back-garden. I could see itthrough the opened door oval--a dim space of flowers; a little path to apergola; an adobe fountain. It was a sort of Spanish patio out there, partially enclosed by the wings of the house. Moonlight was strugglinginto it. And, as I gazed idly, I thought I saw a figure lurking. Someonewatching us. 

 * * * * *

Was it a boy, observing us from the shadowed moonlit garden? I thoughtso. A slight, half grown boy. I saw his figure--in short ragged trousersand a shirt-blouse--made visible in a patch of moonlight as he movedaway and entered the dark opposite wing of the house. 

I did not see the boy's figure again; and presently I suggested that Iretire. Spawn had already shown me my bedroom. It was in another wing ofthe house. It had a window facing the front; and a window and door backto this same patio. And a door to the house corridor. 

"Sleep well, Meester Grant. " My bag was here on the table under anelectrolier. "Shall I call you?"

"Yes, " I said. "Early. "

He lingered a moment. I was opening my bag. I flung it wide under hisgaze. 

"Well, good night. I shall be very comfortable, thanks. "

"Good night, " he said. 

He went out the patio door. I watched his figure cross the moonlit pathand enter the kitchen. The noise of his puttering there sounded for atime. Then the light went out and the house and garden fell intosilence. 

I closed my doors. They sealed on the inside, and I fastened themsecurely. Then I fastened the transparent window panes. I did notundress, but lay on the bed in the dark. I was tired; I realized it now. But sleep would not come. 

I am no believer in occultism, but there are premonitions which onecannot deny. It seemed now as I lay there in the dark that I had everyreason to be perturbed, yet I could not think why. Perhaps it wasbecause I had been lying to this innkeeper stoutly for an hour past, andwhether he believed me or not for the life of me I could not nowdetermine. 

 * * * * *

I sat up on the bed, presently, and adjusted the wires and diaphragms ofthe ether-wave mechanism. When in place it was all concealed under myshirt. As I switched it on, the electrodes against my flesh tingled alittle. But it was absolutely soundless, and one gets used to thetingle. I decided to call Hanley. 

The New York wave-sorter handled me promptly, but Hanley's office wasdead. 

As I sat there in the darkness, annoyed at this, a slight noise forceditself on me. A scratching--a tap--something outside my window. 

Spawn, come back to peer in at me?

I slipped noiselessly from the bed. The sound had come from the windowwhich faced the patio. The room, over by the bed, was wholly dark. Themoonlight outside showed the patio window as a dimly illumined oval. 

For a moment I crouched on the floor by the bed. No sound. The silenceof the Lowlands is as heavy and oppressive as its air. I felt as thoughmy heart were audible. 

I lifted my foot; extracted my dirk. It opened into a very businesslikesteel blade of a good twelve-inch length. I bared the blade. The clickof it leaving the flat, hollow handle sounded loud in the stillness ofthe room. 

A moment. Then it seemed that outside my window a shadow had moved. Icrept along the floor. Rose up suddenly at the window. 

And stared at a face peering in at me. A small face, framed by short, clustering, dark curls. 

A girl!

CHAPTER III

_In a Moonlit Garden_

She drew back from the window like a startled fawn; timorous, yetcurious, too, for she ran only a few steps, then turned and stoodpeering. The moonlight slanted over the western roof of the building andfell on her. A slight, boyish figure in short, tattered trousers and aboy's shirt, open at her slim, rounded throat. The moonlight gleamed onthe white shirt fabric to show it torn and ragged. Her arms wereupraised; her head, with clustering, flying dark curls, was tilted asthough listening for a sound from me. A shy, wild creature. Drawn to mywindow; tapping to awaken me, then frightened at what she had done. 

I opened the garden door. She did not move. I thought she would run, butshe did not. The moonlight was on me as I stood there. I was consciousof its etching me with its silver sheen. And twenty feet from me thisgirl stood and gazed, with startled eyes and parted lips--and whitelimbs trembling like a frightened animal. 

The patio was very silent. The heavy arching fronds stirred slightlywith a vague night breeze; the moonlight threw a lacy dark pattern ofthem on the gray stone path. The fountain bowl gleamed white in themoonlight behind the girl, and in the silence I could hear the lowsplashing of the water. 

A magic moment. Unforgettable. It comes to some of us just once, but toall of us it comes. I stood with its spell upon me. Then I heard myvoice, tense but softly raised. 

"Who are you?"

It frightened her. She retreated until the fountain was between us. Andas I took a step forward, she retreated further, noiseless, with herbare feet treading the smooth stones the path. 

 * * * * *

I ran and caught her at the doorway of the flowered pergola. She stoodtrembling as I seized her arms. But the timorous smile remained, and hereyes, upraised to mine, glowed with misty starlight. 

"Who are you?"

This time she answered me. "I am called Jetta. "

It seemed that from her white forearm within my grasp a magic currentswept from her to me and back again. We humans, for all our clamoring, boasting intellectuality, are no more than puppets in Nature's hands. 

"Are you Spawn's daughter?"

"Yes. "

"I saw you a while ago, when I was having my meal. "

"Yes--I was watching you. "

"I thought you were a boy. "

"Yes. My father told me to keep away. I wanted to meet you, so I came towake you up. "

"He may be watching us now. "

"No. He is sleeping. Listen--you can hear him snore. "

I could, indeed. The silence of the garden was broken now by a distant, choking snore. 

We both laughed. She sat on the little mossy seat in the pergola doorwayAnd on the side away from the snore. (I had the wit to be sure of that. )

"I wanted to meet you, " she repeated. "Was it too bold?"

 * * * * *

I think that what we said sitting there with the slanting moonlight onus, could not have amounted to much. Yet for us, it was so important!Vital. Building memories which I knew--and I think that she knew, eventhen--we would never forget. 

"I will be here a week, Jetta. "

"I want--I want very much to know you. I want you to tell me about theworld of the Highlands. I have a few books. I can't read very well, butI can look at the pictures. "

"Oh, I see--"

"A traveler gave them to me. I've got them hidden. But he was an oldman: all men seem to be old--except those in the pictures, and you, Philip. "

I laughed. "Well, that's too bad. I'm mighty glad I'm young. "

Ah, in that moment, with blessed youth surging in my veins, I was gladindeed!

"Young. I don't remember ever seeing anyone like you. The man I am tomarry is not like you. He is old, like father--"

I drew back from her, startled. 

"Marry?"

"Yes. When I am seventeen. The law of Nareda--your Highland law, too, father says--will not let a girl be married until she is that age. In amonth I am seventeen. "

"Oh!" And I stammered, "But why are you going to marry?"

"Because father tells me to. And then I shall have fine clothes: it ispromised me. And go to live in the Highlands, perhaps. And see things;and be a woman, not a ragged boy forbidden to show myself; and--"

 * * * * *

I was barely touching her. It seemed as though something--some vision ofhappiness which had been given me--were fading, were being snatchedaway. I was conscious of my hand moving to touch hers. 

"Why do you marry--unless you're in love? Are you?"

Her gaze like a child came up to meet mine. "I never thought much aboutthat. I have tried not to. It frightened me--until to-night. "

She pushed me gently away. "Don't. Let's not talk of him. I'd rathernot. "

"But why are you dressed as a boy?"

I gazed at her slim but rounded figure in tattered boy's garb--but thewoman's lines were unmistakable. And her face, with clustering curls. Gentle girlhood. A face of dark, wild beauty. 

"My father hates women. He says they are all bad. It is a sin to wearwoman's finery; or it breeds sin in women. Let's not talk of that. Philip, tell me--oh, if you could only realize all the things I want toknow. In Great New York, there are theatres and music?"

"Yes, " I said. And began telling her about them. 

The witching of this moonlit garden! But the moon had presently sunk, and to the east the stars were fading. 

"Philip! Look! Why, it's dawn already. I've got to leave you. "

I held her just a moment by the hand. 

"May I meet you here to-morrow night?" I asked. 

"Yes, " she said simply. 

"Good night--Jetta. "

"Good night. You--you've made me very happy. "

She was gone, into a doorway of the opposite wing. The silent, emptygarden sounded with the distant, reassuring snores of the still sleepingSpawn. 

I went back to my room and lay on my bed. And drifted off on a sea ofmagic memories. The world--my world before this night--now seemed tohave been so drab. Empty. Lifeless. But now there was pulsing, livingmagic in it for me. 

I drifted into sleep, thinking of it. 

CHAPTER IV

_The Mine in the Cauldron Depths_

I was awakened by the tinkling, buzzing call of the radio-diaphragmbeneath my shirt. I had left the call open. 

It was Hanley. I lay down, eyeing my window which now was illumined bythe flat light of dawn. 

Hanley's microscopic voice:

"Phil? I've just raised President Markes, there in Nareda. I've been abit worried about you. "

"I'm all right, Chief. "

"Well, you'd better see President Markes this morning. "

"That was my intention. "

"Tell him frankly what you're after. This smuggling of quicksilver fromNareda has got to stop. But take it easy, Phil; don't be reckless. Remember: one little knife thrust and I've lost a good man!"

I laughed at his anxious tone. That was always Hanley's way. A devilhimself, when he was on a trail, but always worried for fear one of hismen would come to harm. 

"Right enough, Chief. I'll be careful. "

He cut off presently. 

I did not see Jetta that morning. I told Spawn I was hoping to seePresident Markes on my petroleum proposition. And at the proper hour Itook myself to the government house. 

 * * * * *

This Lowland village by daylight seemed even more fantastic thanshrouded in the shadows of night. The morning sun had dissipated theoverhead mists. It was hot in the rocky streets under the weirdoverhanging vegetation. The settlement was quietly busy with itstropical activities. There were a few local shops; vehicles with theHighland domestic animals--horses and oxen--panting in the heat; anoccasional electro-automatic car. 

But there were not many evidences of modernity here. The street andhouse tube-lights. A few radio image-finders on the house-tops. Anautomatic escalator bringing ore from a nearby mine past the governmentcheckers to an aero stage for northern transportation. Cultivated fieldsin the village outskirts operated with modern machinery. 

But beyond that, it seemed primitive. Two hundred years back. Streetvendors. People in primitive, ragged, tropical garb. Half nakedchildren. I was stared at curiously. An augmenting group of childrenfollowed me as I went down the street. 

The President admitted me at once. In his airy office, with safeguardsagainst eavesdropping, I found him at his desk with a bank of moderninstruments before him. 

"Sit down, Grant. "

 * * * * *

He was a heavy-set, flabby man of sixty-odd, this Lowland President. White hair; and an old-fashioned, rolling white mustache of the sortlately come into South American fashion. He sat with a glass of iceddrink at his side. His uniform was stiffly white, and ornate with heavygold braid, but his neckpiece was wilted with perspiration. 

"Damnable heat, Grant. "

"Yes, Sir President. "

"Have a drink. " He swung a tinkling glass before me. "Now then, tell mewhat is your trouble. Smuggling, here in Nareda. I don't believe it. "His eyes, incongruously alert with all the rest of him so fat and lazy, twinkled at me. "We of the Nareda Government watch our quicksilverproduction very closely. The government fee is a third. "

I might say that the Nareda government collected a third on all themineral and agricultural products of the country, in exchange for thenecessary government concessions. Markes exported this share openly tothe world markets, paying the duty exactly like a private corporation. 

He added, "You think--Hanley thinks--the smuggling is on too large ascale to be any illicit producer?"

I nodded. 

"Then, " he said, "it must be one of our recognized mines. "

"Hanley thinks it is a recognized mine, falsifying its productionrecord, " I explained. 

"If that is so, I will discover it, " he said. He spoke with enthusiasmand vigor. "For you I shall treat as what you are--the representativeof our most friendly government. The figures of our quicksilverproduction I shall lay before you in just a few days. Let me fill upyour glass, Grant. "

 * * * * *

The lazy tropics. I really did not doubt his sincerity. But I did doubthis ability to cope with any clever criminal. His enthusiasm for actionwould wilt like his neckpiece, in Nareda's heat. Unless, perhaps, theknowledge that the smuggler was cheating him as well as the UnitedStates--_that_ might spur him. 

He added--and now I got a shock wholly unexpected: "If we think thatsome recognized producer of quicksilver here is cheating us, it shouldnot be difficult to check up on it. Nareda has only one large cinnabarlode being worked. A private individual: that fellow Jacob Spawn--"

"Spawn?" I exclaimed involuntarily. 

"Why, yes. Did not he mention it? His mine is no more than tenkilometers from here--back on the southern slope. "

"He didn't mention it, " I said. 

"So? That is strange; but he is a secretive Dutchman by nature. Hespecializes in prying into the other fellow's affairs. Hm-m. "

He fell into a reverie while I stared at him. Spawn, the big--the onlybig--quicksilver producer here!

 * * * * *

The President interrupted my startled thoughts. "I hope you did notintimate your real purpose?"

"No. "

We both turned at the sound of an opening door. Markes called, "Ah, comein Perona! Are you alone? Good! Close that slide. Here is Chief Hanley'srepresentative. " He introduced us all in a breath. "This is interesting, Perona. Damnably interesting. We're being cheated, what? It looks thatway. Sit down, Perona. "

This was Greko Perona. Nareda's Minister of Internal Affairs. Spawn hadmentioned him to me. A South American. A man in his fifties. Thin anddarkly saturnine, with iron-gray hair, carefully plastered to cover hishalf-bald head. He sat listening to the President's harangue, twirlingthe upturned waxen ends of his artificially black mustache. A wave ofperfume enveloped him. A ladies' courtier, this Perona by the look ofhim. His white uniform was immaculate, carefully tailored and carefullyworn to set off at its best his still trim and erect figure. 

"Well, " he said, when at last the President paused, "of a suretysomething must be done. "

Perona seemed not excited, rather more carefully watchful, of his ownwords, and of me. His small dark eyes roved me. 

"What is it you would plan to do about it, Señorito?"

An irony was in that Latin diminutive! He spread his pale hands. "YourUnited States officials perhaps exaggerate. I am very doubtful if wehave smugglers here in Nareda. "

"Unless it is Spawn, " the President interjected. 

 * * * * *

Perona frowned slightly. But his suave manner remained. "Spawn? WhySpawn?"

"You need not take offense, Perona, " Markes retorted. "We are discussingthis before an envoy of the United States, sent here to consult with us. We have nothing to hide. "

Markes turned to me. And his next words were like a bomb exploding at myfeet. 

"Perona _is_ offended, Grant. But I promise you, his natural personalprejudice will not affect my investigation. Of course he is prejudiced, since he is to marry Spawn's daughter, the little Jetta. "

I started involuntarily. This pomaded old dotard! This perfumed, ancientdandy!

For all the importance of my mission in Nareda my thoughts had beensubconsciously more upon Jetta--far more--than upon smugglers ofquicksilver. This palsied popinjay! This, the reality of the specterwhich had been between Jetta and me during all that magic time in themoonlit garden!

This suave old rake! Betrothed to that woodland pixie whose hand I hadheld and to whom I had sung love songs in the magic flower-scentedmoonlight only a few hours ago! And whom I had promised to meet thereagain to-night!

This, then, was my rival!

 * * * * *

Nothing of importance transpired during the remainder of that interview. Markes reiterated his intention of making a complete governmentalinvestigation at once. To which Perona suavely assented. 

"_Por Dios Señorito_, " he said to me, "we would not have your greatgovernment annoyed at Nareda. If there are smugglers, we will capturethem of a certainty. "

From the Government House, it now being almost time for the midday meal, I returned to Spawn's. 

The rambling mud walls of the Inn stood baking in the noonday heat whenI arrived. The outer garden drowsed; there seemed no one about. I wentthrough the main door oval into the front public room, where first I hadmet Spawn. He was not here now, nor was Jetta. 

A sudden furtiveness fell upon me. With noiseless steps I went thelength of the dim, padded interior corridor to my own room. Mybelongings seemed undisturbed; a vague idea that Spawn might have seizedthis opportunity to ransack them had come to me. But it seemed not;though if he had he would have found nothing. 

I stood for a moment listening at my patio window. I could see thekitchen from here; there was no one in it. I started back for the livingroom. That furtive instinct was still on me. I made no noise. Andabruptly I heard Spawn's voice, floating out softly in the hushedsilence of the house. 

"So, Perona?"

 * * * * *

A brief silence, in which it seemed that I could hear a tiny aerialanswer. Then Spawn again. A startled oath. 

"De duvel! You say--"

I stood frozen, listening. 

"She is here. .. . Yes, I will keep her close. I am no fool, Perona. "

Spawn's laugh was like a growl. "Later to-day, yes. Fear not! I am nofool. I will be careful of it. "

Spawn, talking by private audiphone, to Perona. The colloquy came to anabrupt end. 

". .. Might eavesdrop? By hell, you are right!"

I heard the click as Spawn and Perona broke connection. Spawn came fromhis room. But he was not quick enough. I slipped away before he saw me. In the living room I had time to be calmly seated with a lightedcigarette. His approaching heavy footsteps sounded. He came in. 

"Oh--Grant. "

"Good noon, friend Spawn. I'm hungry. " I grinned at him. "I understandmy bargain with you included a noonday meal. Does it?"

He eyed me suspiciously. "Have you been waiting here long?"

"No. I just came in. "

He led me to the kitchen. He apologized for the informality of his hotelservice: visitors were so infrequent. But the good quality of his foodwould make up for it. 

"Right, " I agreed. "Your food is marvelous, friend Spawn. "

 * * * * *

There was a difference in Spawn's manner toward me now. He seemed farmore wary. Outwardly he was in a high good humor. He asked nothingconcerning my morning at the Government House. He puttered over hiselectron-stove, making me help him; he cursed the heat; he said onecould not eat in such heat as this; but the meal he cooked, and the wayhe sat down opposite me and attacked it, belied him. 

He was acting; but so was I. And perhaps I deceived him as little as hedeceived me. We avoided the things which were uppermost in the thoughtsof us both. But, when we had very nearly finished the meal, I decided totry him out. I said suddenly, out of a silence:

"Spawn, why didn't you tell me you were a producer of quicksilver?" Ishot him a sharp glance. "You are, aren't you?"

It took him by surprise, but he recovered himself instantly. "Yes. Areyou interested?"

I tried another shot. "What surprised me was that a wealthy mineowner--you are, aren't you?--should bother to keep an unprofitablehotel. Why bother with it, Spawn?"

I thought I knew the answer: he wanted Nareda's visitors under his eyes. 

"That is a pleasure. " There was irony in his tone. "I am a lonesome man. I like--interesting companionship, such as yours, young Grant. "

It was on my tongue to hint at his daughter. But I thought better of it. 

"I am going to the mine now, " he said abruptly. "Would you like tocome?"

"Yes, " I smiled. "Thanks. "

 * * * * *

I wanted to see his mine. But that he should be eager to show it, surprised me. I wondered what purpose he could have in that. I had ahint of it later; for when we took his little autocar and slid up thewinding road into the bloated crags towering on the slope behind Nareda, he told me calmly:

"I shall have to put you in charge of my mine commander. I am busyelsewhere this afternoon. You will see the mine just as well withoutme. "

He added. "I must go to the Government House: President Markes wants areport on my recent production. "

So that was what Perona had told him over the audiphone just before ournoonday meal?

It was an inferno of shadows and glaring lights, this undergroundcavern. As modern mining activities go, it was small and primitive. Nomore than a dozen men were here, beside the sweating pudgy minecommander who was my guide. A voluble fellow; of what originalnationality I could not determine. 

We stood watching the line of carts dumping the ore onto the endlesslifting-belt. It went a hundred feet or so up and out of the cavern'sascending shaft, to fall with a clatter into the bins above the smelter. 

"Rich ore, " I said. "Isn't it?"

The cinnabar ran like thick blood-red veins in the rock. 

"Rich, " said the mine commander. "That it is. Rich. But who does it makerich? Only Spawn, not me. " He waved his arms, airing his grievance withwhich for an hour past he had regaled me. "Only Spawn. For me, a doleeach week. "

The smelter was in a stone building--one of a small group of mine houseswhich stood in a cauldron depression above excavations. Rounded domes ofrock towered above them. The sun, even at this tri-noon hour, was gonebehind the heights above us. The murky shadows of night were gathering, the mists of the Lowlands settling. The tube-lights of the mine, strungbetween small metal poles, winked on like bleary eyes. 

"Of a day soon I will fling this job to hell--"

 * * * * *

I was paying scant attention to the fellow's tirade. Could there besmuggling going on from this mine? It all seemed to be conducted openlyenough. If the production record were being falsified I felt that thisdissatisfied mine commander was not aware of it. He showed me thesmelter, where the quicksilver condensed in the coils and ran with itssmall luminous silver streams into the vats. 

He was called away momentarily by one of his men, leaving me standingthere. I was alone; no one seemed in sight, or within hearing. In theshadow of the condensers I drew out my transmitter and called Hanley. 

I got him within a minute. 

"Chief!"

"Yes, Phil. I hoped you'd call me. Didn't want to chance it, raising youwhen you might not be alone. "

I told him swiftly what I had done; where I was now. 

And Hanley said, with equal briskness: "I've an important fact. Just hadMarkes on secret wave-length. He tells me that Spawn has been saving uphis quicksilver for six months past. He's got several hundred thousanddollar-standards' worth of it in ingots there right now. "

"Here at the mine?"

"Yes. Got them all radiuminized, ready for the highest priced markets. Markes says he is scheduled to turn them over to the government checkersto-morrow. The Nareda government takes its share to-morrow; then Spawnexports the rest. "

I heard a footstep. "Off, Chief! I'll call you later!"

I clicked off summarily. The little grid was under my shirt when themine commander rejoined me. 

 * * * * *

For another half hour or to I hovered about the smelter house. Atreasure of quicksilver ingots here? I mentioned it casually to mycompanion. He shot me a sharp glance. 

"Spawn has told you that?"

"I heard it. "

"His business. We do not talk of that. Never can I tell what Spawn willchoose to take offense at. "

We rambled upon other subjects. Later, he said, "We work not at night. But Spawn, he is here often at night, with his friend, the SeñorPerona. "

That caught my attention. "I met Perona this morning, " I said quickly. "Is he a partner of Spawn's?"

"If he is so, I never was told it. But much he is here--at night. "

"Why at night?"

The fellow really knew nothing. Or if he did, he was diplomatic enoughnot to jeopardize his post by babbling of it to me. He said:

"Perona is Spawn's friend. Why not? His daughter to marry: that willmake him a son-in-law. " He laughed. "An old fool, but not such a fooleither. Spawn is rich. "

"His daughter. Has he a daughter?"

"The little Jetta. You haven't seen her? Well, that is not strange. Spawn keeps her very hidden. A mystery about it: all Nareda talks, butno one knows; and Spawn does not like questions. "

Spawn abruptly joined us! He came from the black shadows of the luridsmelter room. Had he heard us discussing Jetta? I wondered. 

CHAPTER V

_Mysterious Meeting_

"Ah, Grant--have you enjoyed yourself?" He dismissed his subordinate. "Iwas detained. Sorry. "

He was smoothly imperturbable. "Have you seen everything? Quite a littleplant I have here? We shut down early to-day. I will make ready toclose. "

I followed him about while he arranged for the termination of the day'sactivities. The clatter of the smelter house was presently still; themen departing. Spawn and I were the last to leave, save for the eightmen who were the mine's night guards. They were stalwart, silentfellows, armed with electronic needle projectors. 

The lights of the mine went low until they were mere pencil points ofblue illumination in the gloom. The eery look of the place wasintensified by the darkness and silence of the abnormally earlynightfall. The fantastic crags stood dark with formless shadow. 

Spawn stopped to speak to one of the guards. The men wore agold-trimmed, but now dirty, white linen uniform, wilted by theheat--the uniform of Nareda's police. I remarked it to him. 

"The government lent me the men, " Spawn explained. "Of an ordinary timeI have only one guard. "

"But this then, is not an ordinary time?" I hinted. 

He looked at me sharply. And upon sudden impulse, I added:

"President Markes said something about you having a treasure here. Radiumized quicksilver. "

It was evidently Spawn's desire to appear thoroughly frank with me. Helaughed. "Well, then, if Markes has told you, then might I not as welladmit it? The treasure is here, indeed yes. Will you like to see it?"

 * * * * *

He led me into a little strong room adjoining the smeltercoil-rectifiers. He flashed his hand searchlight. On the floor, piledcrosswise, were small moulded bars of refined quicksilver--dull, darkened silver ingots of this world's most precious metal. 

"Quite a treasure, Grant, here to-night. See, it is radiumized. "

He snapped off his torch. In the darkness the little bars glowedirridescent. 

"To-morrow I will divide with our Nareda government. One-third for them. And my own share I will export: to Great New York, this shipment. Already I have the order for it. "

He added calmly, "The duty is high, Grant. Too bad your big New Yorkmarket is protected by so large a duty. With my cost ofproduction--these accursed Lowland workmen who demand so much for theirlabor, and a third of all I produce taken by Nareda--there is not muchin it for me. "

He had re-lighted the room. I could feel his eyes on me, but I saidnothing. It was obvious to me now that he knew I was a governmentcustoms agent. 

I said, "This certainly interests me, friend Spawn. I'll tell you whysome other time. "

We exchanged significant glances, both of us smiling. 

"Well can I guess it, young Grant. So here is my treasure. Without theduty I would soon be wealthy. Chut! Why should I roll in a pity formyself? There is a duty and I am an honest man, so I pay it. "

I said, "Aren't you afraid to leave this stored here?" I knew that thispile of ingots--the quicksilver in its radiumized form--was worth fouror five hundred thousand dollars in American gold-coin at the veryleast. 

 * * * * *

Spawn shrugged. "Who would attack it? But of course I will be glad to berid of it. It is a great responsibility--even though it carriesinternational insurance, to protect my and the Nareda Government share. "

He was sealing up the heavy barred portals of the little strong-room. There was an alarm-detector, connected with the office of Nareda'spolice commander. Spawn set the alarm carefully. 

"I have every safeguard, Grant. There is really no danger. " He added, asthough with sudden thought. "Except possibly one--a depth bandit namedDe Boer. Ever you have heard of him?"

"Yes. I have. "

We climbed into Spawn's small automatic vehicle. The lights of the minefaded behind us as we coasted the winding road down to the village. 

"De Boer, " said Spawn. "A fellow who lives by his wits in the depths. Near here, perhaps: who knows? They say he has many followers--fifty--ahundred, perhaps--outlaws: a cut-belly band it must be. "

"Didn't he once take a hand in Nareda's politics?" I suggested. 

Spawn guffawed. "That is so. He was once what they called a patriothere. He thought he might be made President. But Markes ran him out. Nowhe is a bandit. I have believe that American mail-ship which sank lastyear in the cauldron north of the Nares Sea--you remember how it wasattacked by bandits?--I have always believe that was De Boer's band. "

 * * * * *

We rolled back to Nareda. Spawn's manner had again changed. He seemedeven more friendly than before. More at his ease with me. We had supper, and smoked together in his living room for half an hour afterward. Butmy thoughts were more on Jetta than on her father. There was still noevidence of her about the premises. Ah, if I only had known what hadtaken place there at Spawn's that afternoon while I was at the mine!

Soon after supper Spawn yawned. "I think I shall go to bed. " His glancewas inquiring. "What are you going to do?"

I stood up. "I'll go to bed, too. Markes wants to see me early in themorning. You'll be there, Spawn?"

"Yes. We will go together. "

It was still no more than eight o'clock in the evening. Spawn followedme to my bedroom, and left me at its door. 

"Sleep well. I will call you in time. "

"Thanks, Spawn. "

I wondered if there were irony in his voice as he said good night. Noone could have told. 

 * * * * *

I did not go to bed. I sat listening to the silence of my room and thegarden, and Spawn's retreating footsteps. He had said he was sleepy, butnevertheless I presently heard him across the patio. He was apparentlyin the kitchen, cleaning away our meal, to judge by the rattling of hispans. It was as yet not much after hour eight of the evening. The hoursbefore my tryst with Jetta seemed an interminable time to wait. Shemight not come, though, I was afraid, until midnight. 

At all events I felt that I had some hours yet. And it occurred to methat the evening was not yet too far advanced for me to call uponPerona. He lived not far from here, I had learned. I wanted to see thisberibboned old Minister of Nareda's Internal Affairs. 

I would use as my excuse a desire to discuss further the possibility ofsmuggler being here in Nareda. 

I put on my hat and a light jacket, verified that my dirk was readilyaccessible and sealed up my room. Spawn apparently was still in thekitchen. I got out of the house, I felt sure, without him being aware ofit. 

 * * * * *

The Nareda streets were quiet. There was a few pedestrians, and none ofthem paid much attention to me. It was no more than ten minutes walk toPerona's home. 

His house was set back from the road, surrounded by luxuriousvegetation. There was a gate in front of the garden, and another, ahundred feet or to along a small alleyway which bordered the ground tomy left. I was about to enter the front gate when sight of a figurepassing under the garden foliage checked me. It was a man, evidentlycoming from the house and headed toward the side gate. He went through ashaft of light that slanted from one of the lower windows of the house. 

Perona! I was sure it was he. His slight figure, with a gay, tri-cornered hat. A short tasseled cloak hanging from his shoulders. Hewas alone; walking fast. He evidently had not seen me. I crouchedoutside the high front wall, and through its lattice bars I saw himreach the side gate, open it swiftly, pass through, and close it afterhim. There was something furtive about his manner, for all he wasundisguised. I decided to follow him. 

The front street fortunately was deserted at the moment. I waited longenough for him to appear. But he did not; and when I ran to the alleycorner--chancing bumping squarely into him--I saw him far down its dim, narrow length where it opened into the back street which bordered hisgrounds to the rear. He turned to the left and shot a swift glance upthe alley, which I anticipated, provided for by drawing back. When Ilooked again, he was gone. 

 * * * * *

I have had some experience at playing the shadow. But it was not easyhere along the almost deserted and fairly bright Nareda streets. Peronawas walking swiftly down the slope toward the outskirts of the villagewhere it bordered upon the Nares Sea. For a time I thought he was headedfor the landing field, but at a cross-path he turned sharply to theright, away from the field, whose sheen of lights I could now see downthe rocky defile ahead of me. There was nothing but broken, precipitousrocky country ahead of him, into which this path he had taken waswinding. What could Perona, a Minister, be engaged in, wandering offalone into this black, deserted region?

It was black indeed, by now. The village was soon far behind us. A stormwas in the night air; a wind off the sea; solid black clouds overheadblotted out the moon and stars. The crags and buttes and gullies of thistumbled area loomed barely visible about me. There were times when onlymy feel of the path under my feet kept me from straying, to fall into aravine or crevice. 

I prowled perhaps two hundred yards behind Perona. He was using a tinyhand-flash now; it bobbed and winked in the darkness ahead, vanishingsometimes when a curve in the path hid him, or when he plunged down intoa gully and up again. I had no search-beam. Nor would I have dared useone: Perona could too obviously have seen that someone was followinghim. 

There was half a mile of this, I think, though it seemed interminable. Icould hear the sea, rising with the wind, pounding against the rocks tomy left. Then, a distance ahead, I saw lights moving. Perona's--andothers. Three or four of them. Their combined glow made a radiance whichillumined the path and rocks. I could see the figures of several menwhom Perona had joined. They stood a moment and then moved off. To theright a ragged cliff wall towered the path. The spots of light bobbedtoward it. I caught the vague outline of a huge broken opening, like acave mouth in the cliff. The lights were swallowed by it. 

I crept cautiously forward. 

CHAPTER VI

_Ether-wave Eavesdropping_

I had thought it was a cavern mouth into which the men had disappeared, but it was not. I reached it without any encounter. It loomed above me, a great archway in the cliff--an opening fifty feet high and equally asbroad. And behind it was a roofless cave--a sort of irregularly circularbowl, five hundred feet across its broken, bowlder-strewn, caked-oozefloor. 

I crouched in the blackness under the archway. The moon had risen andits light filtered with occasional shafts through the swift-flying blackclouds overhead. The scene was brighter. It was dark in the archway, buta glow of moonlight in the bowl beyond showed me its tumbled floor andthe precipitous, eroded walls, like a crater-rim, which encircled it. 

The men whom Perona had met were across the bowl near its opposite side. I could see the group of them, five hundred feet from me, by a littlemoonlight that was on them; also by the sheen from the spots of theirhand-lights. Four or five men, and Perona. I thought I distinguished theaged Minister sitting on a rock, and before him a huge giant man'sfigure striding up and down. Perona seemed talking vehemently: the menwere listening; the giant paused occasionally in his pacing to fling aquestion. 

All this I saw with my first swift glance. My attention was drawn fromthe men to an object near them. The nose of a flyer showed between twoupstanding crags on the floor of the valley. Only its forward horizontalpropellers and the tip of its cabin and landing gear were visible, but Icould guess that it was a fair-sized ship. 

The men were too far away for me to hear them. Could I get across thefloor of the bowl without discovery? It did not seem so. The accursedmoonlight became stronger every moment. Then I saw a guard--a darkfigure of a man showing just inside the archway, some seventy feet fromme. He was leaning against a rock, facing my way. In his hands was athick-barreled electronic projector. 

I could not advance: that was obvious. The moonlight lay in a clearclean patch beyond the archway. The guard stood at its edge. 

 * * * * *

A minute or two had passed. Perona was still talking vehemently. I waslosing it: not a word was audible. Yet I felt that if I could hearPerona now, much that Hanley and I wanted to learn would be made clearto us. My little microphone receiver could be adjusted for audible airvibrations. I crouched and held it cautiously above my head with itsface, like a listening ear, turned toward the distant men. Mysingle-vacuum amplification brought up the sound until their voicessounded like whispers murmured in my ear-grids. 

"De Boer, listen to me--"

Perona's voice. They must have been chance words spoken loudly. It wasall I could hear, save tantalizing, unintelligible murmurs. 

So this was De Boer, the bandit! The big fellow pacing before Perona. Iwanted infinitely more, now, to hear what was being said. 

I thought of Hanley. There might be a way of handling this. 

I had to murmur very softly. I was hidden in these shadows from theguard's sight, but he was close enough to hear my normal voice. Ichanced it. A wind was sucking through the archway with an audiblewhine: the guard might not hear me. 

"X. 2. AY. "

The sorter's desk. He came in. I murmured Hanley's rating. "Rush. Danger. Special. "

It went swiftly through. Hanley, thank Heaven, was at his desk. 

 * * * * *

I plugged in my little image finder; held it over my head; turned itslowly. I whispered:

"Look around, Chief. See where I am? Near Nareda; couple of miles out. Followed Perona; he met these men. 

"The big one is De Boer, the depth bandit. I can't hear what they'resaying--but I can send you their voice murmurs. "

"Amplify them all you can. Relay them up, " Hanley ordered. 

I caught Perona's murmurs again; I swung them through my tinytransformers and off my transmitter points into the ether. 

"Hear them, Chief?"

"Yes. I'll try further amplification. "

It was what I had intended. Hanley's greater power might be able toamplify those murmurs into audible strength. 

"I'm getting them, Phil. "

He swung them back to me. Grotesquely distorted, blurred with tube-humand interference crackle, they roared in my ear-grids so loudly that Isaw the nearby guard turn his head as though startled. Listening. .. . 

But evidently he concluded it was nothing. 

I cut down the volume. Hanley switched in. 

"By God. Phil! This--"

"Off, Chief! Let me hear, too!"

 * * * * *

He cut away. Those distorted voices! They came from Perona and thebandits to me across this five hundred foot moonlit bowl; from me, thirteen hundred miles up to Hanley's instruments; and back to me oncemore. But the words, most of them, now were distinguishable. 

Perona's voice: "I tell it to you. De Boer . .. And a good chance for youto make the money. "

"But will they pay?"

"Of course they will pay. Big. A ransom princely. "

"And why, Perona? Why princely? Who is this fellow--so important?"

"He is with rich business men, I tell to you. "

"A private citizen?"

". .. And a private citizen, of a surety. Fool! Have you come to be acoward, De Boer?"

"Pah!"

"Well then I tell you it is a lifetime chance. All of it I havearranged. If he was a government agent, that would be very different, for they are very keen, this administration of the American government, to protect their agents. But their private citizens--it is a scandal! Doyou not ever pick the newscasters' reports, De Boer? Has it not been ascandal that this administration does very little for its citizensabroad?"

"And you want to get rid of this fellow? Why, Perona?"

"That is not your concern. The ransom is to be all yours. Make away withhim--in the depths somewhere. Demand your ransom. Fifty thousandgold-standards! Demand it of me. Of Nareda!"

"And you will pay it?"

"I promise it. Nareda will pay it--and Nareda will collect the ransomfrom the American capitalists. Very easy. "

His voice fell lower. "Between us, you will get the ransom money fromNareda--and then kill your prisoner if you like. Call it an accident;what matter? And dead men are silent men, De Boer. I will see that noreal pursuit is made after you. "

 * * * * *

They were talking about me! It was obvious. Questions rushed at me. Perona, planning with this bandit to abduct me. Hold me for ransom. Orkill me! But Perona knew that I was not a private citizen. He was lyingto De Boer, to persuade him. 

Why this attack upon me? Was Spawn in on it? Why were they so anxious toget rid of me? Because of Jetta? Or because I was dangerous, pryinginto their smuggling activities. Or both?

De Boer: ". .. Get up with my men through the streets to Spawn's house?You have it fixed?"

"Yes. Over the route from here as I told you, there are no policeto-night. I have ordered them off. In the garden. _Dios!_ You offer somany objections! I tell you all is fixed. In an hour, half an hour; evennow, perhaps, the Americano is in the garden. The girl has promised tomeet him there. He will be there, fear not. Will you go?"

"Yes. "

"Hah! That is the De Boer I have always admired!"

I could see them in the moonlight across the pit. Perona now standingup, the giant figure of the bandit towering over him. 

 * * * * *

Hanley's microscopic voice cut in: "Getting it, Phil? To seize you forransom!"

"Yes. I hear it. "

"This girl. Who--?"

"Wait, Chief. Off--"

De Boer: "I will do it! Fifty thousand. "

Perona: "An hour now. Spawn will be at his home asleep. "

"And you will go to the mine?"

"Yes. Now, from here. You seize this fellow Grant, and then attack themine. Our regular plan, De Boer. This does not change it. "

Attack Spawn's mine! Half a million of treasure was there to-night!

Perona was chuckling: "You give Spawn's guards the signal. They are allmy men--in my pay. They will run away when you appear. "

Hanley cut in again. "By the gods, they're after that treasure! Phil, listen to me! you must. .. . " His voice faded. 

"Chief, I can't hear you!"

Hanley came again: ". .. And I will notify Porto Rico. The local patrolwill be about ready to leave. "

"Or notify Nareda headquarters, " I suggested. "If you can get PresidentMarkes, he can send some police to the mine--"

"And find all Nareda's police bribed by Perona? I'll get Porto Rico. Wehave an hour or two; the patrol can reach you in an hour. "

The bandits were preparing to leave here. Two or three of them had goneto the flyer. Perona and De Boer were parting. 

". .. Well, that is all, De Boer. "

"Right, Señor Perona. I will start shortly. "

"On foot, by the street route to Spawn's--"

Hanley's hurried voice came back: "I've sent the call to Porto Rico. "

 * * * * *

The guard had moved again. He was no more than forty feet away from menow--standing up gazing directly toward where I was crouching over mytiny instruments in the shadows of the rocky arch. A footstep soundedbehind me, on the path outside the arch. Someone approaching!

A tiny light bobbing!

Then a voice calling, "Perona! De Boer!"

The guard took a step forward; stopped, with levelled weapon. 

Then the voice again: it was so loud it went through my opened relay, flashed up to New York, and blew out half a dozen of Hanley's attunedvacuums. 

"Perona!"

Spawn's voice! He was coming toward me! I lay prone, my little gridsswitched off. I held my breath. 

Spawn's figure went past within ten feet of me. But he did not see me. 

He met the guard. "Hello, Gutierrez. The damned American--"

Perona and De Boer came hastening. Spawn joined them in the moonlightjust beyond the archway, close enough for me to hear them plainly. Spawnwas out of breath, panting from his swift walk. He greeted them with aroar. 

"The American--he is gone!"

"_Dios!_ Gone where, Spawn?"

"The hell--how do I know, Perona? He is gone from his room--from thehouse. Maybe he followed you here? Did he?"

CHAPTER VII

_Behind the Sealed Door_

There was a moment when I think I might have escaped unseen from thatarchway. But I was too amazed at Spawn's appearance to think of my ownsituation. I had believed that Perona was plotting against Spawn, meeting these bandits in this secret place; I had just heard themplanning to attack Spawn's mine--to rob it of the treasure doubtless, which I knew was stored there. 

But I realized now it was not a plot against Spawn. He had come hereswiftly to join Perona and tell him that I, their intended victim, wasmissing. He had greeted the bandit guard by name. He seemed, indeed, aswell known to these bandits as Perona himself. 

They stood now in a group some thirty feet away from me. I could heartheir excited voices perfectly clearly. My instruments were off; but Irecall that as I listened to Spawn I was also aware of the tingle of theelectrode-band on my chest--Hanley, vigorously calling me back to findout why I had so summarily disconnected. 

"I took him to his room, " Spawn was explaining excitedly. "De duvel, whyshould I have sealed him in? How could I? He is no child!"

De Boer laughed caustically. "And so he has walked away from you? Ithink I am a fool to mix myself with you two. "

Perona retorted, "I have made you rich, De Boer. Think what you like;to-night is the end of our partnership. Only, you do what I have toldyou to-night. "

"Hah! How can I? Your American has flown his trap. "

This guard--this Gutierrez, as Spawn had called him--was listening withinterest. De Boer's several other men were gathered there. I feltmyself safe where I was, for the moment at least. 

 * * * * *

I cut Hanley in. "Chief, they're closer! Spawn has come! They've missedme! I'll relay what they're saying, but you step it down; there's toomuch volume. "

"You're all right, Phil? Thank Heaven for that! Something blew myvacuums. "

"Chief, listen--here they are--"

Perona: "But he will be back. In the garden now, no doubt, with Jetta. "

De Boer: "Ah--the little Jetta! So she is there, Spawn? Not in yearshave you spoken of your daughter. A young lady now, I suppose. Is itso?"

Spawn cursed. "We leave her out of this. You follow the Señor's plan. "

"Come to your house? You think the bird will be there for me to seize?"

"Yes, " Perona put in. "You go there; in an hour. Then to the mine. "

Spawn undoubtedly was in this plot to attack his mine! He said, "At themine we have arranged everything. Damn this American! But for Perona Iwould not bother with him. "

"But you will bother, " Perona interjected. 

De Boer laughed again. "I would be witless could I not figure this! Heis a young man, and so handsome he has frightened you with the littleJetta! Is that it, Perona? Jealous, eh?"

I had been holding the image finder so that Hanley might see them. Hanley's voice rattled my ear-grid. "Phil! Get away from there! Look! DeBoer is searching!"

 * * * * *

De Boer had, a moment before, spoken quietly aside to Gutierrez. And nowthree or four of the men were spreading out, poking about with smallhand-flashes. Searching for me! The possibility that I might be here, eavesdropping!

Hanley repeated vehemently, "Phil, they'll find you! Get out of there:the way is still open!"

Gutierrez was approaching the archway. But I lingered a moment longer. 

"Chief, you heard about that girl, Jetta, Spawn's daughter--"

I stopped. Perona was saying, "Spawn, was Jetta still in her room? Youdid not untie her?"

"No. "

"And gagged? Suppose the Americano was back there now? She might call tohim, and he would release her--"

De Boer: "How do you know he is not around here? Listening?"

With the assumption that I might be within hearing, De Boer tried totrap me. Gutierrez, at a signal now, suddenly dashed through the archwayand planted himself on the path outside. The other searchers spreadtheir rays; the rocks all about me were lighted. But my niche was stilluntouched. 

De Boer: "If he is around here--"

Perona: "He could not have followed me; I was too careful. "

I was murmuring: "Chief, they've got that girl. "

"Phil, you get away! Go to Markes. Stay with him. "

"But Chief, that Jetta, I--"

"Keep out of this! You're only one; you can't help any! I've sent forthe Porto Rican patrol ship to handle this. "

"Chief, I'm going back to Spawn's. "

"No--"

I cut off abruptly. In another moment I would have been discovered. Thesearchers were headed directly for me. 

 * * * * *

I moved, crouching, back along the inner wall of the archway. The moonwas momentarily behind a cloud. It was black under the arch; and outfront it was so dim I could only see the faint blob of Gutierrez'sstanding figure, and the spot of his flashlight. 

Perona: "He is not around here, De Boer. That is foolish. "

Spawn: "He could have gone anywhere. Maybe a walk around the village. "

Perona: "Go back home, Spawn. De Boer will come--"

Their voices faded as I moved away. A searching bandit behind me pokedwith his light into the crevice where a moment before I had beencrouching. I moved faster. Only Gutierrez now was in front of me. He wasat the far end of the arch. I could slip past, and still be fifty feetfrom him--if I could avoid his swinging little light-beam. 

I was running now, chancing that he would hear me. I was on the path; Icould see it vaguely. 

From behind me came a sizzling flash, and the ting of the flying needleas it missed me by a foot. 

"The Americano! He goes there!"

Another shot. The shouts of the bandits in the archway. A turmoil backthere. 

But it was all behind me. I leaped sidewise off the path as Gutierrezsmall light-beam swept it. I ran stumbling through a stubble ofboulders, around an upstanding rock spire, back to the path again. 

There were other shots. Then De Boer's voice, faint by distance: "Stop!Fools! We will alarm the village! The landing field can see our shotsfrom here! Take it easy! You can't get him!"

The turmoil quieted. I went around a bend in the path, running swiftly. 

Pursuit was behind me. I could hear them coming. 

 * * * * *

It was a run of no more than ten minutes to the junction where, down theslope, I could see the lights of the landing field. 

The glow of the village was ahead of me. Then I was in its outskirts. Occasional dark houses. Deserted streets. 

I slowed to a fast walk. I was breathless, panting in the heat. 

I heard no pursuit now. But Spawn and the rest of them doubtless wereafter me. Would they head back for Spawn's inn? I thought they would. But I could beat them back there; I was sure there was no shorter routethan this I was taking. 

Would they use their flyer? That would not gain them any time, whatwith launching it and landing, for so short a flight. And a bandit flyercould not very well land unseen or unnoticed, even in somnolent Nareda. 

I reached the main section of the village. There were occasional lightsand pedestrians. My haste was noticeable, but I was not accosted. Thereseemed no police about. I recalled Perona's remark that he had attendedto that. 

My electrode was tingling. I had been running again. I slowed down. 

"Chief?"

"Phil. " His voice carried relief. "You got away?"

"Yes. I'm in the village. "

"Go to President Markes. "

"No, I'm headed for Spawn's! They're all behind me; I can get there afew minutes ahead of them. "

 * * * * *

I panted an exclamation, incoherently, but frankly, about Jetta. "I'mgoing to get her out of there. "

"Phil, what in hell--"

I told him. 

"So you've fallen in love with a girl? Entangled--"

"Chief!"

"Go after her, Phil! Got her bound and gagged, have they? Going to marryher to this Perona? Like the Middle Ages?"

I had never seen this side of Hanley. 

"Get her if you want her. Get her out of there. Take her to Markes--No, I wouldn't trust anybody in Nareda! Take her into the uplands behind thevillage. But keep away from that mine! Have you got flash-fuses?"

"Yes. "

I was within sight of Spawn's house. The street was dim and deserted. Iwas running again. 

I panted. "I'm--almost at Spawn's!"

"Good! When it's over, whatever happens up there at the mine, thensignal the patrol. "

"Yes. "

I reached Spawn's front gate. The house and front garden were dark. 

"Use your fuses, Phil. What colors?"

"I have red and blue. "

"I'll talk to the patrol ship again. Tell them to watch for you. Red andblue. Two short red flashes, a long blue. "

"Right, Chief. I'm here at Spawn's, cutting off. "

"Come back on when you can. " His voice went anxious again. "I'll waithere. "

"All right. "

I cut silent. I ran through the front doorway of Spawn's inn. The livingroom was dim and empty. Which way was Jetta's room? I could only guess. 

I had a few minutes, perhaps, before my pursuers would arrive. 

 * * * * *

I reached the inner, patio garden. The moon was well out from under theclouds now. The patio shimmered, a silent, deserted fairyland. 

"Jetta!" I called it softly. Then louder. "Jetta!"

Spawn's house was fairly large and rambling. There were so many rooms. Jetta was gagged; how could she answer me? But I had no time to searchfor her. 

"Jetta?"

And then came her voice. "Philip?"

"Jetta! Which way? Where are you?"

"Here! This way: in my room. "

A window and a door near the pergola. "Jetta!"

"Yes. I am in here. They tied me up. Not so loud, Phil: father will hearyou. "

"He's gone out. "

I reached her garden door. Turned its handle. Rattled the door. Shovedfrantically with my shoulder!

The metal door was firmly sealed!

_(To be continued)_

[Illustration: _One of the men rolled free and came Lurching towardus. _]

The Terrible Tentacles of L-472

_By Sewell Peaslee Wright_

It was a big mistake. I should not have done it. By birth, by instinct, by training, by habit, I am a man of action. Or I was. It is queer thatan old man cannot remember that he is no longer young. 

[Sidenote: Commander John Hanson of the Special Patrol Service recordsanother of his thrilling interplanetary assignments. ]

But it was a mistake for me to mention that I had recorded, for thearchives of the Council, the history of a certain activity of theSpecial Patrol--a bit of secret history[1] which may not be mentionedhere. Now they insist--by "they" I refer to the Chiefs of the SpecialPatrol Service--that I write of other achievements of the Service, otheradventures worthy of note. 

[Footnote 1: Editors Note: "The Forgotten Planet" July 1930 issue ofAstounding Stories]

Perhaps that is the penalty of becoming old. From commander of the_Budi_, one of the greatest of the Special Patrol ships, to the dutiesof recording ancient history, for younger men to read and dream about. That is a shrewd blow to one's pride. 

But if I can, in some small way, add luster to the record of my service, it will be a fitting task for a man grown old and gray in that service;work for hands too weak and palsied for sterner duties. 

But I shall tell my stories in my own way; after all, they are mystories. And I shall tell the stories that appeal to me most. Theuniverse has had enough and too much of dry history; these shall beadventurous tales to make the blood of a young man who reads them run atrifle faster--and perhaps the blood of the old man who writes them. 

This, the first, shall be the story of the star L-472. You know itto-day as Ibit, port-o'-call for interplanetary ships, and source ofocrite for the universe, but to me it will always be L-472, the world ofterrible tentacles. 

 * * * * *

My story begins nearly a hundred years ago--reckoned in terms of Earthtime, which is proper, since I am a native of Earth--when I was a youngman. I was sub-commander, at the time, of the _Kalid_, one of the earlyships of the Special Patrol. 

We had been called to Zenia on special orders, and Commander Jamison, after an absence of some two hours, returned to the _Kalid_ with hisface shining, one of his rare smiles telling me in advance that he hadnews--and good news. 

He hurried me up to the deserted navigating room and waved me to a seat. 

"Hanson, " he said. "I'm glad to be the first to congratulate you. Youare now Commander John Hanson, of the Special Patrol Ship _Kalid_!"

"Sir. " I gasped, "do you mean--"

His smile broadened. From the breast pocket of the trim blue and silveruniform of our Service he drew a long, crackling paper. 

"Your commission, " he said. "I'm taking over the _Borelis_. "

It was my turn to extend congratulations then; the _Borelis_ was thenewest and greatest ship of the Service. We shook hands, that ancientgesture of good-fellowship on Earth. But, as our hands unclasped, Jamison's face grew suddenly grave. 

"I have more than this news for you, however, " he said slowly. "You areto have a chance to earn your comet hardly. "

 * * * * *

I smiled broadly at the mention of the comet, the silver insignia, wornover the heart, that would mark my future rank as commander, replacingthe four-rayed star of a sub-commander which I wore now on my tunic. 

"Tell me more, sir, " I said confidently. 

"You have heard of the Special Patrol Ship _Filanus_?" asked my latecommander gravely. 

"Reported lost in space, " I replied promptly. 

"And the _Dorlos_?"

"Why--yes; she was at Base here at our last call, " I said, searching hisface anxiously. "Peter Wilson was Second Officer on her--one of my bestfriends. Why do you ask about her, sir?"

"The _Dorlos_ is missing also, " said Commander Jamison solemnly. "Bothof these ships were sent upon a particular mission. Neither of them hasreturned. It is concluded that some common fate has overtaken them. The_Kalid_, under your command, is commissioned to investigate thesedisappearances. 

"You are not charged with the mission of these other ships; your ordersare to investigate their disappearance. The course, together with theofficial patrol orders, I shall hand you presently, but with them goverbal orders. 

"You are to lay and keep the course designated, which will take you wellout of the beaten path to a small world which has not been explored, but which has been circumnavigated a number of times by various shipsremaining just outside the atmospheric envelope, and found to be withoutevidence of intelligent habitation. In other words, without cities, roads, canals, or other evidence of human handiwork or civilization. 

 * * * * *

"I believe your instructions give you some of this information, but notall of it. This world, unnamed because of its uninhabited condition, ischarted only as L-472. Your larger charts will show it, I am sure. Theatmosphere is reported to be breatheable by inhabitants of Earth andother beings having the same general requirements. Vegetation isreported as dense, covering the five continents of the world to theedges of the northern and southern polar caps, which are small. Topographically, the country is rugged in the extreme, with many peaks, apparently volcanic, but now inactive or extinct, on all of its fivelarge continents. "

"And am I to land there, sir?" I asked eagerly. 

"Your orders are very specific upon that point, " said Commander Jamison. "You are not to land until you have carefully and thoroughlyreconnoitered from above, at low altitude. You will exercise everypossible precaution. Your specific purpose is simply this: to determine, if possible, the fate of the other two ships, and report your findingsat once. The Chiefs of the Service will then consider the matter, andtake whatever action may seem advisable to them. " Jamison rose to hisfeet and thrust out his hand in Earth's fine old salute of farewell. 

"I must be going, Hanson, " he said. "I wish this patrol were mineinstead of yours. You are a young man for such a responsibility. "

"But, " I replied, with the glowing confidence of youth, "I have theadvantage of having served under Commander Jamison!"

 * * * * *

He smiled as we shook again, and shook his head. 

"Discretion can be learned only by experience, " he said. "But I wish yousuccess, Hanson; on this undertaking, and on many others. Supplies areon their way now; the crew will return from leave within the hour. Ayoung Zenian, name of Dival, I believe, is detailed to accompany you asscientific observer--purely unofficial capacity, of course. He has beenordered to report to you at once. You are to depart as soon as feasible:you know what that means. I believe that's all--Oh, yes! I had almostforgotten. 

"Here, in this envelope, are your orders and your course, as well as allavailable data on L-472. In this little casket is--your comet, Hanson. Iknow you will wear it with honor!"

"Thank you, sir!" I said, a bit huskily. I saluted, and CommanderJamison acknowledged the gesture with stiff precision. Commander Jamisonalways had the reputation of being something of a martinet. 

When he had left, I picked up the thin blue envelope he had left. Acrossthe face of the envelope, in the--to my mind--jagged and unbeautifulUniversal script, was my name, followed by the proud title: "_Commander, Special Patrol Ship Kalid. _" My first orders!

There was a small oval box, of blue leather, with the silver crest ofthe Service in bas-relief on the lid. I opened the case, and gazed withshining eyes at the gleaming, silver comet that nestled there. 

Then, slowly, I unfastened the four-rayed star on my left breast, andplaced in its stead the insignia of my commandership. 

Worn smooth and shiny now, it is still my most precious possession. 

 * * * * *

Kincaide, my second officer, turned and smiled as I entered thenavigating room. 

"L-472 now registers maximum attraction, sir, " he reported. "Dead ahead, and coming up nicely. My last figures, completed about five minutesago, indicate that we should reach the gaseous envelope in about tenhours. " Kincaide was a native of Earth, and we commonly used Earthtime-measurements in our conversation. As is still the case, ships ofthe Special Patrol Service were commanded without exception by nativesof Earth, and the entire officer personnel hailed largely from the sameplanet, although I have had several Zenian officers of rare ability andcourage. 

I nodded and thanked him for the report. Maximum attraction, eh? That, considering the small size of our objective, meant we were much closerto L-472 than to any other regular body. 

Mechanically, I studied the various dials about the room. The attractionmeter, as Kincaide had said, registered several degrees of attraction, and the red slide on the rim of the dial was squarely at the top, showing that the attraction was coming from the world at which our nosewas pointed. The surface-temperature gauge was at normal. Internalpressure, normal. Internal moisture-content, a little high. Kincaide, watching me, spoke up:

"I have already given orders to dry out, sir, " he said. 

"Very good, Mr. Kincaide. It's a long trip, and I want the crew in goodcondition. " I studied the two charts, one showing our surroundingslaterally, the other vertically, all bodies about us represented asglowing spots of green light, of varying sizes; the ship itself as atiny scarlet spark. Everything shipshape: perhaps, a degree or two ofelevation when we were a little closer--

"May I come in sir?" broke in a gentle, high-pitched voice. 

"Certainly, Mr. Dival, " I replied, answering in the Universal languagein which the request had been made. "You are always very welcome. " Divalwas a typical Zenian of the finest type: slim, very dark, and with theamazingly intelligent eyes of his kind. His voice was very soft andgentle, and like the voice of all his people, clear and high-pitched. 

"Thank you, " he said. "I guess I'm over-eager, but there's somethingabout this mission of ours that worries me. I seem to feel--" He brokeoff abruptly and began pacing back and forth across the room. 

I studied him, frowning. The Zenians have a strange way of being rightabout such things; their high-strung, sensitive natures seem capable ofresponding to those delicate, vagrant forces which even now are onlyincompletely understood and classified. 

"You're not used to work of this sort, " I replied, as bluffly andheartily as possible. "There's nothing to worry about. "

"The commanders of the two ships that disappeared probably felt the sameway, sir, " said Dival. "I should have thought the Chiefs of the SpecialPatrol Service would have sent several ships on a mission such as this. "

"Easy to say, " I laughed bitterly. "If the Council would pass theappropriations we need, we might have ships enough so that we could senda fleet of ships when we wished. Instead of that, the Council, in itsinfinite wisdom, builds greater laboratories and schools of higherlearning--and lets the Patrol get along as best it can. "

"It was from the laboratories and the schools of higher learning thatall these things sprang, " replied Dival quietly, glancing around at thearray of instruments which made navigation in space possible. 

"True, " I admitted rather shortly. "We must work together. And as forwhat we shall find upon the little world ahead, we shall be there innine or ten hours. You may wish to make some preparations. "

"Nine or ten hours? That's Earth time, isn't it? Let's see: about twoand a half enaros. "

"Correct, " I smiled. The Universal method of reckoning time had neverappealed to me. For those of my readers who may only be familiar withEarth time measurements, an enar is about eighteen Earth days, an enarena little less than two Earth days, and an enaro nearly four and a halfhours. The Universal system has the advantage, I admit, of a decimaldivision; but I have found it clumsy always. I may be stubborn andold-fashioned, but a clock face with only ten numerals and one handstill strikes me as being unbeautiful and inefficient. 

"Two and a half enaros, " repeated Dival thoughtfully. "I believe I shallsee if I can get a little sleep now; I should not have brought my bookswith me, I'm afraid. I read when I should sleep. Will you call me shouldthere be any developments of interest?"

I assured him that he would be called as he requested, and he left. 

"Decent sort of a chap, sir, " observed Kincaide, glancing at the doorthrough which Dival had just departed. 

"A student, " I nodded, with the contempt of violent youth for the man ofgentler pursuits than mine, and turned my attentions to somecalculations for entry in the log. 

 * * * * *

Busied with the intricate details of my task, time passed rapidly. Thewatch changed, and I joined my officers in the tiny, arched diningsalon. It was during the meal that I noticed for the first time a sortof tenseness; every member of the mess was unusually quiet. And though Iwould not, have admitted it then, I was not without a good deal ofnervous restraint myself. 

"Gentlemen, " I remarked when the meal was finished, "I believe youunderstand our present mission. Primarily, our purpose is to ascertain, if possible, the fate of two ships that were sent here and have notreturned. We are now close enough for reasonable observation by means ofthe television disc, I believe, and I shall take over its operationmyself. 

"There is no gainsaying the fact that whatever fate overtook the twoother Patrol ships, may lay in wait for us. My orders are to observeevery possible precaution, and to return with a report. I am going toask that each of you proceed immediately to his post, and make ready, inso far as possible, for any eventuality. Warn the watch which has justgone off to be ready for instant duty. The disintegrator ray generatorsshould be started and be available for instant emergency use, maximumpower. Have the bombing crews stand by for orders. "

"What do you anticipate, sir?" asked Correy, my new sub-commander. Theother officers waited tensely for my reply. 

"I don't know, Mr. Correy, " I admitted reluctantly. "We have noinformation upon which to base an assumption. We do know that two shipshave been sent here, and neither of them have returned. Somethingprevented that return. We must endeavor to prevent that same fate fromovertaking the _Kalid_--and ourselves. "

 * * * * *

Hurrying back to the navigating room, I posted myself beside thecumbersome, old-fashioned television instrument. L-472 was near enoughnow to occupy the entire field, with the range hand at maximum. Onewhole continent and parts of two others were visible. Not many detailscould be made out. 

I waited grimly while an hour, two hours, went by. My field narroweddown to one continent, to a part of one continent. I glanced up at thesurface temperature gauge and noted that the hand was registering a fewdegrees above normal. Correy, who had relieved Kincaide as navigatingofficer, followed my gaze. 

"Shall we reduce speed, sir?" he asked crisply. 

"To twice atmospheric speed, " I nodded. "When we enter the envelopeproper, reduce to normal atmospheric speed. Alter your course uponentering the atmosphere proper, and work back and forth along theemerging twilight zone, from the north polar cap to the southern cap, and so on. "

"Yes, sir!" he replied, and repeated the orders to the control roomforward. 

I pressed the attention signal to Dival's cubicle, and informed him thatwe were entering the outer atmospheric fringe. 

"Thank you, sir!" he said eagerly. "I shall be with you immediately. "

In rapid succession I called various officers and gave terse orders. Double crews on duty in the generator compartment, the ray projectors, the atomic bomb magazines, and release tubes. Observers at allobservation posts, operators at the two smaller television instrumentsto comb the terrain and report instantly any object of interest. Withthe three of us searching, it seemed incredible that anything couldescape us. At atmospheric altitudes even the two smaller televisioninstruments would be able to pick out a body the size of one of themissing ships. 

 * * * * *

Dival entered the room as I finished giving my orders. 

"A strange world, Dival, " I commented, glancing towards the televisioninstrument. "Covered with trees, even the mountains, and what I presumeto be volcanic peaks. They crowd right down to the edge of the water. "

He adjusted the focusing lever slightly, his face lighting up with theinterest of a scientist gazing at a strange specimen, whether it be amicrobe or a new world. 

"Strange . .. Strange . .. " he muttered. "A universal vegetation . .. Novariation of type from equator to polar cap, apparently. And thewater--did you notice its color, sir?"

"Purple, " I nodded. "It varies on the different worlds, you know. I'veseen pink, red, white and black seas, as well as the green and blue ofEarth. "

"And no small islands, " he went on, as though he had not ever heard me. "Not in the visible portion, at any rate. "

I was about to reply, when I felt the peculiar surge of the _Kalid_ asshe reduced speed. I glanced at the indicator, watching the hand dropslowly to atmospheric speed. 

"Keep a close watch, Dival, " I ordered. "We shall change our course now, to comb the country for traces of two ships we are seeking. If you seethe least suspicious sign, let me know immediately. "

 * * * * *

He nodded, and for a time there was only a tense silence in the room, broken at intervals by Correy as he spoke briefly into his microphone, giving orders to the operating room. 

Perhaps an hour went by. I am not sure. It seemed like a longer timethan that. Then Dival called out in sudden excitement, his high, thinvoice stabbing the silence:

"Here, sir! Look! A little clearing--artificial, I judge--and the ships!Both of them!"

"Stop the ship, Mr. Correy!" I snapped as I hurried to the instrument. "Dival, take those reports. " I gestured towards the two attentionsignals that were glowing and softly humming and thrust my head into theshelter of the television instrument's big hood. 

Dival had made no mistake. Directly beneath me, as I looked, was aclearing, a perfect square with rounded corners, obviously blasted outof the solid forest by the delicate manipulation of sharply focuseddisintegrator rays. And upon the naked, pitted surface thus exposed, side by side in orderly array, were the missing ships!

 * * * * *

I studied the strange scene with a heart that thumped excitedly againstmy ribs. 

What should I do? Return and report? Descend and investigate? There wasno sign of life around the ships, and no evidence of damage. If Ibrought the _Kalid_ down, would she make a third to remain there, to bemarked "lost in space" on the records of the Service?

Reluctantly, I drew my head from beneath the shielding hood. 

"What were the two reports, Dival?" I asked, and my voice was thick. "The other two television observers?"

"Yes, sir. They report that they cannot positively identify the shipswith their instruments, but feel certain that they are the two we seek. "

"Very good. Tell them, please, to remain on watch, searching space inevery direction, and to report instantly anything suspicious. Mr. Correy, we will descend until this small clearing becomes visible, through the ports, to the unaided eye. I will give you the correctionsto bring us directly over the clearing. " And I read the finder scales ofthe television instrument to him. 

He rattled off the figures, calculated an instant, and gave his ordersto the control room, while I kept the television instrument bearing uponthe odd clearing and the two motionless, deserted ships. 

 * * * * *

As we settled, I could make out the insignia of the ships, could see thepitted, stained earth of the clearing, brown with the dust ofdisintegration. I could see the surrounding trees very distinctly now:they seemed very similar to our weeping willows, on Earth, which, Iperhaps should explain, since it is impossible for the averageindividual to have a comprehensive knowledge of the flora and fauna ofthe entire known Universe, is a tree of considerable size, having long, hanging branches arching from its crown and reaching nearly to theground. These leaves, like typical willow leaves, were long and slender, of rusty green color. The trunks and branches seemed to be black or darkbrown: and the trees grew so thickly that nowhere between their brancheswas the ground visible. 

"Five thousand feet, sir, " said Correy. "Directly above the clearing. Shall we descend further?"

"A thousand feet at a time, Mr. Correy, " I replied, after a moment'shesitation. "My orders are to exercise the utmost caution. Mr. Dival, please make a complete analysis of the atmosphere. I believe you arefamiliar with the traps provided for the purpose?"

"Yes. You propose to land, sir?"

"I propose to determine the fate of those two ships and the men whobrought them here, " I said with sudden determination. Dival made noreply, but as he turned to obey orders, I saw that his presentiment oftrouble had not left him. 

"Four thousand feet, sir, " said Correy. 

I nodded, studying the scene below us. The great hooded instrumentbrought it within, apparently, fifty feet of my eyes, but the greatdetail revealed nothing of interest. 

The two ships lay motionless, huddled close together. The great circulardoor of each was open, as though opened that same day--or a centurybefore. 

"Three thousand feet, sir, " said Correy. 

"Proceed at the same speed, " I replied. Whatever fate had overtaken themen of the other ships had caused them to disappear entirely--andwithout sign of a struggle. But what conceivable fate could that be?

"Two thousand feet, sir, " said Correy. 

"Good, " I said grimly. "Continue with the descent, Mr. Correy. "

Dival hurried into the room as I spoke. His face was still clouded withforeboding. 

"I have tested the atmosphere, sir, " he reported. "It is suitable forbreathing by either men of Earth or Zenia. No trace of noxious gases ofany kind. It is probably rather rarified, such as one might find onEarth or Zenia at high altitudes. "

"One thousand feet, sir, " said Correy. 

I hesitated an instant. Undoubtedly the atmosphere had been tested bythe other ships before they landed. In the case of the second ship, atany rate, those in command must have been on the alert against danger. And yet both of those ships lay there motionless, vacant, deserted. 

 * * * * *

I could feel the eyes of the men on me. My decision must be delayed nofurther. 

"We will land, Mr. Correy, " I said grimly. "Near the two ships, please. "

"Very well, sir, " nodded Correy, and spoke briefly into the microphone. 

"I might warn you, sir, " said Dival quietly, "to govern your activities, once outside: free from the gravity pads of the ship, on a body of suchsmall size, an ordinary step will probably cause a leap of considerabledistance. "

"Thank you, Mr. Dival. That is a consideration I had overlooked. I shallwarn the men. We must--"

At that instant I felt the slight jar of landing. I glanced up; metCorrey's grave glance squarely. 

"Grounded, sir, " he said quietly. 

"Very good, Mr. Correy. Keep the ship ready for instant action, please, and call the landing crew to the forward exit. You will accompany us, Mr. Dival?"

"Certainly, sir!"

"Good. You understand your orders, Mr. Correy?"

"Yes, sir!"

I returned his salute, and led the way out of the room, Dival close onmy heels. 

 * * * * *

The landing crew was composed of all men not at regular stations; nearlyhalf of the _Kalid's_ entire crew. They were equipped with the smallatomic power pistols as side-arms, and there were two three-mendisintegrator ray squads. We all wore menores, which were unnecessaryin the ship, but decidedly useful outside. I might add that the menoreof those days was not the delicate, beautiful thing that it is to-day:it was comparatively crude, and clumsy band of metal, in which wereimbedded the vital units and the tiny atomic energy generator, and wasworn upon the head like a crown. But for all its clumsiness, it conveyedand received thought, and, after all, that was all we demanded of it. 

I caught a confused jumble of questioning thoughts as I came up, andtook command of the situation promptly. It will be understood, ofcourse, that in those days men had not learned to blank their mindsagainst the menore, as they do to-day. It took generations of trainingto perfect that ability. 

"Open the exit, " I ordered Kincaide, who was standing by the switch, keyin the lock. 

"Yes, sir, " he thought promptly, and unlocking the switch, released thelever. 

The great circular door revolved swiftly, backing slowly on its finethreads, gripped by the massive gimbals which, as at last the ponderousplug of metal freed itself from its threads, swung the circular dooraside, like the door of a vault. 

 * * * * *

Fresh clean air swept in, and we breathed, it gratefully. Science canrevitalize air, take out impurities and replace used-up constituents, but if cannot give it the freshness of pure natural air. Even thescience of to-day. 

"Mr. Kincaide, you will stand by with five men. Under no circumstancesare you to leave your post until ordered to do so. No rescue parties, under any circumstances, are to be sent out unless you have those ordersdirectly from me. Should any untoward thing happen to this party, youwill instantly reseal this exit, reporting at the same time to Mr. Correy, who has his orders. You will not attempt to rescue us, but willreturn to the Base and report in full, with Mr. Correy in command. Isthat clear?"

"Perfectly, " came back his response instantly; but I could sense therebellion in his mind. Kincaid and I were old friends, as well as fellowofficers. 

I smiled at him reassuringly, and directed my orders to the waiting men. 

"You are aware of the fate of the two ships of the Patrol that havealready landed here, " I thought slowly, to be sure they understoodperfectly. "What fate overtook them, I do not know. That is what we arehere to determine. "

"It is obvious that this is a dangerous mission. I'm ordering none ofyou to go. Any man who wishes to be relieved from landing duty mayremain inside the ship, and may feel it no reproach. Those who do goshould be constantly on the alert, and keep in formation; the usualcolumn of twos. Be very careful, when stepping out of the ship, toadjust your stride to the lessened gravity of this small world. Watchthis point!" I turned to Dival, motioned him to fall in at my side. Without a backward glance, we marched out of the ship, treading verycarefully to keep from leaping into the air with each step. 

Twenty feet away, I glanced back. There were fourteen men behind me--nota man of the landing crew had remained in the ship!

"I am proud of you men!" I thought heartily: and no emanation from anymenore was ever more sincere. 

 * * * * *

Cautiously, eyes roving ceaselessly, we made our way towards the twosilent ships. It seemed a quiet, peaceful world: an unlikely place fortragedy. The air was fresh and clean, although, as Dival had predicted, rarefied like the air at an altitude. The willow-like trees that hemmedus in rustled gently, their long, frond-like branches with their rustygreen leaves swaying. 

"Do you notice, sir, " came a gentle thought from Dival, an emanationthat could hardly have been perceptible to the men behind us, "thatthere is no wind--and yet the trees, yonder, are swaying and rustling?"

I glanced around, startled. I had not noticed the absence of a breeze. 

I tried to make my response reassuring:

"There is probably a breeze higher up, that doesn't dip down into thislittle clearing, " I ventured. "At any rate, it is not important. Theseships are what interest me. What will we find there?"

"We shall soon know, " replied Dival. "Here is the _Dorlos_; the secondof the two, was it not?"

"Yes. " I came to a halt beside the gaping door. There was no soundwithin, no evidence of life there, no sign that men had ever crossedthat threshold, save that the whole fabric was the work of man's hands. 

"Mr. Dival and I will investigate the ship, with two of you men, " Idirected. "The rest of the detail will remain on guard, and give thealarm at the least sign of any danger. You first two men, follow us. "The indicated men nodded and stepped forward. Their "Yes, sirs" camesurging through my menore like a single thought. Cautiously, Dival at myside, the two men at our backs, we stepped over the high threshold intothe interior of the _Dorlos_. 

The _ethon_ tubes overhead made everything as light as day, and sincethe _Dorlos_ was a sister ship of my own _Kalid_, I had not theslightest difficulty in finding my way about. 

There was no sign of a disturbance anywhere. Everything was in perfectorder. From the evidence, it would seem that the officers and men of the_Dorlos_ had deserted the ship of their own accord, and--failed toreturn. 

"Nothing of value here, " I commented to Dival. "We may as well--"

There was a sudden commotion from outside the ship. Startled shoutsrang through the hollow hull, and a confused medley of excited thoughtscame pouring in. 

With one accord the four of us dashed to the exit, Dival and I in thelead. At the door we paused, following the stricken gaze of the mengrouped in a rigid knot just outside. 

Some, forty feet away was the edge of the forest that hemmed us in. Aforest that now was lashing and writhing as though in the grip of someterrible hurricane, trunks bending and whipping, long branches writhing, curling, lashing out--

"Two of the men, sir!" shouted a non-commissioned officer of the landingcrew, as we appeared in the doorway. In his excitement he forgot hismenore, and resorted to the infinitely slower but more natural speech. "Some sort of insect came buzzing down--like an Earth bee, but larger. One of the men slapped it, and jumped aside, forgetting the low gravityhere. He shot into the air, and another of the men made a grab for him. They both went sailing, and the trees--_look!_"

But I had already spotted the two men. The trees had them in their grip, long tentacles curled around them, a dozen of the great willow-likegrowths apparently fighting for possession of the prizes. And allaround, far out of reach, the trees of the forest were swayingrestlessly, their long, pendulous branches, like tentacles, lashing outhungrily. 

"The rays, sir!" snapped the thought from Dival, like a flash oflightning. "Concentrate the beams--strike at the trunks--"

"Right!" My orders emanated on the heels of the thought more quicklythan one word could have been uttered. The six men who operated thedisintegrator rays were stung out of their startled immobility, and thesoft hum of the atomatic power generators deepened. 

"Strike at the trunks of the trees! Beams narrowed to minimum! Action atwill!"

The invisible rays swept long gashes into the forest as the trainerssquatted behind their sights, directing the long, gleaming tubes. Branches crashed to the ground, suddenly motionless. Thick brown dustdropped heavily. A trunk, shortened by six inches or so, dropped intoits stub and fell with a prolonged sound of rending wood. The treesagainst which it had fallen tugged angrily at their trapped tentacles. 

One of the men rolled free, staggered to his feet, and came lurchingtowards us. Trunk after trunk dropped onto its severed stub and fellamong the lashing branches of its fellows. The other man was caught fora moment in a mass of dead and motionless wood, but a cunningly directedray dissolved the entangling branches around him and he lay there, freebut unable to arise. 

 * * * * *

The rays played on ruthlessly. The brown, heavy powder was falling likegreasy soot. Trunk after trunk crashed to the ground, slashed intofragments. 

"Cease action!" I ordered, and instantly the eager whine of thegenerators softened to a barely discernible hum. Two of the men, underorders, raced out to the injured man: the rest of us clustered aroundthe first of the two to be freed from the terrible tentacles of thetrees. 

His menore was gone, his tight-fitting uniform was in shreds, andblotched with blood. There was a huge crimson welt across his face, andblood dripped slowly from the tips of his fingers. 

"_God!_" he muttered unsteadily as kindly arms lifted him with eagertenderness. "They're alive! Like snakes. They--they're _hungry_!"

"Take him to the ship, " I ordered. "He is to receive treatmentimmediately, " I turned to the detail that was bringing in the othervictim. The man was unconscious, and moaning, but suffering more fromshock than anything else. A few minutes under the helio emanations andhe would be fit for light duty. 

 * * * * *

As the men hurried him to the ship, I turned to Dival. He was standingbeside me, rigid, his face very pale, his eyes fixed on space. 

"What do you make of it, Mr. Dival?" I questioned him. 

"Of the trees?" He seemed startled, as though I had aroused him fromdeepest thought. "They are not difficult to comprehend, sir. There arenumerous growths that are primarily carnivorous. We have the fintal vineon Zenia, which coils instantly when touched, and thus traps many smallanimals which it wraps about with its folds and digests throughsucker-like growths. 

"On your own Earth there are, we learn, hundreds of varieties ofinsectivorous plants: the Venus fly-trap, known otherwise as the DionaeaMuscipula, which has a leaf hinged in the median line, with teeth-likebristles. The two portions of the leaf snap together with considerableforce when an insect alights upon the surface, and the soft portions ofthe catch are digested by the plant before the leaf opens again. Thepitcher plant is another native of Earth, and several varieties of itare found on Zenia and at least two other planets. It traps its gamewithout movement, but is nevertheless insectivorous. You have anotherspecies on Earth that is, or was, very common: the Mimosa Pudica. Perhaps you know it as the sensitive plant. It does not trap insects, but it has a very distinct power of movement, and is extremelyirritable. 

"It is not at all difficult to understand a carniverous tree, capable ofviolent and powerful motion. This is undoubtedly what we have here--adecidedly interesting phenomena, but not difficult of comprehension. "

It seems like a long explanation, as I record it here, but emanated asit was, it took but an instant to complete it. Mr. Dival went onwithout a pause:

"I believe, however, that I have discovered something far moreimportant. How is your menore adjusted, sir?"

"At minimum. "

"Turn it to maximum, sir. "

I glanced at him curiously, but obeyed. New streams of thought poured inupon me. Kincaide . .. The guard at the exit . .. _and something else_. 

I blanked out Kincaide and the men, feeling Dival's eyes searching myface. There was something else, something--

I focused on the dim, vague emanations that came to me from the circletof my menore, and gradually, like an object seen through heavy mist, Iperceived the message:

"Wait! Wait! We are coming! Through the ground. The trees . .. Disintegrate them . .. All of them . .. All you can reach. But not theground . .. Not the ground. .. . "

"Peter!" I shouted, turning to Dival. "That's Peter Wilson, secondofficer of the _Dorlos_!"

Dival nodded, his dark face alight. 

"Let us see if we can answer him, " he suggested, and we concentrated allour energy on a single thought: "We understand. We understand. "

The answer came back instantly:

"Good! Thank God! Sweep them down, Hanson: every tree of them. Kill them. .. Kill them . .. Kill them!" The emanation fairly shook with hate. "Weare coming . .. To the clearing . .. Wait--and while you wait, use yourrays upon these accursed hungry trees!"

Grimly and silently we hurried back to the ship. Dival, the savant, snatching up specimens of earth and rock here and there as we went. 

 * * * * *

The disintegrator rays of the portable projectors were no more than toyscompared with the mighty beams the _Kalid_ was capable of projecting, with her great generators to supply power. Even with the beams narrowedto the minimum, they cut a swath a yard or more in diameter, and theirrange was tremendous; although working rather less rapidly as thedistance and power decreased, they were effective over a range of manymiles. 

Before their blasting beams the forest shriveled and sank into tumbledchaos. A haze of brownish dust hung low over the scene, and I watchedwith a sort of awe. It was the first time I had ever seen the rays atwork on such wholesale destruction. 

A startling thing became evident soon after we began our work. Thisworld that we had thought to be void of animal life, proved to beteeming with it. From out of the tangle of broken and harmless branches, thousands of animals appeared. The majority of them were quite large, perhaps the size of full-grown hogs, which Earth animal they seemed toresemble, save that they were a dirty yellow color, and had strong, heavily-clawed feet. These were the largest of the animals, but therewere myriads of smaller ones, all of them pale or neutral in color, andapparently unused to such strong light, for they ran blindly, wildlyseeking shelter from the universal confusion. 

Still the destructive beams kept about their work, until the scenechanged utterly. Instead of resting in a clearing, the _Kalid_ was inthe midst of a tangle of fallen, wilting branches that stretched like agreat, still sea, as far as the eye could see. 

"Cease action!" I ordered suddenly. I had seen, or thought I had seen, ahuman figure moving in the tangle, not far from the edge of theclearing. Correy relayed the order, and instantly the rays were cut off. My menore, free from the interference of the great atomic generators ofthe _Kalid_, emanated the moment the generators ceased functioning. 

"Enough. Hanson! Cut the rays; we're coming. "

"We have ceased action; come on!"

I hurried to the still open exit. Kincaide and his guards were staringat what had been the forest; they were so intent that they did notnotice I had joined them--and no wonder!

A file of men were scrambling over the debris; gaunt men withdishevelled hair, practically naked, covered with dirt and the greasybrown dust of the disintegrator ray. In the lead, hardly recognizable, his menore awry upon his tangled locks, was Peter Wilson. 

"Wilson!" I shouted; and in a single great leap I was at his side, shaking his hand, one arm about his scarred shoulders, laughing andtalking excitedly, all in the same breath. "Wilson, tell me--in God'sname--what has happened?"

He looked up at me with shining, happy eyes, deep in black sockets ofhunger and suffering. 

"The part that counts, " he said hoarsely, "is that you're here, and we'rehere with you. My men need rest and food--not too much food, at first, for we're starving. I'll give you the story--or as much of it as Iknow--while we eat. "

I sent my orders ahead; for every man of that pitiful crew of survivors, there were two eager men of the _Kalid's_ crew to minister to him. Inthe little dining salon of the officers' mess, Wilson gave us the story, while he ate slowly and carefully, keeping his ravenous hunger in check. 

"It's a weird sort of story, " he said. "I'll cut it as short as I can. I'm too weary for details. 

"The _Dorlos_, as I suppose you know, was ordered to L-472 to determinethe fate of the _Filanus_, which had been sent here to determine thefeasibility of establishing a supply base here for a new interplanetaryship line. 

"It took us nearly three days, Earth time, to locate this clearing andthe _Filanus_, and we grounded the _Dorlos_ immediately. Ourcommander--you probably remember him, Hanson: David McClellan? Big, red-faced chap?"

I nodded, and Wilson continued. 

"Commander McClellan was a choleric person, as courageous a man as everwore the blue and silver of the Service, and very thoughtful of his men. We had had a bad trip; two swarms of meteorites that had worn our nervesthin, and a faulty part in the air-purifying apparatus had nearly doneus in. While the exit was being unsealed, he gave the interior crewpermission to go off duty, to get some fresh air, with orders, however, to remain close to the ship, under my command. Then, with the usuallanding crew, he started for the _Filanus_. 

"He had forgotten, under the stress of the moment, that the force ofgravity would be very small on a body no larger than this. The resultwas that as soon as they hurried out of the ship, away from theinfluence of our own gravity pads, they hurtled into the air in alldirections. "

Wilson paused. Several seconds passed before he could go on. 

"Well, the trees--I suppose you know something about them--reached outand swept up three of them. McClellan and the rest of the landing crewrushed to their rescue. They were caught up. _God!_ I can see them . .. Hear them . .. Even now!

"I couldn't stand there and see that happen to them. With the rest ofthe crew behind me, we rushed out, armed only with our atomic pistols. We did not dare use the rays; there were a dozen men caught upeverywhere in those hellish tentacles. 

"I don't know what I thought we could do. I knew only that I must dosomething. Our leaps carried us over the tops of the trees that werefighting for the . .. The bodies of McClellan and the rest of the landingcrew. I saw then, when it was too late, that there was nothing we coulddo. The trees . .. Had done their work. They . .. They were _feeding_. .. . 

"Perhaps that is why we escaped. We came down in a tangle of whippingbranches. Several of my men were snatched up. The rest of us saw howhelpless our position was . .. That there was nothing we could do. Wesaw, too, that the ground was literally honeycombed, and we dived downthese burrows, out of the reach of the trees. 

"There were nineteen of us that escaped. I can't tell you how welived--I would not if I could. The burrows had been dug by the pig-likeanimals that the trees live upon, and they led, eventually, to theshore, where there was water--horrible, bitter stuff, but not salty, andapparently not poisonous. "

We lived on these pig-like animals, and we learned something of theirway of life. The trees seem to sleep, or become inactive, at night. Notunless they are touched do they lash about with their tentacles. Atnight the animals feed, largely upon the large, soft fruit of thesetrees. Of course, large numbers of them make a fatal step each night, but they are prolific, and their ranks do not suffer. 

"Of course, we tried to get back to the clearing, and the _Dorlos_;first by tunneling. That was impossible, we found, because the rays usedby the _Filanus_ in clearing a landing place had acted somewhat upon theearth beneath, and it was like powder. Our burrows fell in upon usfaster than we could dig them out! Two of my men lost their lives thatway. 

"Then we tried creeping back by night; but we could not see as can theother animals here, and we quickly found that it was suicide to attemptsuch tactics. Two more of the men were lost in that fashion. That leftfourteen. 

"We decided then to wait. We knew there would be another ship along, sooner or later. Luckily, one of the men had somehow retained hismenore. We treasured that as we treasured our lives. To-day, when, deepin our runways beneath the surface, we felt, or heard, the crashing ofthe trees, we knew the Service had not forgotten us. I put on themenore; I--but I think you know the rest, gentlemen. There were elevenof us left. We are here--all that is left of the _Dorlos_ crew. We foundno trace of any survivor of the _Filanus_; unaware of the possibility ofdanger, they were undoubtedly, all the victims of . .. The trees. "

Wilson's head dropped forward on his chest. He straightened up with astart and an apologetic smile. 

"I believe, Hanson, " he said slowly, "I'd better get . .. A little . .. Rest, " and he slumped forward on the table in the death-like sleep ofutter exhaustion. 

 * * * * *

There the interesting part of the story ends. The rest is history, andthere is too much dry history in the Universe already. 

Dival wrote three great volumes on L-472--or Ibit, as it is called now. One of them tells in detail how the presence of constantly increasingquantities of volcanic ash robbed the soil of that little world of itsvitality, so that all forms of vegetation except the one became extinct, and how, through a process of development and evolution, those treesbecame carniverous. 

The second volume is a learned discussion of the tree itself; it seemsthat a few specimens were spared for study, isolated on a peninsula ofone of the continents, and turned over to Dival for observation anddissection. All I can say for the book is that it is probably accurate. Certainly it is neither interesting nor comprehensible. 

And then, of course, there is his treatise on ocrite: how he happenedto find the ore, the probable amount available on L-472--or Ibit, if youprefer--and an explanation of his new method of refining it. I saw himfrantically gathering specimens while we were getting ready to leave, but it wasn't until after we had departed that he mentioned what he hadfound. 

 * * * * *

I have a set of these volumes somewhere; Dival autographed them andpresented me with them. They established his position, I understand, inhis world of science, and of course, the discovery of this new source ofocrite was a tremendous find for the whole Universe; interplanetarytransportation wouldn't be where it is to-day if it were not for thisinexhaustible source of power. 

Yes, Dival became famous--and very rich. 

I received the handshakes and the gratitude of the eleven men werescued, and exactly nine words of commendation from the Chief of mysquadron: _"You are a credit to the Service, Commander Hanson!"_

Perhaps, to some who read this, it will seem that Dival fared betterthan I. But to men who have known the comradeship of the outer space, the heart-felt gratitude of eleven friends is a precious thing. And toany man who has ever worn the blue and silver uniform of the SpecialPatrol Service, those nine words from the Chief of Squadron will soundstrong. 

Chiefs of Squadrons in the Special Patrol Service--at least in thosedays--were scanty with praise. It may be different in these days of softliving and political pull. 

[Illustration]

Marooned Under the Sea

_By Paul Ernst_

 (Editor's note: This document, written on a curious kind of parchment and tied to a piece of driftwood, was reported to have been picked out of the sea near the Fiji Islands. The first and last pages were so water soaked as to be indecipherable. )

Yacht _Rosa_ was due to leave the San Francisco harbor in two hours. 

We were going on some mysterious cruise to the South Seas, the detailsof which I did not know. 

[Sidenote: Three men stick out a strange and desperate adventure amongthe incredible monsters of the dark sea floor. ]

"Professor George Berry, the famous zoologist, and myself are going todo some exploring that is hazardous in the extreme, " Stanley had said. "For purely mechanical reasons we need a third. You are young and haveno family ties, so I thought I'd ask you to go with us. I'd rather not tell you what it's all about until we are on our way. "

[Illustration: _"Look at the cable!" called Stanley. _]

That was all the explanation he had given. It was sufficient. I wasfed-up with life just then: I had enough money to avoid work and wastired of playing. 

"I must warn you that you'll risk your life in this, " he had continued, in answer to my acceptance of his invitation. 

And I had replied that the hazard, whatever it might be, only made thetrip appear more desirable. 

So here I was, on board the yacht, about to sail for far places on somescientific mission which had so far been kept veiled in secrecy andwhich was represented as "hazardous in the extreme. " It soundedattractive!

 * * * * *

Stanley came aboard accompanied by a lean, wiry man with iron gray hairand cool, alert black eyes. 

"Hello, Martin, " Stanley greeted me. "I want you to meet ProfessorBerry, the real leader of this expedition. Professor, this youngred-head is Martin Grey, a sort of nephew by adoption who knows moreabout night life than most cabaret proprietors--and not much of anythingelse. He has shaken the dangers of the gold-diggers to face with us thedangers of the tropic seas. "

The professor gripped my hand, and his cool black eyes gazed into minewith a kind of friendly frostiness. 

"Don't pay any attention to him, " he advised me. "Twenty years ago, whenI first met him, he was on his way to Africa to shoot elephants becausesome revue beauty had just thrown him over and he felt he ought to dosomething big and heroic about it. It was shortly afterward that hedecided to stay a bachelor all his life, and became such a confirmedwoman hater. "

He smiled thinly at Stanley's prod in the ribs, and the two went below, talking and laughing with the intimacy of old friendship. 

I stayed on deck and soon found myself watching, with no little wonder, an enormous truck and trailer arrangement that drew up on the dockheavily loaded with a single immense crate. It was for us. I speculatedas to what it could possibly contain. 

It was a twenty or twenty-five-foot cube solidly braced with strap-ironand steel brackets. It evidently contained something fragile. Theyacht's donkey engine lowered a hook for it, and swung it over the sideand into the hold as daintily as though it had been packed withexplosives. 

The last of the ship's stores followed it over the side: the group ofnewspaper reporters who had been trying to pump the captain and firstmate for a story were warned to leave, and we were ready to go. Precisely where and for what purpose?

I was to find out almost immediately. 

Even as the yacht nosed superciliously away from the dock, the stewardapproached me with the information that lunch was ready. I went to thesmall, compactly furnished dining salon, where I was joined by Stanleyand the professor. 

 * * * * *

There were only the three of us at the table. Stanley Browne, noted biggame hunter and semi-retired owner of the great Browne Glassworks atAltoona, a man fifteen years my senior but tanned and fit looking;Professor Berry, well known in scientific circles; and myself, known inno branch of activity save the one Stanley had jested about--the nightlife of my home city, Chicago. 

"It's time you knew just what you're up against, " said Stanley to meafter the consomme had been served. "Now that we've actually sailed, there's no longer any need for secrecy. Indeed there never has beenurgent need of it: the Professor and myself merely thought we mightprovoke incredulity and comment if we stated the purpose of our trippublicly. "

He buttered a roll. 

"We--the Professor and you and I--are going in for some deep sea diving. And when I say deep, I mean deep. We are going to investigate conditionsas they exist one mile down from the surface of the ocean. "

"A mile!" I exclaimed. "Why--"

There I stopped. I had only a layman's knowledge of such matters. But Iknew that the limit of man's submersion, till then at any rate, was amatter of a few hundred feet. 

"Sounds incredible, doesn't it, " said Stanley with a smile. "But that'swhat we're going to do--if the Professor's gadget works as he seems tothink it will. "

"I don't think it, I know it, " retorted the Professor. "And man, man, the things we may see down there! New and unknown species--a world nohuman has ever seen before--perhaps the secret of all of life--"

"Dragons, sea-serpents, and what not!" Stanley finished with a grin. 

"Or, possibly--nothing at all. " The Professor shrugged. "I mustn't letmy scientific curiosity run away with me. Perhaps we'll find no newthing down down. Our deep sea dredging and classification may alreadyembrace most of the forms of life in the greater depths. "

"If it does I want my money back, " said Stanley. "When you asked me tofinance this expedition for you, I agreed on condition that you wouldshow me a thrill--some _real_ big game, even if I would not be able toshoot it. If we draw blank--"

"The mere descent should satisfy you, my adventuring friend, " repliedthe Professor brusquely. "I think you'll find that thrilling enough. "

"But--a mile under the surface!" I marveled, feeling not entirelycomfortable. "The pressure! Enormous! It can't be done! That is, I mean, can it be done?"

"It had better be, " said Stanley with a humor that I did not entirelyappreciate. "If it isn't, the three of us are going to be pressed outlike three sheets of tissue paper! For we are assuredly going down thatfar in the Professor's gadget. "

"Was that the thing I saw hoisted aboard just before we left?"

"That was it. We'll stroll around after lunch and look it over. "

If I had taken this cruise in search of distraction--I was surely goingto be successful! That was plain!

"Just where are we going?" I asked. "You said something about the SouthSeas, but you've named no special part of them. "

"We're bound for Penguin Deep. That's a delightful little dimple in theKermadec Trough, which, " Stanley explained, "is north-northeast of NewZealand almost halfway up to the Fiji Islands. Penguin Deep is ticketedat five thousand one hundred and fifty feet, but it probably runs deeperin spots. "

The rest of the meal was consumed in silence. I hardly tasted what Iate; I remember that. Over five thousand feet down--where no man hadever ventured before! Could we make it?

I tried to recall my neglected physics lessons and compute the pressurethat far down. I couldn't. But I knew it must be an appalling total oftons to the square inch. What possible arrangement could they havebrought in which to make that awful descent?

And, if the descent were accomplished, what in the world would we seewhen we got down there? Gigantic, hitherto unknown fishes? Marinegrowths, hair animal and half vegetable?

Decidedly, hot rolls and salad, cutlets and baked potatoes, good as theywere, could not distract attention from the crowding questions thatassailed me. And I could see that Stanley and the Professor were alsofar away in their thoughts--probably already exploring Penguin Deep. 

 * * * * *

After lunch we went forward to look at the Professor's gadget, asStanley insisted on calling it. 

It had been carefully unpacked by the crew while we ate, and itshimmered in the electric lighted hold like a great bubble. 

It was a giant glass sphere, polished and flawless. Inside it could bemade out various objects--a circular bench arrangement on a woodenflooring, batteries that filled the cup between the floor and the bottomarc of the sphere, tall metal cylinders, a small searchlight set next toa mechanism that was indeterminate. At three equidistant points on thesides there were glass handles, as thick as a man's thigh, cast integralwith the walls. On the top there was a smaller handle. 

At first glance the sphere seemed all in one piece, with the centralobjects cast inside like a toy ship in a sealed bottle. Then amathematically precise ring of prismatic reflections showed me that thetop third of the ball was a separate piece, fitting conically down likethe tapered glass stopper of a monstrous perfume bottle. The handle onthe top was for the purpose of lifting this giant's teapot lid, andallowing entrance into the sphere. 

"Isn't it a beauty?" murmured Stanley. "It ought to be, " he added. "Itcost me eighty-six thousand to make it in my own glass factory. Elevencastings before this one came along that was reasonably free of flaws. Twenty-two feet six inches over all, walls five feet thick, new formulaunbreakable glass, four men working a month to grind the lid into place, tolerance limits plus or minus zero. "

He slapped the Professor's shoulders. "Let's go in and look over theapparatus. "

 * * * * *

To accommodate the huge ball a well had been constructed in the Rosa'shold. This brought the deck we were standing on up to within six feet ofthe top ring, above which was rigged a chain hoist for lifting theponderous lid. 

The hoist was revolved, the conical top was swung free, and we clamberedinto our unique diving shell. 

The tall cylinders were revealed as great flasks of compressed air. Theindeterminate thing beside the searchlight turned out to be a hand pump, geared to work against heavy pressure. From the suction chamber of thisthree tubes extended. 

"We inhale the air of the chamber, " the Professor explained to me, "andexhale through the tubes into the pump cylinder. Breathe in through thenose and out through the mouth. The pump piston is forced down by thisgeared handle, sending the used air out of the shell through thissixteenth-inch hole. A ball check valve keeps the water from squirtingin when the exhaust pressure is released. "

He pointed to a telegraphic key which completed a circuit from thebatteries in the bottom of the ball to a thread of copper cast throughthe lid. 

"That's your plaything, Martin. You are to raise or lower us by pressingthat key. It controls the donkey engine electrically, so that we guideour own destinies though we are a mile beneath our power plant. Stanleyworks the pump. I direct the searchlight, write down notes, and, Isincerely hope, take snapshots of deep sea life. "

For a moment my part of the labor seemed so easy as to be unfair. Merelyto sit there and punch a little key at raising and lowering time! But asI thought it over it began to appear more difficult. 

The _Rosa_ could not anchor, of course, in a mile of water. We woulddrift helplessly. If we approached an undersea cliff I must raise us atonce to prevent us being smashed against it. And if the cliff were toolofty to be cleared in time. .. . 

I mentioned this to the Professor. 

"That would be unfortunate, " he said, with his frosty smile. "Stanleyassures us this glass is unbreakable. He means commercially unbreakable. What would happen to it if it were submitted to the strain of beingflung against a rock pile--in addition to the enormous stress of thewater pressure--I don't know. It's your job to see that we don't have tofind out!"

 * * * * *

It had been planned to test the sphere empty first to see how it stoodthe strain. 

We drifted to a full stop over the center of Penguin Deep where we wereto gamble our lives in a game with Neptune. Sea anchors were rigged tolessen our drift and the donkey engine was geared to the first cabledrum. 

There was an impressive row of these drums, each holding an interminablelength of three-quarter-inch cable. The bulk of a mile of steel cablehas to be seen to be believed!

The glass sphere was lifted from the hold, delicately for all itsenormous weight, and swung over the rail preparatory to being loweredinto the depths. 

Not until that moment did I notice two things: that there was nofastening of any kind to keep the thick lid in place: and that thethree-quarter-inch cable looked like a pack thread in comparison to theponderous bulk it strained to support. 

"We couldn't use a heavier cable, " said the Professor, "because of thestrain. We're overloading the hoist as it is. As for the lid beingfastened down--I think you'll find it will be pressed into placesecurely enough!"

There was unanimous silence as the great globe slipped into thesea--down and down until the last reflection of the morning sun ceasedto shimmer from its surface. Drum after drum was played out, till thefirst mate held his hand up to check the engineer. 

"Five thousand feet, sir, " he called to Stanley. 

"Haul it back up. And let us hope, " Stanley added fervently, "that we'llfind the gadget in one piece. "

 * * * * *

The engine began to snort rhythmically. Dripping, vibrating, the coilsof cable began to crawl back in place on the drums. There was a glintunder the surface again as the sunlight reflected on the nearing sphere. 

The great ball flashed out of the water, and a cheer burst from thethroats of all of us. It was absolutely unharmed. Only--there was abeading of fine moisture inside the thick globe. What that could mean, none of us could figure out. 

"Difference in temperature?" worried the Professor. "No, it's as coldinside as out. Molecules of water driven by sheer pressure through fivefeet of glass to unite in drops on the inside? Possibly. Well, there'sone way to find out. Stanley, Martin--are you ready?"

We nodded, and prepared to visit the bottom a mile below the _Rosa's_keel. The preparation consisted merely in donning heavy, fleece-linedjumpers to protect us from the cold of the sunless depths. 

Soberly we entered the ball to undergo whatever ordeal awaited us onthe distant ocean floor. How comparative distance is! A mile walk in thecountry--it is nothing. A mile ascent in an airplane--a trifle. But amile descent into pitch black, bone chilling depths of water--that is animmense distance!

Copper wire, on a separate drum, was connected from the engine switch tothe copper thread that curled through the glass wall to my telegraphickey. We strapped the mouthpieces of the breathing tubes over our heads, and Browne started the slow turning of the compression pump. 

The Professor snapped the searchlight on and off several times to seethat it was in working shape. He raised his hand, I pressed the key, andthe long descent began. 

 * * * * *

That plunge into the bottomless depths remains in my memory almost asclearly as the far more fantastic adventures that came to us later. 

Smoothly, rapidly, the yellow-green of the surface water dimmed toolive. This in turn grew blacker and blacker. Then we were slipping downinto pitch darkness--a big bubble lit by a meagre lamp and containingthree fragile human beings that dared to trust the soft pulp of theirbodies to the crushing weight of the deepest ocean. 

The most impressive thing was the utter soundlessness of our descent. Atfirst there had been a pulsing throb of the donkey engine transmitted tous by the sustaining cable. This died as we slid farther from the Rosa. At length it was hushed entirely, cushioned by the springy length ofsteel. There was no stir, no sound of any kind. As far as our sensescould tell us, we were hanging motionless in the pressing, awesomeblackness. 

The Professor switched off our light and turned on the searchlight whichhe trained downward through the wall at as steep an angle as theflooring would permit. Even then the illusion of motionlessness waspreserved. There was nothing in the water to mark our progress. Wemight have been floating in a back void of space. 

Down and down we went, for an interminable length of time--till atlength we reached the abysmal level where the sun never shone and theeyes of man had never gazed till now. 

 * * * * *

Words were made to describe familiar articles. I find now when I amfaced with the necessity of portraying events and objects beyond therange of normal human experience that I cannot conjure up words to fit. I despair of trying to make you see what we saw, and feel what we felt. 

But try to picture yourself in the glass ball with us:

All is profound blackness save for a streak of white, dying about fiftyfeet away, which is the beam of our searchlight. Twenty feet below is abare floor of flinty lava and broken shell. This is unrelieved bysea-weed of any kind, appearing like an imagined fragment of Martian orlunar landscape. 

The ball sways idly to the push of some explicable submarine current. Itis like being in a captive balloon, except that the connecting cableextends stiffly upward instead of downward. 

There is a realization, an instinctive _feel_ of awful pressure aroundyou. Logic tells you how you are clamped about, but deeper than logic isthe intuition that the glass walls are pressing in on themselves--at thepoint of collapse. Your ears, tingle with the feel of it: your headrings with it. 

You are breathing in through your nose--thin, unsatisfying gulps of airthat cause your lungs to labor at their task; and you are exhalingthrough, your mouth, with difficulty, into the barrel of the powerfulpump. No bubbles arise from the tiny hole where the used air is forcedinto the water. The pressure is too enormous for that. Only a thin, milky line marks its escape from the sphere. 

In a ghostly way you see Stanley turning the pump handle. With a handfulof waste which he has borrowed from the _Rosa's_ engine room, theProfessor wipes from the section of wall through which the searchlightplays the moisture that constantly collects there. I sit with my handnear the key, peering downward and ahead like an engineer in alocomotive cab, ready to raise the shell or lower it as occasionwarrants. 

And always the suffocating awareness of pressure. .. . 

 * * * * *

Strange and mystic journey as the tortured glass sphere floated over thebottom, following the slow drift of the _Rosa_ far above!

The finger of light played along the tilted side of a wrecked trampsteamer. There was a crumpled gash in the bow. From this ragged holesuddenly appeared a great, serpentine form. .. . 

The Professor clutched at his camera, pointed it, and clenched his handsin a frenzy of disappointment. The serpent shape had disappeared backinto the hull. A little later and we had drifted slowly past the wreck. 

"Damn it!" the Professor snatched away his mouthpiece to exclaim: "If wecould only _stop_. "

The bottom changed character shortly after we had passed the hulk. Webegan to creep over low, gently rounded mounds. 

These were so regular in form that they were puzzling. About fifty feetacross and ten in altitude, they looked artificial in theirsymmetry--like great saucers set on the ocean floor bottom side up. Theytook on a dirty black hue as our light struck them, and glowed with afaint phosphorescence as they stretched away into the darkness. 

A twelve-foot monstrosity, all toad-like head and eyes, swam into thelight beam and bumped blindly against the glass ball. For an instant itgoggled crazily at us. The Professor took its picture. It blunderedaway. As it reached the darkness beyond the beam it, too, showedphosphorescent. A belt of blue-white spots like the portholes of aliner extended down its ugly sides. 

Along the bottom, between the curious mounds, writhed a wormlike thing. But it was too huge to be described as truly wormlike--it was eighteenor twenty feet long and a foot thick. It was blood red, almost bluntended and patently without eyes. 

I took my gaze off it for an instant. When I looked again it haddisappeared. I blinked at this seeming miracle and then discovered afoot or so of its tail protruding from under the edge of one of themounds. It was threshing furiously about. 

 * * * * *

It was at this instant that I suddenly found increased difficulty, andglanced at Stanley. 

He had stopped pumping and was clutching at the Professor's arm with onehand while he pointed down with the other. The Professor motioned himtoward the pump, and began to click pictures furiously with the camerapointed at the nearest mound. 

Wondering at the urgency of Stanley's gesture and the frantic clickingof the camera shutter, I looked more closely at the curious, saucerlikehump. 

Under closer inspection something remarkably like a huge, mud-coloredeye was revealed! And as we drifted along, twenty feet away on thefarther slope, another appeared!

Paralyzed, I stared at the edges of the thing. They were waving almostimperceptibly up and down, _creeping_!

The mounds were living creatures! Acres and acres of them lyinglethargically on the bottom waiting for something to crawl within rangeof their monstrous edges!

Involuntarily I pressed the key to raise us. But we had gone only a fewfeet when the Professor called to me. 

"Down again, Martin. I don't think these things will bother us unless wescrape against them. Anyway they can't hurt the shell. "

I lowered the ball to our former twenty-foot level, and there we swungjust over the monsters' backs. 

 * * * * *

The Professor had said that the giant inverted saucers would probablynot bother us if we did not come in contact with them. It soon becameapparent that, in a measure, he was right. The creatures either couldnot or would not lift their enormous bulks from the sea floor. 

A gigantic wriggling thing, all grotesque fringe and tentacles, drifteddown into the range of our light. Lower it floated until it hovered justabove one of the larger mounds. The Professor got its portrait. At thesame instant, as though it had heard the click of the shutter and beenfrightened by it, the thing dropped another foot--and touched thesloping back. 

With the speed of light the inverted saucer became a cup. Like aclenching fist, the cup closed over one of the straggling tentacles. 

There followed a tug of war that was all the more ghastly for itssoundlessness. The hunted jerked spasmodically to get away from thehunter. So wild were its efforts that several times it raised themonster clear of the bottom for a foot or so. But the grim clutch couldnot be broken. 

Closer and closer it was dragged. Then, after a supreme paroxysm, thetentacle parted and the prey escaped. The tentacle disappeared into themass of the baffled hunter. It made no attempt to follow the fleeingcreature. It slowly relaxed along the bottom and waited for its nextmeal. 

The unearthly incident gave us fresh confidence, convincing us that themonsters did not move unless they were directly touched. Of course wecould not foresee the fatal accident that was going to put us withinreach of one of the giant saucers. 

 * * * * *

We thought for awhile that these great blobs of cold life were thelargest creatures of the depths. It was soon made clear to us howmistaken that notion was!

For a time we gazed spellbound at the nightmare assortment ofgrotesqueries that gradually assembled around us, attracted no doubt byour light. The things were mainly sightless and of indescribable shape. Most of them were phosphorescent, and they avoided collisions in a waythat suggested that they had some buried sense of light perception. 

As time passed the Professor emptied his camera, refilled it severaltimes and groaned that he had no more film. Twice as we drifted along Iraised us to keep us clear of a gradual upward slope of the smoothfloor. 

Stanley removed his mouthpiece long enough to suggest that we go back tothe surface: we had been submerged for nearly four hours now. But beforewe could reply a violent movement was felt. 

The ball rocked and twirled so that we were forced to cling to thecircular bench to avoid being thrown to the floor. It was as though ahurricane of wind had suddenly penetrated the unruffled depths. 

"Earthquake?" called Stanley. 

"Don't know, " answered the Professor. He swung the searchlight in an arcand focussed it at length on something that appeared only as a field ofblurred movement. He wiped the moisture from the wall before the lens, and there was revealed to us a sight that makes my heart pound even nowwhen I recall it to memory. 

Something vast and serpentine had ventured too near the bottom--and hadbeen caught by the death traps there!

The creature was a writhing mass of gigantic coils. It was impossibleeven to guess at its length, but its girth was such that themound-shaped monsters that had fastened to it could not entirelyencircle it. 

There it twined and knotted: a mighty serpent of the deepest ocean, snapping its awful length and threshing its powerful tail in an effortto dislodge the giant leeches that were flattened against it. And everytime it touched the bottom in its blind frenzy, more of the teemingdeathtraps attached themselves to it, crawling over their fellows in aneffort to find unoccupied areas. 

 * * * * *

Soon the sea-serpent was a distorted, creeping mass. For one appallinginstant its head came into our view. .. . 

It resembled the head of a crocodile, only it was ten times larger andcovered with scale like the armor plate of a destroyer. The jaws, wideopen and slashing with enormous, needle-shaped teeth at the hugeparasites, were large enough to have held our glass sphere. One eyeappeared. It was at least three feet across and of a shimmering amethystcolor. 

One of the deadly saucers wrapped itself around the great head. Theentire mass of attackers and attacked settled slowly to the bottom. 

But before it completely succumbed the beaten monster gave one last, convulsive flick of its tail. .. . 

"Good God!" cried Stanley, shrinking away from the pump and staringupward. 

I followed his gaze with my own eyes. 

In the faint reflected glow of the searchlight I could see row on row oflarge cups flattened against the top of the ball. As I watched theseflattened still more and the big sphere quivered perceptibly. 

In its death struggle the mighty serpent had flicked one of the hugeleeches against us. It now clung there with blind tenacity, coveringnearly two-thirds of our shell with the underside of its body. 

I reached for the control key to send us to the surface. 

"Don't!" snapped the Professor. "The weight--"

He needed to say no more. My hand recoiled as though the key had beenred hot. 

The three-quarter-inch cable above us was now sustaining, in addition toits own huge weight, our massive glass ball and the appalling tonnageof this grim blanket of flesh that encircled us. Could it further holdagainst the strain of lifting that combined tonnage through the press ofthe water? Almost certainly it could not!

There was nothing we could do but hang there and discover at first handexactly what happened to things that were clamped in those mighty, living vises!

 * * * * *

The Professor turned on the interior bulb. The result was ghastly. Itshowed every detail of the belly of the thing that gripped us. 

Crowded over its entire under surface were gristly, flattened suckers. Now and then a convulsive ripple ran through its surface tissue andgreat ridges of flesh stood out. With each squeeze the glass shellquivered ominously as though the extreme limit of its pressure resistingpower were being reached--and passed. 

"A nice fix, " remarked the Professor, his calm, dry voice acting like atonic in that moment of fear. "If we try to go up, the cable wouldprobably break. If we try to outlast the patience of this thing we mightrun out of air, or actually be staved in. "

He paused thoughtfully. 

"I suggest, though, that we follow the latter course for awhile atleast. It would be just too bad if that cable broke, gentlemen!"

Stanley shuddered, and looked at the dirty white belly that pressedagainst the glass walls on all sides. 

"I vote we stay here for a time. "

"And I, " was my addition. 

I relieved Stanley at the pump. He and the Professor sat down on thebench. Casting frequent glances at the constricted blanket of flesh thatcovered us, we prepared to wait as composedly as we might for the thingto give up its effort to smash our shell. 

 * * * * *

The hour that followed was longer than any full day I have ever livedthrough. Had I not confirmed the passage of time by looking at mywatch, I would have sworn that at least twenty hours had passed. 

Every half-minute I gazed at that weaving pattern of cup-shaped suckersonly five feet away, trying to see if they were relaxing in theirpressure. I attempted to persuade myself that they were. But I knew Iwas only imagining it. Actually they were pressed as flat as ever, andthe sphere still quivered at regular intervals as the heavy bodysqueezed in on itself. There was no sign that its blind, mindlesspatience was becoming exhausted. 

There was little conversation during that interminable hour. 

Stanley grinned wryly once and commented on the creature'sdisappointment if it actually succeeded in getting at us. 

"We'd be scattered all over the surrounding half mile by the pressure ofthe water, " he said. "There'd be nothing left for our pet to feed on butfive-foot chunks of broken glass. Not a very satisfying meal. "

"We might try to reason with the thing--point out how foolish it is towaste its time on us, " I suggested, trying to appear as nonchalant as hewas. 

The Professor said nothing. He was coolly writing in his notebook, describing minutely the appearance of our abysmal captor. 

Finally I chanced to look down through a section of wall not covered byour stubborn enemy. I wiped the moisture from the glass before thesearchlight so that I could see more clearly. 

 * * * * *

The bottom seemed to be heaving up and down. I blinked my eyes andlooked again. It was not an illusion. With a regular dip and rise wewere approaching to within a few feet of the rocky floor and moving backup again. Also we were floating faster than at anytime previous. Thebottom was bare again; we had left the crowding, ominous mounds. 

I waved to the Professor. He snapped his notebook shut and stared at theuneasy ocean bottom. 

"I've been hoping I was wrong, " he said simply. "I thought I felt a wavymotion fifteen minutes ago, and it seemed to me to increase steadily. "

The three of us stared at each other. 

"You mean . .. " began Stanley with a shudder. 

"I mean that the _Rosa_, one mile above us, is having difficulties. Astorm. Judging from our movement it must be a hurricane: the length ofcable would cushion us from any average wave, and we are rising andfalling at least fifteen feet. "

"My God!" groaned Stanley. "The _Rosa_ is already heeled with the weightof us. She could never weather a hurricane!"

The plight of the crew above our heads was as clear to us as though wehad been aboard with them. 

Should they cut the cable, figuring that the lives of the three of uswere certainly not to be set against the thirty on the yacht?

Should they disconnect the electric control and try to haul us upregardless?

Or should they try to ride out the storm in spite of being crippled bythe drag of us?

"I think if I were up there I'd cut us adrift, " said Stanley grimly. Both the Professor and myself nodded. "Though, " he added hopefully, "mycaptain is a good gambler. .. . "

 * * * * *

The cable quivered like a live thing under the terrific strain. At eachdownward swoop, before the upswing began, there was a sickening sag. 

"We no longer have a decision to make, " said the Professor. "Press thekey, Martin, and God grant we can rise with all this dead weight. "

And at that instant the crew of the _Rosa_ were also relieved of thenecessity for making a decision. 

At the bottom of one of those long, sickening falls there was ajerk--and we continued on down to the ocean floor!

The sphere rolled over, jumbling the equipment in a tangled mess withthe three of us in the center, bruised and cut. The light snapped off asthe battery connections were torn loose. 

There we lay at the bottom of Penguin Deep, in an inert sphere that wasdead and dark in the surrounding blackness--a coffin of glass to hold usthrough the centuries. .. . 

 * * * * *

"Martin, " I heard the Professor's voice after a time. "Stanley--caneither of you move? I'm caught. "

"I'm caught, too, " came Stanley's gasping answer. "Something on myleg--feels like it's broken. "

A heavy object was pressing across my body. With an effort I freedmyself and fumbled in the pitch darkness for the other two. 

"Lights first, " commanded the Professor. "The pump, you know. "

I did know! Frantically I scrambled in the dark till I located thebatteries. They were right side up and still wired together. 

The air grew rapidly foul with no one at the pump. Panting for breath Iblundered at the task of connecting the light. After what seemed aneternity I accomplished it. 

The light revealed Stanley with an air tank lying across his leg. Themouthpiece of his breathing tube had been forced back over his head, gashing his face in its journey. His face was white with pain. 

The Professor was caught under the heavy bench. I freed him and togetherwe attended to Stanley, finding that his leg wasn't broken but onlybadly bruised. 

The mound-shaped monster, dislodged possibly by the fall, was nowhere tobe seen. 

I resumed work at the pump, the connections of which were so stronglycontrived that they had withstood the shock of the upset. 

For a moment we were content to rest while the air grew purer. Then wewere forced squarely to face our fate. 

 * * * * *

The Professor summed up the facts in a few concise words. 

"We're certainly doomed! Here at the bottom of Penguin Deep we're as outof reach of help as though we were stranded on the moon. We're as goodas dead right now. "

"If we have nothing left to hope for, " whispered Stanley after a time, "we might as well close the air valves and get it over with at once. Nouse torturing ourselves. .. . "

The Professor moistened his lips. 

"It might be wise. " He turned to me. "What's your opinion, Martin?"

But I--I confess I had not the stark courage of these two. 

"No! No!" I cried out. "Let's keep on living as long as the air holdsout. Something might happen--"

I avoided their eyes as I said it, utterly ashamed of my cowardlyquibbling with death. What in the name of God could possibly happen tohelp us?

The Professor shrugged dully, and nodded. 

"I feel with Stanley that we ought to get it over in one short stab. Butwe have no right to force you. .. . " His voice trailed off. 

We readjusted our mouthpieces. I turned automatically at the pump; andwe silently awaited the last suffocating moment of our final doom. 

 * * * * *

As before, attracted by the light, a strange assortment of deep-sea lifewriggled and darted about us, swimming lazily among the looped coils andtwists of our cable which had settled down around us. 

Among these were certain fish that resembled great porcupines. Spines afoot and a half long, like living knife blades, protected them from theattacks of other species. 

They were the only things we saw that were not constantly writhing awayfrom the jaws of some hostile monster--the only things that seemed ableto swim about their own affairs without even deigning to watch fordanger. 

Fascinated, I watched the six-foot creatures. Here were we, reasoninghumans, supposed lords of creation, slowly but surely perishing--whileonly a few feet away one of the lowest forms of life could exist inperfect safety and tranquility!

Then, as I watched them, I seemed to see a difference in some of them. 

The majority of them had two fins just behind the gill slits, typicalfish tails and blunt, sloping heads. But now and then I saw a spinedmonster that was queerly unlike its fellows. 

Instead of two front fins, these unique ones had two vacant round holes. The head looked as though it had forgotten to grow; its place was takenby an eyeless, projecting, shield shaped cap. And there was no tail. 

Glad to find something to distract my half crazed thoughts, I studiedthe nearest of these. 

They moved slower than their tailed and finned brothers, I noticed. Iwondered how they could move at all, lacking in any kind of motive poweras they seemed to be. 

Next instant the secret of their movement was made clear!

 * * * * *

Out of the empty fin holes of the creature I was studying crept twolong, powerful looking tentacles. But these were not true tentacles. There were no vacuum discs on them, and they moved as though supportedby jointed bones--like arms. 

The arms ended in flat paddles that resembled hands. These threshed thewater in a sort of breast-stroke, propelling the body forward. 

Shortly after the arms had appeared, the spiny head cap was cautiouslyextended a few inches forward from the main shell. Further it wasextended as the head of a turtle might slowly appear from the protectionof its bony case. And under it--

"Professor!" I screamed wildly. "My God! Look!"

Both the Professor and Stanley merely stared dully at me. I babbled ofwhat I had seen. 

"A man! A human looking thing, anyway! Arms and a head! A man inside afish's spined hide--like armor!"

They looked pityingly at me. The Professor laid his hand on my shoulder. 

"Now, now, " he soothed, "don't go to pieces--"

"I tell you I saw it!" I shouted. Then, shrinking from the hystericalloudness of my own voice, I lowered my tone. "Something that looks humanhas occupied some of those prickly, six-foot shells. I saw arms--and aman's head! I swear it!"

"Nonsense! How could a human being stand the cold, the pressure--"

Here I happened to glance at the wall of the shell through which thesearchlight shone. 

"Look! See for yourself!"

 * * * * *

Squarely in the rays of the light showed a head, projecting from one ofthe shells and capped with a wide flat helmet of horned bone. 

There were eyes and nose and mouth placed on one side of that head--aface! There were even tabs of flesh or bony protuberances that resembledears. 

"Curious, " muttered the Professor, staring. "It certainly looks humanenough to talk. But it's only a fish, nevertheless. See--in the throatare gill slits. "

"But the eyes! Look at them! They're not the eyes of a fish!"

And they were not. There was in them a light of reason, of intelligence. Those eyes were roaming brightly over us, observing the light, theequipment, seeming to note our amazement as we crowded to look at it. 

The sphere rocked slightly. Behind the staring, manlike visitor therewas a glimpse of enormous, crocodile jaws and huge, amethyst eyes. Instantly the head and arms receded, leaving an empty-seeming, lifelessshell. An impregnable fortress of spines, the thing drifted slowly awaythrough the twisted loops of cable. 

"It certainly looked like--" began Stanley shakily. 

"The creature was just a fish, " said the Professor shaking his head atthe light in Stanley's eyes. "Some sort of giant parasite that inhabitsthe shells of other fish. "

He opened the valve of the last air cylinder and seated himselfresignedly on the bench. 

"We have another half hour or so--"

All of us suddenly put out our hands to brace ourselves. The sphere hadmoved. 

"Look at the cable!" called Stanley. 

We did so. It was moving, writhing away from us over the bottom asthough abruptly given life of its own. Coil after coil disappeared intothe further gloom. 

At length the cable was straight. The ball moved again--was dragged afew feet along the rocky floor. 

Something--possessed of incredibly vast power--had seized the end of thesteel cable and was reeling us in as a fisherman reels in a trout!

 * * * * *

Slowly, unsteadily, we slid along the ocean floor. Ahead of us appeareda jagged black wall--a cliff. There was a gloomy hole at its base. Toward this we were being dragged by whatever it was that had caught theend of the cable. 

Helpless, we watched ourselves engulfed by the murky den. In the beam ofthe searchlight we saw that the submarine cavern extended on and on foran unguessable depth. The cable, taut with the strain, stretched aheadout of sight. 

Time had been lost track of during that mysterious, ominous journey. Itwas recalled to us by the state of the air we were breathing. 

The Professor removed his mouthpiece and cast the tube aside. 

"You might as well stop pumping, Martin, " he said quietly. "We're done. There's no more air in the flask. "

We stared at each other. Then we shook hands, solemnly, tremulously, taking leave of each other before we departed on that longest of alljourneys. .. . 

The air in that small space was rapidly exhausted. We lay on the floor, laboring for breath, and closed our eyes. .. . 

The Professor, the oldest of the three of us, succumbed first. I heardhis breath whistle stertorously and, glancing at him, saw that he was ina coma. In a moment Stanley had joined him in blessed unconsciousness. 

I could feel myself drifting off. .. . Hammers beat at my ears. .. . Daggerspierced my heaving lungs. .. . 

Hazily I could see scores of the bristly, manlike fish when I opened myeyes and glanced through the walls. It was not one monster then, butmany that had brought us to their lair. Abruptly, as though a signal hadbeen given, they all streamed back toward the mouth of the cavern. .. . 

My eyesight dimmed. .. . The hammers pulsed louder. .. . A veil descendedover my senses and I knew no more. .. . 

 * * * * *

A soft, sustained roar came to my ears. Through my closed eyelids Icould sense light. A dank, fishy smell came to my nostrils. 

I groaned and moved feebly, finding that I was resting on something softand pleasant. 

Dazedly I opened my eyes and sat up. An exclamation burst from me as Isuddenly remembered what had gone before, and realized that somehow, incredibly, I was still living. 

Feeling like a man who has waked from a nightmarish sleep to findhimself in his tomb, I gazed about. 

I was in a long, lofty rock chamber, the uneven floor of which wascovered with shallow pools of water. The further end was ofsmooth-grained stone that resembled cement. The near end was rough likethe walls; but in it there was a small, symmetrical arch, the mouth of apassage leading away to some other point in the bowels of the earth. 

The place was flooded with clear light that had a rosy tinge. From myposition on the floor I could not see what made the light. It streamedfrom a crevice that extended clear around the cave parallel with thefloor and about twelve feet above it. From this groove, along with thelight, came the soft roaring hiss. 

Beside me was the glass ball, the cover off and lying a few feet awayfrom the opening in the top. There was no trace of Stanley or theProfessor. 

I rose from my couch, a thick, mattresslike affair of soft, pliant hide, and walked feebly toward the small arch in the near end of the cave. 

Even as I approached it I heard footsteps, and voices resounded in someslurring, musical language. Half a dozen figures suddenly came intoview. 

They were men, as human as myself! Indeed, as I gazed at them, I feltinclined to think they were even more human!

 * * * * *

They were magnificent specimens. The smallest could not have been lessthan six feet three, and all of them were muscular and finelyproportioned. Their faces were arresting in their expression of calmstrength and kindliness. They looked like gods, arrayed in soft, thick, beautifully tanned hides in this rosy tinted hole a mile below theocean's top. 

They stared at me for an instant, then advanced toward me. My face musthave reflected alarm, for the tallest of them held up his hand, palmoutward, in a peaceful gesture. 

The leader spoke to me. Of course the slurred, melodious syllable meantnothing to me. He smiled and indicated that I was to follow him. I didso, hardly aware of what I was doing, my brain reeling in an attempt tograsp the situation. 

How marvelous, how utterly incredible, to find human beings here! Howmany were there? Where had they come from? How had they salvaged us fromPenguin Deep? I gave it up, striding along with my towering guards likea man walking in his sleep. 

At length the low passageway ended, and I exclaimed aloud at what I saw. 

I was looking down a long avenue of buildings, all three stories inheight. There were large door and window apertures, but no doors norwindow panes. In front of each house was a small square with--wonder ofwonders!--a lawn of whitish yellow vegetation that resembled grass. Insome of the lawns were set artistic fountains of carved rock. 

I might have been looking down any prosperous earthly subdivision, savefor the fact that the roofs of the houses were the earth itself, whichthe building walls, in addition to functioning as partitions, served tosupport. Also earthly subdivisions aren't usually illuminated with rosylight that comes softly roaring from jets set in the walls. 

 * * * * *

We were walking toward a more brightly lighted area that showed ahead ofus. On the way we passed intersections where other, similar streetsbranched geometrically away to right and left. These were smaller thanthe one we were on, indicating that ours was Main Street in this bizarresubmarine city. 

Faces appeared at door and window openings to peer at me as we passed. And even in that jumbled moment I had time to realize that these folkcould restrain curiosity better than we can atop the earth. There was nohub-bub, no running out to tag after the queerly dressed foreigner andshout humorous remarks at him. 

We approached the bright spot I had noticed from afar. It was an opensquare, about a city block in area, in the center of which was a royallooking building covered with blazing fragments of crystal and sobrilliantly resplendent with light that it seemed to glow at the heartof a pink fire. 

I was led toward this and in through a wide doorway. As courteously asthough I were a visiting king, I was conducted up a great staircase, down a corridor set with more of the sparkling crystals and into a huge, low room. There my escort bowed and left me. 

 * * * * *

Still feeling that I could not possibly be awake and seeing actualthings, I glanced around. 

In a corner was another of the mattresslike couches made of the thick, soft hide that seemed to be the principal fabric of the place. A fewfeet away was a table set with dishes of food in barbaric profusion. None of the viands looked familiar but all appealed to the appetite. Thefloor was strewn with soft skins, and comfortable, carved benches werescattered about. 

I walked to the window and looked out. Underneath was a plot of thecream colored grass through which ran a tiny stream. This widened atintervals into clear pools beside which were set stone benches. Ahundred yards away was the edge of the square, where the regular, threestoried houses began. 

While I was staring at this unearthly vista, still unable to think withany coherence. I heard my name called. I turned to face Stanley and theProfessor. 

 * * * * *

Both were pale in the rose light, and Stanley limped with the pain ofhis bruised leg: but both had recovered from their partial suffocationas completely as had I. 

"We thought perhaps you'd decided to swim back up to the _Rosa_ andleave us to our fates, " said Stanley after we had stopped pumping eachother's arms and had seated ourselves. 

"And I thought--well, I didn't think much of anything, " I replied. "Iwas too busy straining my eyesight over the wonders of this city. Didyou ever see anything like it?"

"We haven't seen it at all, save for a view from the windows, " saidStanley. "All we know of the place is that a while ago we woke up in aroom like this, only much smaller and less lavish. I wonder why you ratethis distinction?"

I described the streets as I had seen them. (It is impossible for me tothink of them as anything but streets; it would seem as though the rockroof over all would give the appearance of a series of tunnels; but Ihad always the impression of airiness and openness. )

"Light and heat are furnished by natural gas, " said the Professor when Iremarked on the perfection of these two necessities. "That's what makesthe low roaring noise--the thousands of burning jets. But the presenceof gas here isn't as unusual as the presence of air. Where does thatcome from? Through wandering underground mazes, from some cave mouth inthe Fiji Islands to the north? That would indicate that all the eartharound here is honeycombed like a gigantic section of sponge. Iwonder--"

"Have you any idea how we were rescued?" I interrupted, a littleimpatient of his abstract scientific ponderings. 

"We have, " said Stanley. "A woman told us. We woke up to find hernursing us--gorgeous looking thing--finest woman I've ever seen, andI've seen a good many--"

"She didn't exactly 'tell' us, " remarked the Professor with his thinsmile. Women were only interesting to him as biological studies. "Shedrew a diagram that explained it. 

"That tunnel, Martin, was like the outer diving chamber of a submarine. We were hauled in on a big windlass--driven by gas turbines, I think. Once we were inside, a twenty-yard, counterbalanced wall of rock waslowered across the entrance. Then the water was drained out through awell, and into a subterranean body of water that extends under theentire city. And here we are. "

We fell silent. Here we were. But what was going to happen to us amongthese friendly-seeming people; and how--if ever--we were going to getback to the earth's surface, were questions we could not even try toanswer. 

 * * * * *

We ate of the appetizing food laid out on the long table. Shortlyafterward we heard steps in the corridor outside the room. 

A woman entered. She was ravishingly beautiful, tall, slender butsymmetrically rounded. A soft leather robe slanted upward across herbreast to a single shoulder fastening and ended just above her knees ina skirt arrangement. Around her head was a regal circlet of silvery graymetal with a flashing bit of crystal set in the center above her broad, low forehead. 

She smiled at Stanley who looked dazzled and smiled eagerly back. 

She pointed toward the door, signifying that we were to go with her. Wedid so; and were led down the great staircase and to a huge room thattook up half the ground floor of the building. And here we met thenobility of the little kingdom--the upper class that governed theimmaculate little city. 

They were standing along the walls, leaving a lane down the center ofthe room--tall, finely modelled men and women dressed in the singlegarments of soft leather. There were people there with gray hair andwisdom wrinkled faces; but all were alike in being erect of body, firmof bearing and in splendid health. 

They stopped talking as we entered the big room. Our gaze strayed aheaddown the lane toward the further wall. 

Here was a raised dais. On it was a gleaming crystal encrusted throne. And occupying it was the most queenly, exquisitely beautiful woman Ihad ever dreamed about. 

 * * * * *

Woman? She was just a girl in years in spite of her grave and royal air. Her eyes were deep violet. Her hair was black as ebony and gleaming withsudden glints of light. Her skin--

But she cannot be described. Only a great painter could give a hint ofher glory. Too, I might truthfully be described as prejudiced about herperfections. 

The Queen, for patently she was that, bowed graciously at us. It seemedto me--though I told myself that I was an imaginative fool--that hereyes rested longest on me, and had in them an expression not granted tothe Professor or Stanley. 

She spoke to us a melodious sentence or two, and waved her beautifulhand in which was a short ivory wand, evidently a scepter. 

"She's probably giving us the keys to the city, " whispered Stanley. Heedged nearer the fair one who had conducted us. "I sincerely hopethere's room here for us. "

The open lane closed in on us. Men and women crowded about us speakingto us and smiling ruefully as they realized we could not understand. Inoticed that, for some curious reason, they seemed fascinated by thecolor of my hair. Red-haired men were evidently scarce there. 

At length the beauty who had so captured Stanley's fancy, and who seemedto have been appointed a sort of mentor for us, suggested in signlanguage that we might want to return to our quarters. 

It was a welcome suggestion. We were done in by the experiences andemotions that had gripped us since leaving the _Rosa_ such an incrediblyfew hours ago. 

We went back to the second floor. I to my luxurious big apartment andStanley and the Professor to their smaller but equally comfortablerooms. 

 * * * * *

A pleasant period slid by, every waking hour of which was filled withnew experiences. 

The city's name, we found, was Zyobor. It was a perfect littlecommunity. There were artisans and thinkers, artists and laborers--allalike in being physically perfect beyond belief and cultured as no raceon top the ground is cultured. 

As we began to learn the language, more exact details of the practicalmethods of existence were revealed to us. 

The surrounding earth furnished them with building materials, metals andunlimited gas. The sea, so near us and yet so securely walled away, gavethem food. Which warrants a more detailed description. 

We were informed that the manlike, two-armed fishes were the servants ofthese people--domesticated animals, in a sense, only of an extremelyhigh order of intelligence. They were directed by mental telepathy(Every man, woman and child in Zyobor was skilled at thought projection. They conversed constantly, from end to end of the city, by mentaltelepathy. )

Protected in their spined shells, which they captured from the schoolsof porcupine fish that swarmed in Penguin Deep, they gathered seavegetation from the higher levels and trapped sea creatures. These werebrought into the subterranean chamber where our glass ball now reposed. Then the chamber was emptied of water and the food was borne to thecity. 

The vast army of mound-fish provided the bulk of the population's food, and also furnished the thick, pliant skin they used for clothing anddrapes. They were cultivated as we cultivate cattle--an ominous herd, tobe handled with care and approached by the fish-servants with duecaution. 

Thus, with all reasonable wants satisfied, with talent and brains todesign beautiful surroundings, lighted and warmed by inexhaustiblenatural gas, these fortunate beings lived their sheltered lives intheir rosy underground world. 

At least I thought their lives were sheltered then. It was only later, when talking to the beautiful young Queen, that I learned of the dreadmenace that had begun to draw near to them just a short time before wewere rescued. .. . 

 * * * * *

My first impression, when we had entered the throne room that first day, that the Queen had regarded me more intently than she had Stanley or theProfessor, had been right. It pleased her to treat me as an equal, andto give me more of her time than was granted to any other person in thecity. 

Every day, for a growing number of hours, we were together in herapartment. She personally instructed me in the language, and such was mydesire to talk to this radiant being that I made an apt pupil. 

Soon I had progressed enough to converse with her--in a stilted, incorrect way--on all but the most abstract of subjects. It was a finelanguage. I liked it, as I liked everything else about Zyobor. The upperearth seemed far away and well forgotten. 

Her name, I found, was Aga. A beautiful name. .. . 

"How did your kingdom begin?" I asked her one day, while we were sittingbeside one of the small pools in the gardens. We were close together. Now and then my shoulder touched hers, and she did not draw away. 

"I know not, " she replied. "It is older than any of our ancient recordscan say. I am the three hundred and eleventh of the present reigningline. "

"And we are the first to enter thy realm from the upper world?"

"Thou art the first. "

"There is no other entrance but the sea-way into which we were drawn?"

"There is no other entrance. "

 * * * * *

I was silent, trying to realize the finality of my residence here. 

At the moment I didn't care much if I never got home!

"In the monarchies we know above, " I said finally, avoiding her violeteyes, "it is not the custom for the queen--or king--to reign alone. Aconsort is chosen. Is it not so here? Has thou not, among thy nobles, some one thou hast destined--"

I stopped, feeling that if she dismissed me in anger and never spoke tome again the punishment would be just. 

But she wasn't angry. A lovely tide of color stained her cheeks. Herlips parted, and she turned her head. For a long time she said nothing. Then she faced me, with a light in her eyes that sent the blood racingin my veins. 

"I have not yet chosen, " she murmured. "Mayhap soon I shall tell theewhy. "

She rose and hurried back toward the palace. But at the door shepaused--and smiled at me in a way that had nothing whatever to do withqueenship. 

 * * * * *

As the time sped by the three of us settled into the routine of the cityas though we had never known of anything else. 

The Professor spent most of his time down by the sea chamber where thefood was dragged in by the intelligent servant-fish. 

He was in a zoologist's paradise. Not a creature that came in there hadever been catalogued before. He wrote reams of notes on the parchmentpaper used by the citizens in recording their transactions. Particularlywas he interested in the vast, lowly mound-fish. 

One time, when I happened to be with him, the receding waters of thechamber disclosed the body of one of the odd herdsmen of these deep seaflocks. Then the Professor's elation knew no bounds. We hurried forwardto look at it. 

"It is a typical fish, " puzzled the Professor when we had cut the bodyout of its usurped armor. "Cold blooded, adapted to the chill andpressure of the deeps. There are the gills I observed before . .. Yet itlooks very human. "

It surely did. There were the jointed arms, and the rudimentary hands. Its forehead was domed; and the brain, when dissected, proved muchlarger than the brain of a true fish. Also its bones were not those of amammal, but the cartilagenous bones of a fish. It was not quite six feetlong; just fitted the horny shell. 

"But its intelligence!" fretted the Professor, glorying in his inabilityto classify this marvelous specimen. "No fish could ever attain suchmental development. Evolution working backward from human to reptile andthen fish--or a new freak of evolution whereby a fish on a short cuttoward becoming human?" He sighed and gave it up. But more reams ofnotes were written. 

"Why do you take them?" I asked. "No one but yourself will ever seethem. "

 * * * * *

He looked at me with professorial absent-mindedness. 

"I take them for the fun of it, principally. But perhaps, sometime, wemay figure out a way of getting them up. My God! Wouldn't my learnedbrother scientists be set in an uproar!"

He bent to his observations and dissections again, cursing now and thenat the distortion suffered by the specimens when they were released fromthe deep sea pressure and swelled and burst in the atmospheric pressurein the cave. 

Stanley was engrossed in a different way. Since the moment he laid eyeson her, he had belonged to the stately woman who had first nursed himback to consciousness. Mayis was her name. 

From shepherding the three of us around Zyobor and explaining itsmarvels to us, she had taken to exclusive tutorship of Stanley. AndStanley fairly ate it up. 

"You, the notorious woman hater, " I taunted him one time, "the warybachelor--to fall at last. And for a woman of another world--almost ofanother planet! I'm amazed!"

"I don't know why you should be amazed, " said he stiffly. 

"You've been telling me ever since I was a kid that women were alluseless, all alike--"

"I find I was mistaken, " he interrupted. "They aren't all alike. There'sonly one Mayis. She is--different. "

"What do you talk about all the time? You're with her constantly. "

"I'm not with her any more than you're with the Queen, " he shot back atme. "What do you find to talk about?"

That shut me up. He went to look for Mayis; and I wandered to the royalapartments in search of Aga. 

 * * * * *

In the first days of our friendship I had several times surprised inAga's eyes a curious expression, one that seemed compounded of despair, horror and resignation. 

I had seen that same expression in the eyes of the nobles of late, andin the faces of all the people I encountered in the streets--who, Imustn't forget to add here, never failed to treat me with a deferencethat was as intoxicating as it was inexplicable. 

It was as though some terrible fate hovered over the populace, somedreadful doom about which nothing could be done. No one put into wordsany fears that might confirm that impression; but continually I got theidea that everybody there went about in a state of attempting to livenormally and happily while life was still left--before some awful, wholesale death descended on them. 

At last, from Aga, I learned the fateful reason. 

But first--a confession that was hastened by the knowledge of the fateof the city--I learned from her something that changed all of life forme. 

 * * * * *

We were surrounded by the luxury of her private apartment. We sat on alow divan, side by side. I wanted, more than anything I had ever wantedbefore, to put my arms around her. But I dared not. One does not makelove easily to a queen, the three hundred and eleventh of a proud line. 

And then, as maids have done often in all countries, and, perhaps, onall planets, she took the initiative herself. 

"We have a curious custom in Zyobor of which I have not yet told thee, "she murmured. "It concerns the kings of Zyobor. The color of theirhair. "

She glanced up at my own carrot-top, and then averted her gaze. 

"For all of our history our kings have had--red hair. On the fewoccasions when the line has been reduced to a lone queen, as in my case, the red-haired men of the kingdom have striven together in public combatto determine which was most powerful and brave. The winner became theQueen's consort. "

"And in this case?" I asked, my heart beginning to pound madly. 

"In my case, my lord, there is to be no--no striving. When I was a childour only two red-haired males died, one by accident, one by sickness. Now there are none others but infants, none of eligible age. But--by amiracle--thou--"

She stopped; then gazed up at me from under long, gold flecked lashes. 

"I was afraid . .. I was doomed to die . .. Alone. .. . "

 * * * * *

It was after I had replied impetuously to this, that she told me of theterror that was about to engulf all life in the beautiful undersea city. 

"Thou hast wonder, perhaps, why I should be forward enough to tell theethis instead of waiting for thine own confession first, " she faltered. "Know, then--the reason is the shortness of the time we are fated tospend together. We shall belong each to the other only a little while. Then shall we belong to death! And I--when I knew the time was to be sobrief--"

And I listened with growing horror to her account of the enemy that wasadvancing toward us with every passing moment. 

 * * * * *

About twenty miles away, in the lowest depression of Penguin Deep, liveda race of monsters which the people of Aga's city called Quabos. 

The Quabos were grim beings that were more intelligent than Aga'sfish-servants--even, she thought, more intelligent than humansthemselves. They had existed in their dark hole, as far as the Zyobitesknew, from the beginning of time. 

Through the countless centuries they had constructed for themselves avast series of dens in the rock. There they had hidden away from thedeep-sea dangers. They, too, preyed on the mound-fish; but as there wasplenty of food for all, the Zyobites had never paid much attention tothem. 

But--just before we had appeared, there had come about a subterraneanquake that changed the entire complexion of matters in Penguin Deep. 

The earthquake wiped out the elaborately burrowed sea tunnels of theQuabos, killing half of them at a blow and driving the rest out into theunfriendly openness of the deep. 

Now this was fatal to them. They were not used to physical self defense. During the thousands of years of residence in their sheltered burrowsthey had become utterly unable to exist when exposed to the primevaldangers of the sea. It was as though the civilization-softened citizensof New York should suddenly be set down in a howling wilderness withnothing but their bare hands with which to contrive all the necessitiesof a living. 

 * * * * *

Such was the situation at the time Stanley, the Professor and myselfarrived in Zyobor. 

The Quabos must find an immediate haven or perish. On the ocean bottomthey were threatened by the mound-fish. In the higher levels they werein danger from almost everything that swam: few things were sodefenceless as themselves after their long inertia. 

Their answer was Zyobor. There, in perfect security, only to be reachedby the diving chamber that could be sealed at will by the twenty-yard, counterbalanced lock, the Quabos would be even more protected than intheir former runways. 

So--they were working day and night to invade Aga's city!

"But Aga, " I interrupted impulsively at this point. "If these monstersare fishes, how could they live here in air--"

I stopped as my objection answered itself before she could reply. 

They would not have to live in air to inhabit Zyobor. They wouldinundate the city--flood that peaceful, beautiful place with the awfulpressure of the lowest depths!

That thought, in turn, suggested to me that every building in Zyoborwould be swept flat if subjected suddenly to the rush of the sea. Thegreat low cavern, without the support of the myriad walls, wouldprobably collapse--trapping the invading Quabos and leaving the restwithout a home once more. 

But Aga answered this before I could voice it. 

The Quabos had foreseen that point. They were tunneling slowly butsurely toward the city from a point about half a mile from the divingchamber. And as they advanced, they blocked up the passageway behindthem at intervals, drilled down to the great underground sea that laybeneath all this section, and drained a little of the water away. 

 * * * * *

In this manner they lightened, bit by bit, the enormous weight of theocean depths. When the city was finally reached, not only would it beensured against sudden destruction but the Quabos themselves would havebecome accustomed to the difference in pressure. Had they goneimmediately from the accustomed press of Penguin Deep into theatmosphere of Zyobor, they would have burst into bits. As it was theywould be able to flood the city slowly, without injury to themselves. 

"Now thou knowest our fate, " concluded Aga with a shudder. "Zyobor willbe a part of the great waters. We ourselves shall be food for thesemonsters. .. . " She faltered and stopped. 

"But this cannot be!" I exclaimed, clenching my fists impotently. "There_must_ be something we can do; some way--"

"There is nothing to be done. Our wisest men have set themselvessleeplessly to the task of defence. There it no defence possible. "

"We can't simply sit here and wait! Your people are wonderful, but thisis no time for resignation. Send for my two friends, Aga. We will have acouncil of war, we four, and see if we can find a way!"

She shrugged despairfully, started to speak, then sent in quest ofStanley and the Professor. 

 * * * * *

They as well as myself, had had no idea of the menace that crept nearerus with each passing hour. They were dumbfounded, horrified to learn ofthe peril. We sat awhile in silence, realizing our situation to thefull. 

Then the Professor spoke:

"If only we could see what these things look like! It might help inplanning to defeat them. "

"That can be done with ease, " said Aga. "Come. "

We went with her to the gardens and approached the nearest pool. 

"My fish-men are watching the Quabos constantly. They report to me bytelepathy whenever I send my thoughts their way. I will let you see, onthe pool, the things they are now seeing. "

She stared intently at the sheet of water. And gradually, as we watched, a picture appeared--a picture that will never fade from my memory in anysmallest detail. 

The Quabos had huddled for protection into a large cave at the foot ofthe cliff outside Zyobor. There were a great many Quabos, and the cavewas relatively confining. Now we saw, through the eyes of the spineprotected outpost of the Queen, these monstrous refugees crowdedtogether like sheep. 

The watery cavern was a creeping mass of viscous tentacles, enormousstaring eyes and globular heads. The cave was paved three deep with thehorrible things, and they were attached to the it walls and roof insolid blocks. 

"My God!" whispered Stanley. "There are thousands of them!"

 * * * * *

There were. And that they were in distress was evident. 

The layers on the floor were weaving and shifting constantly as thebottom creatures struggled feebly to rise to the top of the mass and berelieved of the weight of their brothers. Also they were famished. .. . 

One of the blood red, gigantic worms floated near the cave entrance. Like lightning the nearest Quabos darted after it. In a moment the preywas torn to bits by the ravenous monsters. 

The other side of the story was immediately portrayed to us. 

With the emerging of the reckless Quabos, a sea-serpent appeared fromabove and snapped up three of their number. Evidently the huge serpentconsidered them succulent tidbits, and made it its business to wait nearthe cave and avail itself of just such rash chance-taking as this. 

While we watched the nightmare scene, a Quabo disengaged itself from theparent mass and floated upward into the clear, giving us a chance to seemore distinctly what the creatures looked like. 

There was a black, shiny head as large as a sugar barrel. In this wereeyes the size of dinner plates, and gleaming with a cold, hellishintelligence. Four long, twining tentacles were attached directly tothe head. Dotted along these were rudimentary sucker discs, that hadevidently become atrophied by the soft living of thousands of thecreature's ancestors. 

As though emerging from the pool into which we were gazing, the monsterdarted viciously at us. At once it disappeared: the fish-servant throughwhose eyes we were seeing all this had evidently retreated from theapproach; although, protected by its spines, it could not have been inactual danger. 

"How dost thou know of the tunneling?" I asked Aga. "Thy fish-men cannotbe present there, in the rear of the tunnel, to report. "

"My artisans have knowledge of each forward move, " she answered. "I willshow thee. "

 * * * * *

We walked back to the palace and descended to a smooth-lined vault. There we saw a great stone shaft sunk down into the rock of the floor. On this was a delicate vibration recording instrument of some sort, witha needle that quivered rhythmically over several degrees of an arc. 

"This tells of each move of the Quabos, " said Aga. "It also tells uswhere they will break through the city wall. How near to us are they, Kilor?" she asked an attendant who was studying the dial, and who hadbowed respectfully to Aga and myself as we approached. 

"They will break into the city in four rixas at the present rate ofadvance, Your Majesty. "

Four rixas! In a little over sixteen days, as we count time, the city ofZyobor would be delivered into the hands--or, rather, tentacles--of theslimy, starving demons that huddled in the cavern outside!

Somberly we followed Aga back to her apartment. 

 * * * * *

"As thou seest, " she murmured, "there is nothing to be done. We can onlyresign ourselves to the fate that nears us, and enjoy as much as may bethe few remaining rixas. .. . "

She glanced at me. 

The Professor's dry, cool voice cut across our wordless, engrossedcommunion. 

"I don't think we'll give up quite as easily as all that. We can atleast try to outwit our enemies. If it does nothing else for us, theeffort can serve to distract our minds. "

He drew from his pocket a sheet of parchment and the stub of his lastremaining pencil. His fingers busied themselves apparently idly in thetracing of geometric lines. 

"Looking ahead to the exact details of our destruction, " he musedcoolly, "we see that our most direct and ominous enemy is the seaitself. When the city is flooded, we drown--and later the Quabos canenter at will. "

He drew a few more lines, and marked a cross at a point in the outer rimof the diagram. 

"What will happen? The Quabos force through the last shell of the citywall. The water from their tunnel floods into Zyobor. But--and mark mewell--_only_ the water from the tunnel! The outer end, remember, isblocked off in their pressure-reducing process. The vast body of the seaitself cannot immediately be let in here because the Quabos must take aslong a time to re-accustom themselves to its pressure as they did towork out of it. "

He spread the parchment sheet before us. 

"Is this a roughly accurate plan of the city?" he asked Aga. 

She inclined her lovely head. 

"And this, " indicating the cross, "is the spot where the Quabos willbreak in?"

Again she nodded, shuddering. 

"Then tell me what you think of this, " said the Professor. 

 * * * * *

And he proceeded to sketch out a plan so simple, and yet so seeminglyefficient, that the rest of us gazed at him with wordless admiration. 

"My friend, my friend, " whispered Aga at last, "thou hast saved us. Thou art the guardian hero of Zyobor--"

"Not too fast, Your Highness, " interrupted the Professor with his frostysmile. "I shall be much surprised if this little scheme actually savesthe city. We may find the rock so thick there that our task ishopeless--though I imagine the Quabos picked a thin section for help intheir own plans. "

A vague look came into his eyes. 

"I must certainly get my hands on one of these monsters . .. Superhumanlyintelligent fish . .. Marvelous--akin to the octopus, perhaps?"

He wandered off, changed from the resourceful schemer to the dreamy manof scientific abstractions. 

The Queen gazed after him with wonder in her eyes. 

"A great man, " she murmured, "but is he--a little mad?"

"No, only a little absent-minded, " I replied. Then, "Come on, Stanley. We'll round up every able bodied citizen in Zyobor and get to work. Isuppose they have some kind of rock drilling machinery here?"

They had. And they strangely resembled our own rock drills: revolvingmetal shafts, driven by gas turbines, tipped with fragments of the samecrystal that glittered so profusely in the palace walls. Another proofthat practically every basic, badly needed tool had been invented againand again, in all lands and times, as the necessity for it arose. 

With hundreds of the powerful men of Zyobor working as closely togetheras they could without cramping each others movements, and with the wholecity resounding to the roar of the machinery, we labored at the defencethat might possibly check the advance of the hideous Quabos. 

And with every breath we drew, waking or sleeping, we realized that thecold blooded, inhuman invaders had crept a fraction of an inch closer intheir tunneling. 

The Quabos against the Zyobites! Fish against man! Two diametricallyopposed species of life in a struggle to the death! Which of us wouldsurvive?

 * * * * *

The hour of the struggle approached. Every soul in Zyobor moved in adaze, with strained face and fear haunted eyes. Their proficiency inmental telepathy was a curse to them now: every one carried constantly, transmitted from the brains of the servant-fish outposts, a thoughtpicture of that outer cavern in the murky depths of which writhed thethousands of crowding Quabos. Each mind in Zyobor was in continualtorment. 

Spared that trouble, at least, Stanley and the Professor and I walkeddown to the fortification we had so hastily contrived. It was finished. And none too soon: the vibration indicator in the palace vault told usthat only two feet of rock separated us from the burrowing monsters!

The Professor's scheme had been to cut a long slot down through the rockfloor of the city to the roof of the vast, mysterious body of waterbelow. 

This slot was placed directly in front of the spot in the city wallwhere the Quabos were about to emerge. As they forced through the lastshell of rock, the deluge of water, instead of drowning the city, wassupposed to drain down the oblong vent. Any Quabos that were too nearthe tunnel entrance would be swept down too. 

 * * * * *

In silence we approached the edge of the great trough and stared down. 

There was a stratum of black granite, fortunately only about thirty feetthick at this point, and then--the depths! A low roar reached our earsfrom far, far beneath us. A steady blast of ice cold air fanned upagainst us. 

The Professor threw down a large fragment of rock. Seconds elapsed andwe heard no splash. The unseen surface was too far below for the noiseof the rock's fall to carry on up to us. 

"The mystery of this ball of earth on which we live!" murmured theProfessor. "Here is this enormous underground body of water. We are farbelow sea level. Where, then, is it flowing? What does it empty into?Can it be that our planet is honeycombed with such hollows as this weare in? And is each inhabited by some form of life?"

He sighed and shook his head. 

"The thought is too big! For, if that were true, wouldn't the seas bedrained from the surface of the earth should an accidental passage beformed from the ocean bed down to such a giant river as this beneath us?How little we know!"

 * * * * *

The wild clamor of an alarm bell interrupted his musing. From all thecity houses poured masses of people, to form in solid lines behind thelarge well. 

In addition to men, there were many women in those lines, tall andstrong, ready to stand by their mates as long as life was left them. There were children, too, scarcely in their teens, prepared to fight forthe existence of the race. Every able-bodied Zyobite was musteredagainst the cold-blooded Things that pressed so near. 

The arms of these desperate fighters were pitiful compared to our ownwar weapons. With no need in the city for fighting engines, none hadever been developed. Now the best that could be had was a sort of ax, used for dissecting the mound-fish, and various knives fashioned forpeaceful purposes. 

Again the bell clamored forth a warning, this time twice repeated. Everyhand grasped its weapon. Every eye went hopefully to the hole in thefloor on which our immediate fate depended, then valiantly to thesection of wall above it. 

This quivered perceptibly. A heavy, pointed instrument broke through;was withdrawn; and a hissing stream of water spurted out. 

The Quabos were about to break in upon us!

 * * * * *

With a crash that made the solid rock tremble, a section of the wallcollapsed. It was the top half of the end of the Quabos' tunnel. Theyhad so wrought that the lower half stayed in place--a thing we did nothave time to recognize as significant until later. 

A solid wall of water, in which writhed dozens of tentacled monsters, was upon us, and we had time for nothing but action. 

The ditch had of necessity been placed directly under the Quabos'entrance. The first rush of water carried half over it. With it wereborne scores of the cold-blooded invaders. 

In an instant we were standing knee deep in a torrent that tore at ourfooting, while we hacked frantically with knives and axes at the slimytentacles that reached up to drag us under. 

A soft, horrible mass swept against my legs. I was overthrown. Atentacle slithered around my neck and constricted viciously like alength of rotten cable. I sawed at it with the long, notched blade Icarried. Choking for air, I felt the pressure relax and scrambled to myknees. 

Two more tentacles went around me, one winding about my legs and theother crushing my waist. Two huge eyes glared fiendishly at me. 

I plunged the knife again and again into the barrel-shaped head. It didnot bleed: a few drops of thin, yellowish liquid oozed from the woundsbut aside from this my slashing seemed to make no impression. 

In a frenzy I defended myself against the nightmare head that waswinding surely toward me. Meanwhile I devoted every energy to keeping onmy feet. If I ever went under again--

It seemed to me that the creature was weakening. With redoubled fury Ihacked at the spidery shape. And gradually, when it seemed as though Icould not withstand its weight and crushing tentacles another second, it slipped away and floated off on the shallow, roaring rapids. 

 * * * * *

For a moment I stood there, catching my breath and regaining mystrength. Shifting, terrible scenes flashed before my eyes. 

A tall Zyobite and an almost equally stalwart woman were both caught byone gigantic Quabo which had a tentacle around the throat of each. Theman and woman were chopping at the viscous, gruesome head. One of theThing's eyes was gashed across, giving it a fearsome, blind appearance. It heaved convulsively, and the three struggling figures toppled intothe water and were swirled away. 

The Professor was almost buried by a Quabo that had all four of itstentacles wound about him. As methodically as though he were in alaboratory dissecting room, he was cutting the slippery lengths away, one by one, till the fourth parted and left him free. 

A giant Zyobite was struggling with two of the monsters. He had an ax ineach hand, and was whirling them with such strength and rapidity thatthey formed flashing circles of light over his head. But he was torndown at last and borne off by the almost undiminished flood that gushedfrom the tunnel. 

And now, without warning, a heavy soft body flung against my back, andthe accident most to be dreaded in that mêlée occurred. 

I was knocked off my feet! My head was pressed under the water. On mychest was a mass that was yielding but immovable, soft but terriblystrong. Animated, firm jelly! I had no chance to use my knife. My armswere held powerless against my sides. 

Water filled my nose and mouth. I strangled for breath, heaving at theimplacable weight that pinned me helpless. Bright spots swirled beforemy eyes. There was a roaring in my ears. My lungs felt as though filledwith molten lead. I was drowning. .. . 

 * * * * *

Vaguely I felt the pressure loosen at last. An arm--with good, solidflesh and bone in it--slipped under my shoulders and dragged me up intothe air. 

"Don't you know--can't drown a fish--holding it under water?" panted avoice. 

I opened my eyes and saw Stanley, his face pale with the thrill ofbattle, his chin jutting forward in a berserk line, his eyes snappingwith eager, wary fires. 

I grinned up at him and he slapped me on the back--almost completing thechoking process started by the salt water I'd inhaled. 

"That's better. Now--at it again!"

I don't remember the rest of the tumult. The air seemed filled withloathsome tentacles and bright metal blades. It was a confused eternityuntil the decreased volume of water in the tunnel gave us a respite. .. . 

As the tunnel slowly emptied the pressure dropped, and the incomingflood poured squarely into the trough instead of half over it. From thatmoment there was very little more for us to do. 

Our little army--with about a fourth of its number gone--had only toguard the ditch and see that none of the Quabos caught the edges as theyhurtled out of their passage. 

For perhaps ten minutes longer the water poured from the break in thewall, with now and then a doomed Quabo that goggled horribly at us as itwas dashed down the hole in the floor to whatever awesome depths werebeneath. 

Then the flow ceased. The last oleaginous corpse was pushed over theedge. And the city, save for an ankle-deep sheet of water that wasrapidly draining out the vents in the streets, presented its formerappearance. 

The Zyobites leaned wearily against convenient walls and began tellingthemselves how fortunate they were to have been spared what seemedcertain destruction. 

 * * * * *

The Professor didn't share in the general feeling of triumph. 

"Don't be so childishly optimistic!" he snapped as I began tocongratulate him on the victory his ditch had given us. "Our troublesaren't over yet!"

"But we've proved that we can stand up to them in a hand-to-tentaclefight--"

His thin, frosty smile appeared. 

"One of those devils, normally, is stronger than any three men. The onlyreason all of us weren't destroyed at once is that they were slowlysuffocating as they fought. The foot and a half of water we were inwasn't enough to let their gills function properly. Now if they wereable to stand right up to us and not be handicapped by lack of water tobreathe . .. I wonder. .. . Is that part of their plan? Is there any waythey could manage . .. ?"

"But, Professor, " I argued, "it's all over, isn't it? The tunnel isemptied, and all the Quabos are--"

"The tunnel isn't emptied. It's only _half_ emptied! I'll show you. "

He called Stanley; and the three of us went to the break. 

"See, " the Professor pointed out to us as we approached the jagged hole, "the Quabos only drilled through the top half of their tunnel ending. That means that the tunnel still has about four feet of water init--enough to accommodate a great many of the monsters. There may befour or five hundred of them left in there; possibly more. We can expectrenewed hostilities at any time!"

"But won't it be just a repetition of the first battle?" remonstratedStanley. "In the end they'll be killed or will drown for lack of wateras these first ones did. "

 * * * * *

The Professor shook his head. 

"They're too clever to do that twice. The very fact that they kept halftheir number in reserve shows that they have some new trick to try. Otherwise they'd all have come at once in one supreme effort. "

He paced back and forth. 

"They're ingenious, intelligent. They're fighting for their veryexistence. They must have figured out some way of breathing in air, someway of attacking us on a more even basis in case that first rush wentwrong. What can it be?"

"I think you're borrowing trouble before it is necessary--" I began, smiling at his elaborate, scientific pessimism. But I was interrupted bya startled shout from Stanley. 

"Professor Martin, " he cried, pointing to the tunnel mouth. "Look!"

Like twin snakes crawling up to sun themselves, two tentacles hadappeared over the rock rim. They hooked over the edge; and leisurely, with grim surety of invulnerability, the barrel-like head of a Quabobalanced itself on the ledge and glared at us. 

 * * * * *

For a moment we stared, paralyzed, at the Thing. And, during that momentit squatted there, as undistressed as though the air were its naturalelement, its gills flapping slowly up and down supplying it with oxygen. 

The thing that held us rooted to the spot with fearful amazement was thefantastic device that permitted it to be almost as much at home in airas in water. 

Over the great, globular head was set an oval glass shell. This wasfilled with water. A flexible metal tube hung down from the rear. Evidently it carried a constant stream of fresh water. As we gazed wesaw intermittent trickles emerging from the bottom of the crystallinecase. 

Point for point the creature's equipment was the same as divingequipment used by men, only it was exactly opposite in function. Ahelmet that enabled a fish to breathe in air, instead of a helmet toallow a man to breathe in water!

Stanley was the first of us to recover from the shock of this spectacle. He faced about and raised his voice in shouts of warning to the restingZyobites. For other glass encased monsters had appeared beside thefirst, now. 

One by one, in single file like a line of enormous marching insects, they crawled down the wall and humped along on their tentacles--aroundthe ditch and toward us!

 * * * * *

The deadly infallibility of that second attack!

The Quabos advanced on us like armored tanks bearing down on defencelesssavages. Their glass helmets, in addition to containing water for theirbreathing, protected them from our knives and axes. We were utterlyhelpless against them. 

They marched in ranks about twenty yards apart, each rank helping theone in front to carry the cumbersome water-hoses which trailed back tothe central water supply in the tunnel. 

Their movements were slow, weighted down as they were by the great glasshelmets, but they were appallingly sure. 

We could not even retard their advance, let alone stop it. Here were nosuffocating, faltering creatures. Here were beings possessed of theirfull vigor, each one equal to three of us even as the Professor hadconjectured. Their only weak points were their tentacles which trailedoutside the glass cases. But these they kept coiled close, so that toreach them and hack at them we had to step within range of theirterrific clutches. 

The Zyobites fought with the valor of despair added to their inherentnoble bravery. Man after man closed with the monstrous, armoredThings--only to be seized and crushed by the weaving tentacles. 

Occasionally a terrific blow with an ax would crack one of the glasshelmets. Then the denuded Quabo would flounder convulsively in the airtill it drowned. But there were all too few of these individualvictories. The main body of the Quabos, rank on rank, dragging theirwater-hose behind them, came on with the steadiness of a machine. 

 * * * * *

Slowly we were driven back down the broad street and toward the palace. As we retreated, old people and children came from the houses and wentwith us, leaving their dwellings to the mercy of the monsters. 

A block from the palace we bunched together and, by sheer mass andferocity, actually stopped the machinelike advance for a few moments. Miscellaneous weapons had been brought from the houses--sledges, stonebenches, anything that might break the Quabos' helmets--and handed to usin silence by the noncombatants. 

Somebody tugged at my sleeve. Looking down I saw a little girl. She haddragged a heavy metal bar out to the fray and was trying to get somefighter's attention and give it to him. 

I seized the formidable weapon and jumped at the nearest Quabo, aten-foot giant whose eyes were glinting gigantically at me through thedistorting curve of the glass. 

Disregarding the clutching tentacles entirely, I swung the bar againstthe helmet. It cracked. I swung again and it fell in fragments, spillingthe gallons of water it had contained. 

The tentacles wound vengefully around me, but in a few seconds theyrelaxed as the thing gasped out its life in the air. 

 * * * * *

I turned to repeat the process on another if I could, and found myselffacing the Queen. Her head was held bravely high, though the violet ofher eyes had gone almost black with fear and repulsion of the terriblethings we fought. 

"Aga!" I cried. "Why art thou here! Go back to the palace at once!"

"I came to fight beside thee, " she answered composedly, though herdelicate lips quivered. "All is lost, it seems. So shall I die besidethee. "

I started to reply, to urge her again to seek the safety of the palace. But by now the deadly advance of the tentacled demons had begun oncemore. 

Fighting vainly, the population of Zyobor was swept into the palacegrounds, then into the building itself. 

Men, women and children huddled shoulder to shoulder in the crampingquarters. An ironic picture came to me of the crowding masses of Quabosstuffed into the protection of the outer cave, waiting the outcome ofthe fight being waged by their warriors. Here were we in a similarcircumstance, waiting for the battle to be decided. Though there waslittle doubt in the minds of any of us as to what the outcome would be. 

Guards, the strongest men of the city, were stationed with sledges atthe doors and windows. The Quabos, able only to enter one at a time, halted a moment and there was a badly needed breathing spell. 

 * * * * *

"We've got to find some drastic means of defence, " said the Professor, "or we won't last another three hours. "

"If you asked me, I'd say we couldn't last another three hours anyway, "replied Stanley with a shrug. "These fish have out-thought us!"

"Nonsense! There may still be a way--"

"A brace of machine-guns. .. . " I murmured hopefully. 

"You might as well wish for a dozen light cannon!" snapped theProfessor. "Please try to concentrate, and see if any effective weaponsuggests itself to you--something more available at the moment thanmachine-guns. "

In silence the three of us racked our brains for a means of defence. Aga, leaving for a time the task of soothing her more hystericalsubjects, came quietly over to us and sat on the bench beside me. 

Frankly I could think of nothing. To my mind we were surely doomed. Whatarms could possibly be contrived at such short notice? What weaponcould be called forth to be effective against the thick glass helmets?

But as I glanced at Stanley I saw his face set in a new expression ashis thoughts took a turn that suggested possible salvation. 

"Glass, " he muttered. "Glass. What destroys it? Sharp blows . .. Certainacids . .. Variation in temperature . .. Heat and cold. .. . That's it!_That's it!_"

He turned excitedly to the Queen. 

"I think we have it! At least it's worth trying. If there is any tubingaround. .. . " He stopped as he realized he was talking in English, andresumed stiltedly in Aga's own language. 

"Hast thou, in the palace, any lengths of pipe like to that which theQuabos drag behind them?"

"No . .. " Aga began, her eyes round and wondering. Then she interruptedherself. "Ah, yes! There is! In a vault near that of Kilor's there is agreat spool of it. He had it fashioned to carry air for one of hisexperiments--"

"Come along!" cried Stanley. "I'll explain what I have in mind while wedig up this coil of hose. "

 * * * * *

A score of Zyobite workmen were gathered at once. The length ofhose--made of some linen-like fabric of tough, shredded sea-weed andcovered with a flexible metal sheath--was cut into three pieces eachabout fifty yards long. These were connected to three of the largest gasvents of the palace. 

Stanley, the Professor and I each took an end. And we prepared to fight, with fire, the creatures of water. 

"It ought to work, " Stanley, repeated several times as though trying toreassure himself as well as us. "It's simple enough: the water in thosehelmets is ice cold: if fire is suddenly squirted against them they'llcrack with the uneven expansion. "

"Unless, " retorted the Professor, "their glass has some special heat andcold resisting quality. "

Stanley shrugged. 

"It may well have some such properties. How such creatures can makeglass at all is beyond me!"

Dragging our hose to the big front entrance of the palace, and warningthe crowded people to keep their feet clear of it, we prepared to testout the efficiency of this, our last resource against the enemy. 

 * * * * *

For an instant we paused just inside the doorway, looking out at theugly, glassed-in Things that were massing to attack us again. 

The ranks of Quabos had closed in now, till they extended down thestreet for several hundred yards in close formation--a forest of greatpulpy heads with huge eyes that glared unblinkingly at the glittering, pink building that was their objective. 

"Light up!" ordered Stanley, setting an example by touching his hosenozzle to the nearest wall jet. A spurt of fire belched from his hose, streaming out for four or five feet in a solid red cone. The Professorand I touched off our torches; and we moved slowly out the door towardthe ranks of Quabos. 

"Don't try to save yourselves from their tentacles, " advised Stanley. "Walk right up to them, direct the fire against their helmets, and damnthe consequences. If they grip too hard you can always play the torch ontheir tentacles till they think better of it. "

The Quabos' front line humped grimly toward us, unblinking eyes glaring, tentacles writhing warily, little spurts of used water trickling fromtheir helmets. 

"Keep together, " warned Stanley, "so that if any one of us loses hislight he can get it from the hose of one of the other two. And--_Herethey come!_"

There was no more time for commands. The Quabos in front, supplied withslack in their hoses by those behind, leaped at us with incredibleagility. We fell back a step so that none should get at our backs. 

The last stand was begun. 

 * * * * *

It was not a battle so much as a series of fierce duels. The Quabosrealized their new danger instantly, and devoted all their efforts toextinguishing our torches. We parried and thrust with the flaming hosesin an equally desperate effort to prevent it. 

One of them scuttled toward me like a great crab. A tentacle dartedtoward my right arm. Another was pressed against the nozzle. There was asickening smell--and the tentacle was jerked spasmodically away. 

I caught the hose in my left hand and turned the fiery jet against thewater-filled helmet. 

A shout of savage exultation broke from my lips. Hardly, had the flametouched the glass before it cracked! There was a report like a pistolshot--and a miniature Niagara of water and splintered glass poured at myfeet!

The tentacle around my arm tightened, then relaxed. The monstershuddered in a convulsive heap on the ground. 

I went toward the next one, swinging the flaring hose in a slow arc as Iadvanced. The creature lunged at me and threshed at the burning jet withall four of its feelers. But it had been exposed to the air for a longtime now. The ghastly tentacles were dry; withered and soft. A touch ofthe fire seared them unmercifully. 

Nevertheless with a swift move it slapped a tentacle squarely down overthe hose nozzle. The flame was extinguished as the flame of a candle ispinched out between thumb and forefinger. I retreated. 

"Catch!" came a voice behind me. 

 * * * * *

The Professor swung his four-foot jet my way. I held my hose to it, andthe flame burst out again. A touch at my grisly antagonist's helmet--asharp crack--the welcome rush of water over the cream-colored grass--andanother monster was writhing in the death throes!

Keeping close together, the three of us faced the massed Quabos in thepalace grounds. Again and again the fiery weapon of one or the other ofus was dashed out--to be re-lighted from the nearest hose. Again andagain loud detonations heralded the collapse of more of the invaders. 

But it seemed as though their flailing tentacles were as myriad as thestars they had never seen. It seemed as though their numbers would neverappreciably diminish. We thrust and parried till our arms grew numb. Andstill there appeared to be hundreds of the Quabos left. 

By order of the Queen three stout Zyobites stepped up to us and relievedus of our exhausting labor. Gladly we handed the hoses to them and wentto the palace for a much needed rest. 

 * * * * *

Two more shifts of fighters took the flaming jets before the monstersbegan the retreat slowly back toward their tunnel. And here theProfessor took command again. 

"We mustn't let them get away to try some new scheme!" he snapped. "Martin, take fifty men and beat them back to the break in the wall. Goaround a side street. They move so slowly that you can easily cut offtheir retreat. "

"There isn't any more hose--" began Stanley. 

"There's plenty of it. The Quabos brought it with them. " The Professorturned to me again. "Take metal-saws with you. Cut sections of theQuabos water-hose and connect them to the nearest wall jets. Run!"

I ran, with fifty of the men of Zyobor close behind me. We dodged outthe side of the palace grounds least guarded by the Quabos, duckingbetween their ranks like infantry men threading through an opposition ofpowerful but slow-moving tanks. Four of our number were caught, but therest got through unscathed. 

Down a side street we raced, and along a parallel avenue toward thetunnel. As we went I prayed that all the Quabos had centered theirattention on the palace and left their vulnerable water-hoses unguarded. 

They had! When we stole up the last block toward the break we found thenearest Quabo was a hundred yards down the street--and working furtheraway with every move. 

At once we set to work on the scores of hoses that quivered over thefloor with each move of the distant monsters. 

 * * * * *

A Zyobite with the muscles of a Hercules swung his ax mightily down on ahose. The metal was soft enough to be sheered through by the stroke. Thecut ends were smashed so that they could not be crammed down over thetapering jets; but we could use our metal-saws for cleaner severances atthe other ends. 

The giant with the ax stepped from hose to hose. Lengths were completedwith the saws. A man was placed at each jet to hold the connections inposition. Before the Quabos had reached us we had rigged six fire-hosesand had cut through forty or fifty more water-lines. 

The end was certain and not long in coming. 

We sprayed the monsters with fire as workmen spray fruit trees withinsect poison. Stanley, the Professor and a Zyobite came up in the rearwith their three hoses. 

Caught between the two forces, the beaten fish milled in hopelessconfusion and indecision. 

In half an hour they were all reduced to huddles of slimy wet flesh thatdotted the pavement from the break back to the palace grounds. Theinvaders were completely annihilated--and the city of Zyobor was saved!

"Now, " said the Professor triumphantly, "we have only to knock out thebottom half of the tunnel wall, empty the tunnel and make sure there areno more Quabos lurking there. After that we can fill it in with solidcement. The Queen can order her fish-servants to guard the outer caveand see that no food gets in to the starving monsters there. The war isover, gentlemen. The Quabos are as good as exterminated at this moment. And I can get back to my zoological work. .. . "

Stanley and I looked at each other. We knew each others thoughts wellenough. 

He could resume his companionship with the beautiful Mayis. And I--I hadAga. .. . 

 * * * * *

With the menace of the Quabos banished forever, the city of Zyoborresumed its normal way. 

The citizens lowered their dead into the great well we had cut, withappropriate rites performed by the Queen. The daily tasks and pleasureswere picked up where they had been dropped. The haunting fear died fromthe eyes of the people. 

Shortly afterward, with great ceremony and celebration, I was made Kingof Zyobor, to rule by Aga's side. Stanley took Mayis for his wife. He issecond to me in power. The Professor is the official wise man of thecity. 

Life flows smoothly for us in this pink lighted community. We are morethan content with our lot here. Our only concern has been the grief thatmust have been occasioned our relatives and friends when the _Rosa_sailed home without us. 

Now we have thought of a way in which, with luck, we may communicatewith the upper world. By relays of my Queen's fish-servants we believewe can send up the Professor's invaluable notes[A] and this informalaccount of what has happened since we left San Francisco that. .. . 

 (Editor's note: There was no trace of any "notes. " The yacht, _Rosa_, was reported lost with all hands in a hurricane off New Zealand. Aboard her were a Professor George Berry and the owner, Stanley Browne. There is no record, however, of any passenger by the name of Martin Grey. To date no one has taken this document seriously enough to consider financing an expedition of investigation to Penguin Deep. )

[Illustration: _"When I am finished, Dale, I shall probably kill you. "_]

The Murder Machine

_By Hugh B. Cave_

[Sidenote: Four lives lay helpless before the murder machine, theuncanny device by which hypnotic thought-waves are filtered throughmen's minds to mold them into murdering tools!]

It was dusk, on the evening of December 7, 1906, when I firstencountered Sir John Harmon. At the moment of his entrance I wasstanding over the table in my study, a lighted match in my cupped handsand a pipe between my teeth. The pipe was never lit. 

I heard the lower door slam shut with a violent clatter. The stairsresounded to a series of unsteady footbeats, and the door of my studywas flung back. In the opening, staring at me with quiet dignity, stooda young, careless fellow, about five feet ten in height and decidedlydark of complexion. The swagger of his entrance branded him as anadventurer. The ghastly pallor of his face, which was almost colorless, branded him as a man who has found something more than mere adventure. 

"Doctor Dale?" he demanded. 

"I am Doctor Dale. "

He closed the door of the room deliberately, advancing toward me withslow steps. 

"My name is John Harmon--Sir John Harmon. It is unusual, I suppose, " hesaid quietly, with a slight shrug, "coming at this late hour. I won'tkeep you long. "

He faced me silently. A single glance at those strained featuresconvinced me of the reason for his coming. Only one thing can bring sucha furtive, restless stare to a man's eyes. Only one thing--fear. 

"I've come to you. Dale, because--" Sir John's fingers closed heavilyover the edge of the table--"because I am on the verge of going mad. "

"From fear?"

"From fear, yes. I suppose it is easy to discover. A single look atme. .. . "

"A single look at you, " I said simply, "would convince any man that youare deadly afraid of something. Do you mind telling me just what it is?"

 * * * * *

He shook his head slowly. The swagger of the poise was gone; he stoodupright now with a positive effort, as if the realization of hisposition had suddenly surged over him. 

"I do not know, " he said quietly. "It is a childish fear--fear of thedark, you may call it. The cause does not matter; but if something doesnot take this unholy terror away, the effect will be madness. "

I watched him in silence for a moment, studying the shrunken outline ofhis face and the unsteady gleam of his narrowed eyes. I had seen thisman before. All London had seen him. His face was constantly appearingin the sporting pages, a swaggering member of the upper set--a man whohad been engaged to nearly every beautiful woman in the country--whosought adventure in sport and in night life, merely for the sake ofliving at top speed. And here he stood before me, whitened by fear, thevery thing he had so deliberately laughed at!

"Dale, " he said slowly, "for the past week I have been thinking thingsthat I do not want to think and doing things completely against my will. Some outside power--God knows what it is--is controlling my veryexistence. "

He stared it me, and leaned closer across the table. 

"Last night, some time before midnight, " he told me, "I was sittingalone in my den. Alone, mind you--not a soul was in the house with me. I was reading a novel; and suddenly, as if a living presence had stoodin the room and commanded me, I was forced to put the book down. Ifought against it, fought to remain in that room and go on reading. AndI failed. "

"Failed?" My reply was a single word of wonder. 

 * * * * *

"I left my home: because I could not help myself. Have you ever beenunder hypnotism, Dale? Yes? Well, the thing that gripped me wassomething similar--except that no living person came near me in order towork his hypnotic spell. I went alone, the whole way. Through backstreets, alleys, filthy dooryards--never once striking a mainthoroughfare--until I had crossed the entire city and reached the westside of the square. And there, before a big gray town-house, I wasallowed to stop my mad wandering. The power, whatever it was, broke. I--well, I went home. "

Sir John got to his feet with an effort, and stood over me. 

"Dale, " he whispered hoarsely, "what was it?"

"You were conscious of every detail?" I asked. "Conscious of the time, of the locality you went to? You are sure it was not some fantasticdream?"

"Dream! Is it a dream to have some damnable force move me about like amechanical robot?"

"But. .. . You can think of no explanation?" I was a bit skeptical of hisstory. 

He turned on me savagely. 

"I have no explanation. Doctor, " he said curtly. "I came to you for theexplanation. And while you are thinking over my case during the next fewhours, perhaps you can explain this: when I stood before that graymansion on After Street, alone in the dark, there was murder in myheart. I should have killed the man who lived in that house, had I notbeen suddenly released from the force that was driving me forward!"

Sir John turned from me in bitterness. Without offering any word ofdeparture, he pulled open the door and stepped across the sill. The doorclosed, and I was alone. 

 * * * * *

That was my introduction to Sir John Harmon. I offer it in detailbecause it was the first of a startling series of events that led to themost terrible case of my career. In my records I have labeled the entirecase "The Affair of the Death Machine. "

Twelve hours after Sir John's departure--which will bring the time, tothe morning of December 8--the headlines of the Daily Mail stared up atme from the table. They were black and heavy: those headlines, andhorribly significant. They were:

 FRANKLIN WHITE Jr. FOUND MURDERED

 Midnight Marauder Strangles Young Society Man in West-End Mansion

I turned the paper hurriedly, and read:

 Between the hours of one and two o'clock this morning, an unknown murderer entered the home of Franklin White, Jr. , well known West-End sportsman, and escaped, leaving behind his strangled victim. 

 Young White, who is a favorite in London upper circles, was discovered in his bed this morning, where he had evidently lain dead for many hours. Police are seeking a motive for the crime, which may have its origin in the fact that White only recently announced his engagement to Margot Vernee, young and exceedingly pretty French débutante. 

 Police say that the murderer was evidently an amateur, and that he made no attempt to cover his crime. Inspector Thomas Drake of Scotland Yard has the case. 

There was more, much more. Young White had evidently been a decidedfavorite, and the murder had been so unexpected, so deliberate, that theMail reporter had made the most of his opportunity for a story. Butaside from what I have reprinted, there was only a single shortparagraph which claimed my attention. It was this:

 The White home is not a difficult one to enter. It is a huge gray town-house, situated just off the square, in After Street. The murderer entered by a low French window, leaving it open. 

I have copied the words exactly as they were printed. The item does notcall for any comment. 

 * * * * *

But I had hardly dropped the paper before she stood before me. I say"she"--it was Margot Vernee, of course--because for some peculiar reasonI had expected her. She stood quietly before me, her cameo face, set inthe black of mourning, staring straight into mine. 

"You know why I have come?" she said quickly. 

I glanced at the paper on the table before me, and nodded. Her eyesfollowed my glance. 

"That is only part of it, Doctor, " she said. "I was in love withFranklin--very much--but I have come to you for something more. Becauseyou are a famous psychologist, and can help me. "

She sat down quietly, leaning forward so that her arms rested on thetable. Her face was white, almost as white as the face of that youngadventurer who had come to me on the previous evening. And when shespoke, her voice was hardly more than a whisper. 

"Doctor, for many days now I have been under some strange power. Something frightful, that compels me to think and act against my will. "

She glanced at me suddenly, as if to note the effect of her words. Then:

"I was engaged to Franklin for more than a month, Doctor: yet for aweek now I have been commanded--commanded--by some awful force, toreturn to--to a man who knew me more than two years ago. I can't explainit. I did not love this man; I hated him bitterly. Now comes this maddesire, this hungering, to go to him. And last night--"

 * * * * *

Margot Vernee hesitated suddenly. She stared at me searchingly. Then, with renewed courage, she continued. 

"Last night, Doctor, I was alone. I had retired for the night, and itwas late, nearly three o'clock. And then I was strangely commanded, bythis awful power that has suddenly taken possession, of my soul, to goout. I tried to restrain myself, and in the end I found myself walkingthrough the square. I went straight to Franklin White's home. When Ireached there, it was half past three--I could hear Big Ben. I wentin--through the wide French window at the side of the house. I wentstraight to Franklin's room--_because I could not prevent myself fromgoing_. "

A sob came from Margot's lips. She had half risen from her chair, andwas holding herself together with a brave effort. I went to her side andstood over her. And she, with a half crazed laugh, stared up at me. 

"He was dead when I saw him!" she cried. "Dead! Murdered! That infernalforce, what ever it was, had made me go straight to my lover's side, tosee him lying there, with those cruel finger marks on his throat--dead, I tell you, I--oh, it is horrible!"

She turned suddenly. 

"When I saw him, " she said bitterly, "the sight of him--and the sight ofthose marks--broke the spell that held me. I crept from the house as ifI had killed him. They--they will probably find out that I was there, and they will accuse me of the murder. If does not matter. But thispower--this awful thing that has been controlling me--is there no wayto fight it?"

I nodded heavily. The memory, of that unfortunate fellow who had come tome with the same complaint was still holding me. I was prepared to washmy hands of the whole horrible affair. It was clearly not a medicalcase, clearly out of my realm. 

"There is a way to fight it, " I said quietly. "I am a doctor, not amaster of hypnotism, or a man who can discover the reasons behind thathypnotism. But London has its Scotland Yard, and Scotland Yard has a manwho is one of my greatest comrades. .. . "

She nodded her surrender. As I stepped to the telephone, I heard hermurmur, in a weary, troubled voice:

"Hypnotism? It is not that. God knows what it is. But it has alwayshappened when I have been alone. One cannot hypnotise throughdistance. .. . "

 * * * * *

And so, with Margot Vernee's consent, I sought the aid of InspectorThomas Drake, of Scotland Yard. In half an hour Drake stood beside me, the quiet of my study. When he had heard Margot's story, he asked asingle significant question. It was this:

"You say you have a desire to go back to a man who was once intimatewith you. Who is he?"

Margot looked at him dully. 

"It is Michael Strange, " she said slowly. "Michael Strange, of Paris. Astudent of science. "

Drake nodded. Without further questioning he dismissed my patient; andwhen she had gone, he turned to me. 

"She did not murder her sweetheart, Dale" he said. "That is evident. Have you any idea who did?"

And so I told him of that other young man. Sir John Harmon, who had cometo me the night before. When I had finished. Drake stared at me--staredthrough me--and suddenly turned on his heel. 

"I shall be back, Dale, " he said curtly. "Wait for me!"

 * * * * *

Wait for him! Well, that was Drake's peculiar way of going about things. Impetuous, sudden--until he faced some crisis. Then, in the face ofdanger, he became a cold, indifferent officer of Scotland Yard. 

And so I waited. During the twenty-four hours that elapsed before Drakereturned to my study, I did my best to diagnose the case before me. First, Sir John Harmon--his visit to the home of Franklin White. Then--the deliberate murder. And, finally, young Margot Vernee, and herconfession. It was like the revolving whirl of a pinwheel, this seriesof events: continuous and mystifying, but without beginning or end. Surely, somewhere in the procession of horrors, there would be a looseend to cling to. Some loose end that would eventually unravel thepinwheel!

It was plainly not a medical affair, or at least only remotely so. Thething was in proper hands, then, with Drake following it through. And Ihad only to wait for his return. 

He came at last, and closed the door of the room behind him. He stoodover me with something of a swagger. 

"Dale, I have been looking into the records of this Michael Strange, " hesaid quietly. "They are interesting, those records. They go back someten years, when this fellow Strange was beginning his study of science. And now Michael Strange is one of the greatest authorities in Paris onthe subject of mental telegraphy. He has gone into the study of humanthought with the same thoroughness that other scientists go into thesubject of radio telegraphy. He has written several books on thesubject. "

Drake pulled a tiny black volume from the pocket of his coat and droppedit on the table before me. With one hand he opened it to a place whichhe had previously marked in pencil. 

"Read it, " he said significantly. 

 * * * * *

I looked at him in wonder, and then did as he ordered. What I read wasthis:

"Mental telegraphy is a science, not a myth. It is a very real fact, avery real power which can be developed only by careful research. To mostpeople it is merely a curiosity. They sit, for instance, in a crowdedroom at some uninteresting lecture, and stare continually at the back ofsome unsuspecting companion until that companion, by the power ofsuggestion, turns suddenly around. Or they think heavily of a certainperson nearby, perhaps commanding him mentally to hum a certain populartune, until the victim, by the power of their will, suddenly fulfillsthe order. To such persons, the science of mental telegraphy is merelyan amusement. 

"And so it will be, until science has brought it to such a perfectionthat these waves of thought can be broadcast--that they can betransmitted through the ether precisely as radio waves are transmitted. In other words, mental telegraphy is at present merely a mild form ofhypnotism. Until it has been developed so that those hypnotic powers canbe directed through space, and directed accurately to those individualsto whom they are intended, this science will have no significance. Itremains for scientists of to-day to bring about that development. "

I closed the book. When I looked up, Drake was watching me intently, asif expecting me to say something. 

"Drake, " I said slowly, more to myself than to him, "the pinwheel isbeginning to unravel. We have found the beginning thread. Perhaps, if wefollow that thread. .. . "

Drake smiled. 

"If you'll pick up your hat and coat, Dale, " he interrupted, "I think wehave an appointment. This Michael Strange, whose book you have justenjoyed so immensely, is now residing on a certain quiet little sidestreet about three miles from the square, in London!"

 * * * * *

I followed Drake in silence, until we had left Cheney Lane in the gloombehind us. At the entrance to the square my companion called a cab; andfrom there on we rode slowly, through a heavy darkness which wasblanketed by a wet, penetrating fog. The cabby, evidently one who knewmy companion by sight (and what London cabby does not know his ScotlandYard men!) chose a route that twisted through gloomy, uninhabited sidestreets, seldom winding into the main route of traffic. 

As for Drake, he sank back in the uncomfortable seat and made no attemptat conversation. For the entire first part of our journey he saidnothing. Not until we had reached a black, unlighted section of the citydid he turn to me. 

"Dale, " he said at length, "have you ever hunted tiger?"

I looked at him and laughed. 

"Why?" I replied. "Do you expect this hunt of ours will be something ofa blind chase?"

"It will be a blind chase, no doubt of it, " he said. "And when we havefollowed the trail to its end, I imagine we shall find something verylike a tiger to deal with. I have looked rather deeply into MichaelStrange's life, and unearthed a bit of the man's character. He has twicebeen accused of murder--murder by hypnotism--and has twice clearedhimself by throwing scientific explanations at the police. That is thenature of his entire history for the past ten years. "

 * * * * *

I nodded, without replying. As Drake turned away from me again, our cabpoked its laboring nose into a narrowing, gloomy street. I had a glimpseof a single unsteady street lamp on the corner, and a dim sign, "MateLane. " And then we were dragging along the curb. The cab stopped with agroan. 

I had stepped down and was standing by the cab door when suddenly, fromthe darkness in front of me, a strange figure advanced to my side. Heglanced at me intently; then, seeing that I was evidently not the man hesought, he turned to Drake. I heard a whispered greeting and anundertone of conversation. Then, quietly, Drake stepped toward me. 

"Dale, " he said. "I thought it best that I should not show myself hereto-night. No, there is no time for explanation now; you will understandlater. Perhaps"--significantly--"sooner than you anticipate. InspectorHartnett will go through the rest of this pantomime with you. "

I shook hands with Drake's man, still rather bewildered at the suddensubstitution. Then, before I was aware of it, Drake had vanished and thecab was gone. We were alone, Hartnett and I, in Mate Lane. 

The home of Michael Strange--number seven--was hardly inviting. No lightwas in evidence. The big house stood like a huge, unadorned vault setback from the street, some distance from its adjoining buildings. Theheavy steps echoed to our footbeats as we mounted them in the darkness;and the sound of the bell, as Hartnett pressed it came sharply to usfrom the silence of the interior. 

 * * * * *

We stood there, waiting. In the short interval before the door opened, Hartnett glanced at his watch (it was nearly ten o'clock), and said tome:

"I imagine, Doctor, we shall meet a blank wall. Let me do the talking, please. "

That was all. In another moment the big door was pulled slowly open fromthe inside, and in the entrance, glaring out at us, stood the man we hadcome to see. It is not hard to remember that first impression of MichaelStrange. He was a huge man, gaunt and haggard, moulded with the hunchedshoulders and heavy arms of a gorilla. His face seemed to beunconsciously twisted into a snarl. His greeting, which came only afterhe had stared at us intently, for nearly a minute, was curt andrasping. 

"Well, gentlemen? What is it?"

"I should like a word with Dr. Michael Strange, " said my companionquietly. 

"I am Michael Strange. "

"And I, " replied Hartnett, with a suggestion of a smile, "am RaoulHartnett, from Scotland Yard. "

I did not see any sign of emotion on Strange's face. He stepped back insilence to allow us to enter. Then closing the big door after us, he ledthe way along a carpeted hall to a small, ill-lighted room just beyond. Here he motioned us to be seated, he himself standing upright beside thetable, facing us. 

"From Scotland Yard, " he said, and the tone was heavy with dull sarcasm. "I am at your service, Mr. Hartnett. "

 * * * * *

And now, for the first time, I wondered just why Drake had insisted onmy coming here to this gloomy house in Mate Lane. Why he had sodeliberately arranged a substitute so that Michael Strange should notcome face to face with him directly. Evidently Hartnett had beencarefully instructed as to his course of action--but why this seeminglyunnecessary caution on Drake's part? And now, after we had gainedadmission, what excuse would Hartnett offer for the intrusion? Surely hewould not follow the bull-headed rôle of a common policeman!

There was no anger, no attempt at dramatics, in Hartnett's voice. Helooked quietly up at our host. 

"Dr. Strange, " he said at length, "I have come to you for yourassistance. Last night, some time after midnight, Franklin White wasstrangled to death. He was murdered, according to substantial evidence, by the girl he was going to marry--Margot Vernee. I come to you becauseyou know this girl rather well, and can perhaps help Scotland Yard infinding her motive for killing White. "

Michael Strange said nothing. He stood there, scowling down at mycompanion in silence. And I, too, I must admit, turned upon Hartnettwith a stare of bewilderment. His accusation of Margot had brought asense of horror to me. I had expected almost anything from him, even toa mad accusation of Strange himself. But I had hardly foreseen this coldblooded declaration. 

"You understand, Doctor, " Hartnett went on, in that same ironical drawl, "that we do not believe Margot Vernee did this thing herself. She had acompanion, undoubtedly, one who accompanied her to the house on AfterStreet, and assisted her in the crime. Who that companion was, we arenot sure; but there is decidedly a case of suspicion against a certainyoung London sportsman. This fellow is known to have prowled about theWhite mansion both on the night of the murder and the night before. "

 * * * * *

Hartnett glanced up casually. Strange's face was a total mask. When henodded, the nod was the most even and mechanical thing I have ever seen. Certainly this man could control his emotions!

"Naturally, Doctor, " Hartnett said, "we have gone rather deeply into thepast life of the lady in question. Your name appears, of course, in arather unimportant interval when Margot Vernee resided in Paris. And sowe come to you in the hope that you can perhaps give us some slight bitof information--something that seems insignificant, perhaps, to you, butwhich may put us on the right track. "

It was a careful speech. Even as Hartnett spoke it, I could have swornthat the words were Drake's, and had been memorized. But Michael Strangemerely stepped back to the table and faced us without a word. He wasprobably, during that brief interlude, attempting to realize hisposition, and to discover just how much Raoul Hartnett actually knew. 

And then, after his interim of silence, he came forward sullenly andstood over my comrade. 

"I will tell you this much, Mr. Hartnett of Scotland Yard, " he saidbitterly: "My relations with Margot Vernee are not an open book to bepassed through the clumsy fingers of ignorant police officers. As tothis murder, I know nothing. At the time of it, I was seated in thisroom in company with a distinguished group of scientific friends. I willtell you, on authority, that Margot _did not murder her lover_. Why?Because she loved him!"

 * * * * *

The last words were heavy with bitterness. Before they had died intosilence, Michael Strange had opened the door of his study. 

"If you please, gentlemen, " he said quietly. 

Hartnett got to his feet. For an instant he stood facing thegorilla-like form of our host; then he stepped over the sill, without aword. We passed down the unlighted corridor in silence, while Strangestood in the door of his study, watching us. I could not help but feel, as we left that gloomy house, that Strange had suddenly focused hisentire attention upon me, and had ignored my companion. I could feelthose eyes upon me, and feel the force of the will behind them. Adecided feeling of uneasiness crept over me, and I shuddered. 

A moment later the big outer door had closed shut after us, and we werealone in Mate Lane. Alone, that is, until a third figure joined us inthe shadows, and Drake's hand closed over my arm. 

"Capital, Dale, " he said triumphantly. "For half an hour you entertainedhim, you and Hartnett. And for half an hour I've had the unlimitedfreedom of his inner rooms, with the aid of an unlocked window on thelower floor. Those inner rooms, gentlemen, are significant--very!"

As we walked the length of Mate Lane, the gaunt, sinister home ofMichael Strange became an indistinct outline in the pitch behind us. Drake said nothing more on the return trip, until we had nearly reachedmy rooms. Then he turned to me with a smile. 

"We are one up on our friend, Dale, " he said. "He does not know, justnow, which is the bigger fool--you or Hartnett here. However, I imagineHartnett will be the victim of some very unusual events before manyhours have passed!"

That was all. At least, all of significance. I left the two ScotlandYard men at the opening of Cheney Lane, and continued alone to my rooms. I opened the door and let myself in quietly. And there some few hourslater, began the last and most horrible phase of the case of the murdermachine. 

 * * * * *

It begin--or to be more accurate, I began to react to it--at threeo'clock in the morning. I was alone, and the rooms were dark. For hoursI had sat quietly by the table, considering the significant events ofthe past few days. Sleep was impossible with so many unansweredquestions staring into me, and so I sat there wondering. 

Did Drake actually believe that Margot Vernee's simple story had been aruse--that she had in truth killed her lover on that midnight intrusionof his home? Did he believe that Michael Strange knew of thatintrusion--that he had possibly planned it himself, and aided her, inorder that Margot might be free to return to him? Did Strange know ofthat other intrusion, and of the uncanny power which had driven Sir JohnHarmon, and supposedly driven Margot to that house on After Street?

Those were the questions that still remained without answers: and it wasover those questions that I pondered, while my surroundings becamedarker and more silent as the hour became more advanced. I heard theclock strike three, and heard the answering drone of Big Ben from thesquare. 

 * * * * *

And then it began. At first it was little more than a sense ofnervousness. Before I had been content to sit in my chair and doze. Now, in spite of myself, I found myself pacing the floor, back and forth likea caged animal. I could have sworn, at the time, that some sinisterpresence had found entrance to my room. Yet the room was empty. And Icould have sworn, too, that some silent power of will was commanding me, with undeniable force, to go out--out into the darkness of Cheney Lane. 

I fought it bitterly. I laughed at it, yet even through my laugh camethe memory of Sir John Harmon and Margot, and what they had told me. Andthen, unable to resist that unspoken demand, I seized my hat and coatand went out. 

Cheney Lane was deserted, utterly still. At the end of it, the streetlamp glowed dully, throwing a patch of ghastly light over the side ofthe adjoining building. I hurried through the shadows, and as I walked, a single idea had possession of me. I must hurry, I thought, with allpossible speed, to that grim house in Mate Lane--number seven. 

Where that deliberate desire came from I did not know. I did not stop toreason. Something had commanded me to go at once to Michael Strange'shome. And though I stopped more than once, deliberately turning in mytracks, inevitably I was forced to retrace my steps and continue. 

 * * * * *

I remember passing through the square, and prowling through theunlightened side streets that lay beyond. Three miles separated CheneyLane from Mate Lane, and I had been over the route only once before, ina cab. Yet I followed that route without a single false turn, followedit instinctively. At every intersecting street I was dragged in acertain direction and not once was I allowed to hesitate. It was asthough some unseen demon perched on my shoulders, as the demon of thesea rode Sinbad, and pointed out the way. 

Only one disturbing thing occurred on that night journey through London. I had turned into a narrow street hardly more than a quarter mile frommy destination; and before me, in the shadows, I made out the form of ashuffling old man. And here, as I watched him, I was conscious of a new, mad desire. I crept upon him stealthily, without a sound. My hands wereoutstretched, clutching, for his throat. At that moment I should havekilled him!

I cannot explain it. During that brief interval I was a murderer atheart. I wanted to kill. And now that I remember it, the desire had beenpregnant in me ever since the lights of Cheney Lane had died behind me. All the time that I prowled through those black streets, murder lurkedin my heart. I should have killed the first man who crossed my path. 

But I did not kill him. Thank God, as my fingers twisted toward the backof his throat, that mad desire suddenly left me. I stood still, whilethe old fellow, still unsuspecting, shuffled, away into the darkness. Then, dropping my hands with a sob of helplessness, I went forwardagain. 

 * * * * *

And so I reached Mate Lane, and the huge gray house that awaited me. This time, as I mounted the stone steps, the old house seemed even morerepulsive and horrible. I dreaded to see that door open, but I could notretreat. 

I dropped the knocker heavily. A moment passed: and then, precisely asbefore, the huge door swung inward. Michael Strange stood before me. 

He did not speak. Perhaps, if he had spoken, that fiendish spell wouldhave been broken, and I should have returned, even then, to my ownpeaceful little rooms in Cheney Lane. No--he merely held the door forme to enter, and as I passed him he stood there, watching me with asignificant smile. 

Straight to that familiar room at the end of the hall I went, withStrange behind me. When we had entered, he closed the door cautiously. For a moment he faced me without speaking. 

"You came very close to committing a murder on your way here, did younot, Dale?"

I stared at him. How, in God's name, could this man read my thoughts socompletely?

"You would have completed the murder, " he said softly, "had I wished it. I did not wish it!"

I did not answer. There was no reply to such a mad declaration. As formy companion, he watched me for an instant and then laughed. He was notmad. I am doctor enough to know that. 

But the laugh was not long in duration. He stepped forward suddenly andtook my arm in a steel grip, dragging me toward the half hidden door atthe farther end of the room. 

"I shall not keep you long, Dale, " he said harshly. "I could have killedyou--could have made you kill yourself, and in fact, I intended to doso--but after all, you are merely a poor stumbling fool who has meddledin things too deep for you. "

 * * * * *

He pulled open the door and pushed me forward. The room was dark, andnot until he had closed the door again and switched on a dim light, could I see its contents. 

Even then I saw nothing. At least, nothing of importance to anunscientific mind. There was a low table against the wall, with aprofusion of tiny wires emanating from it. I was aware that a cup shapedmicrophone--or something very similar--hung over the table, about on alevel with my eyes, had I been sitting in the chair. Beyond that I sawnothing, until Strange had moved forward and drawn aside a curtain thathung beside the table. 

"I made you come here to-night, Dale, " he murmured, "because I was a bitafraid of you. Your comrade, Hartnett, was an ignorant police officer. He has not the intellect to connect the series of events of the past dayor two, and so I did not trouble myself with him. But you are aneducated man. You have made no demonstrations of your ability in thefield of science, but--"

He stopped speaking abruptly. From the room behind us came the sound ofa warning bell. Strange turned quickly and went to the door. 

"You will wait here, Doctor, " he said. "I have another caller to-night. Another one who came the same way as you!"

He vanished. For a short interlude I was alone, with that peculiarradio-like apparatus before me. It was, for all the world, like aminiature control room in some small broadcasting station. Except forthe odd shape of the microphone, if it was such I could detect noradical difference in equipment. 

 * * * * *

However, I had little time for conjecture. A patter of footstepsinterrupted me from the next room, and a frightened, feminine voicebroke the stillness of the outer study. Even before the owner of thatvoice stepped in to my presence, I knew her. 

And when she came, with white, fearful face and trembling body, I couldnot withhold a shudder of apprehension. It was the young woman who hadcome to my office--Margot Vernee. Evidently, at last, she had yielded tothe horrible impulse that had drawn her back to Michael Strange, animpulse which, I now understood, had originated from the man himself. 

He pressed her forward. There was nothing tender in his touch: it wascruel and triumphant. 

"So you have succeeded--at last, " I said bitterly. 

He turned to me with a sneer. 

"I have brought her here, yes, " he replied. "And now that she has come, she shall hear what I have to tell you. It will perhaps give her arespect for me, and this time she will not have the power to turn meaway. "

He pointed to the table, to the apparatus that lay there. 

"I'm telling you this, Dale, " he said, "because it gives me pleasure todo so. You are enough of a scientist to appreciate and understand it. And if, when I have finished, I have told you too much, there is a veryeasy way to keep your tongue silent. You have heard of hypnotism, Dale?You have heard also of radio? Have you ever thought of combining thetwo?"

 * * * * *

He faced me directly. I made no effort to reply. 

"Radio, " he said quietly, "is broadcast by means of sound waves. Thatmuch you know. But hypnotism too, can be transmitted through distance, if an instrument delicate enough to transmit _thought waves_ can beinvented. For twenty years I have worked on that instrument, and fortwenty years I have studied hypnotism. You understand, of course, thatthis instrument is worthless unless it is operated by a master mind. Thought waves are useless; they will not control the actions of even acat. But hypnotic waves or concentrated thought waves--will control theworld. "

There was no denying him. He faced me with the savage triumph of a wildbeast. He was glorying in his power, and in my amazement. 

"I wanted Franklin White to die!" he cried. "It was I who murdered him. Why? Because he was about to take the girl I desired. Is that not reasonenough for murder? And so I killed him. It was not Margot Vernee whostrangled her lover: it was a complete stranger, a London sportsman, whohad no reason for committing the murder, _except that I wished him to_!

"He died on the night of December seventh, murdered by Sir John Harmon, the sportsman. Why? Because, of all London, Sir John would be the lastman to be suspected. I have a keen appreciation for the irony of fate!White would have died the night before, Dale, except that I lacked thecourage to kill him. His murderer was standing, under my power, outsidehis very house--and then I suddenly thought it best that I should havean alibi. Your Scotland Yard is clever, and it was best that I haveprotection. And so, on the following night, I sent Sir John to the houseonce again. This time, while I sat here and controlled the actions of mypuppet, a group of men sat here with me. They believed that I wasexperimenting with a new type of radio receiver!"

 * * * * *

Michael Strange laughed, laughed harshly, in utter triumph, as a catlaughs at the antics of his mouse victims. 

"When that murder was done, " he said, "I sent Margot to the scene, sothat she might see her lover strangled, dead. I repeat, Dale, that Ienjoy the irony of fate, especially when I can control it. And as foryou--I brought you here to-night merely so that you would realize theintensity of the powers that control you. When you leave here, you willbe unharmed--but after the exhibition I shall give you, I am sure thatyou will make no further attempt to interfere with things out of yourrealm of understanding. "

I heard a sob from Margot. She had retreated to the door, and clungthere. For myself, I did not move. Strange's recital had revealed to methe horrible lust that gripped him, and now I watched him infascination. He would not harm the girl; that much I was sure of. In hisdistorted fashion he loved her. In his crazed, murderous way he wouldattempt to win her love, even though she had once scorned him. 

 * * * * *

I saw him step toward the table. Saw him drop heavily into the chair, and stare directly into that microphonic thing that hung before hiseyes. As he stared, he spoke to me. 

"Science, in its intricate forms, is probably above the mind of a commonmedical man, Dale, " he said. "It would be useless to explain to you howmy thoughts--and my will--can be transmitted through space. Perhaps youhave sat in a theater and stared at a certain person until that personturned to face you. You have? Then you will perhaps understand how I cancontrol the minds of any human creature within the radius of my power. You see, Dale, this intricate little machine gives me the power totransform London into a city of stark murder. I could bring about such ahorrible wave of crime that Scotland Yard would be scorned from one endof the world to the other. I could make every man murder his neighbor, until the streets of the city were running with blood!"

Strange turned quietly to look at me. He spoke deliberately. 

"And now for the little exhibition of which I spoke, Dale, " he murmured. "Your detective friend, Hartnett, has been under my power for the pastthree hours. You see, it was safer to control his movements, and be sureof him. And now, to be doubly sure of him, perhaps you would like to seehim kill himself!"

I stepped forward with a sudden cry. Strange said nothing: his eyesmerely burned into mine. Once again I felt that strange, all-powerfulcontrol forcing me back. I retreated, step by step, until the wallstopped me. Yet even as I retreated, a childish hope filled me. Howcould Strange, working his terrible murder machine, concentrate hispower on any individual, when the whole of London lay before him?

 * * * * *

He answered my question. He must have read it as it came over me. 

"Have you ever been in a crowd, Dale, and watched a certain individualintently, until that particular individual turned to look at you? Therest of the crowd pays no attention, of course, but that one man. Andnow we shall make that one man murder himself!"

Strange turned slowly. I saw his fingers creep along the rim of thetable, touching certain wires that came together there. I heard a dull, droning hum fill the room, and, over it, Strange's penetrating voice. 

"When I am finished, Dale, I shall probably kill you. I brought you heremerely to frighten you, but I believe I have told you too much. "

With that new horror upon me, I saw my captor's lips move slowly. .. . 

And then, from the shadows at the other end of the small room, came alow, unemotional voice. 

"Before you begin, Strange--"

Michael Strange whipped about in his chair like a tiger. His handdropped to his pocket, so swiftly that my eyes did not follow it. And asit dropped, a single staccato shot split the darkness of the room. Thescientist slumped forward in his chair. 

The dull, whirring sound of that hellish machine had stopped abruptly, cut short by the sudden weight of Strange's lunging body as he fell uponit. I saw the livid, fiery snake of white light twist suddenly upwardthrough that coil of wires: and in another moment the entire apparatusshattered by a blinding crash of flame. 

 * * * * *

After that I turned away. Whether the bullet killed Strange or not, I donot know: but the sight of his charred face, hanging over that table ofdestruction, told its own story. 

It was Inspector Drake who came across the room toward me, and took myarm. The smoking revolver still lay in his hand, and as he led me intothe adjoining room, I saw that Margot had already found refuge there. 

"You see now, Dale, " Drake said quietly, "why I let Hartnett go with youbefore? If Strange had suspected me, I should have been merely anothervictim. As for Hartnett, he has been under constant guard down atheadquarters. He's safe. They've kept him there, at my instructions, inspite of all his terrific efforts to leave them. "

I was listening to my companion in admiration. Even then I did not quiteunderstand. 

"I was wrong in just one thing, Dale. I left you alone, withoutprotection. I believed Strange would ignore you, because, after all, youare not a Scotland Yard man. Thank God I had the sense to followMargot--to trail her here--and get here soon enough. "

 * * * * *

And so ended the horrible series of events that began with Sir JohnHarmon's chance visit to my study. As for Harmon, he was later clearedof all guilt, upon the charred evidence in Michael Strange's house inMate Lane. The girl, I believe, has left London, where she can be as faras possible from memories that are all too terrible. 

As for me, I am back once again in my quiet rooms in Cheney Lane, wherethe routine of common medical practice has wiped out many of those vividhorrors. In time, I believe, I shall forget, unless Inspector Drake, ofScotland Yard, insists upon bringing the affair up again!

 _IN THE NEXT ISSUE_

 THE INVISIBLE DEATH

 _A Thrilling Novelet of an Invisible Empire Within the United States_

 _By_ Victor Rousseau

 STOLEN BRAINS

 _Another Absorbing Dr. Bird Story_

 _By_ Capt. S. P. Meek

 PRISONERS ON THE ELECTRON

 _An Exciting Story of a Young Man Marooned on an Electron_

 _By_ Robert H. Leitfred

 JETTA OF THE LOWLANDS

 _Part Two of the Current Novel_

 _By_ Ray Cummings

 _--AND OTHERS!_

[Illustration: _We had been captured by a race of gigantic beetles. _]

The Attack from Space

A SEQUEL TO "BEYOND THE HEAVISIDE LAYER"

_By Captain S. P. Meek_

 "No one knows what unrevealed horrors space holds and the world will never rest entirely easy until the slow process of time again heals the protective layer. "--From "Beyond the Heaviside Layer. "

Over a year has passed since I wrote those lines. When they were writtenthe hole which Jim Carpenter had burned with his battery of infra-redlamps through the heaviside layer, that hollow sphere of invisiblesemi-plastic organic matter which encloses the world as a nutshell doesa kernel, was gradually filling in as he had predicted it would: everyone thought that in another ten years the world would be safely enclosedagain in its protective layer as it had been since the dawn of time. There were some adventurous spirits who deplored this fact, as it wouldeffectually bar interplanetary travel, for Hadley had proved with hislife that no space flyer could force its way through the fifty miles ofalmost solid material which barred the road to space, but they were inthe minority. Most of humanity felt that it would rather be protectedagainst the denizens of space than to have a road open for them totravel to the moon if they felt inclined. 

[Sidenote: From a far world came monstrous invaders who were all themore terrifying because invisible. ]

To be sure, during the five years that the hole had been open, nothingmore dangerous to the peace and well-being of the world had appearedfrom space than a few hundreds of the purple amoeba which we had foundso numerous on the outer side of the layer, when we had traveled in aHadley space ship up through the hole into the outer realms of space, and one lone specimen of the green dragons which we had alsoencountered. The amoeba had been readily destroyed by the disintegratingrays of the guarding space-ships which were stationed inside the layerat the edge of the hole and the lone dragon had fallen a ready victim tothe machine-gun bullets which had been poured into it. At first thepress had damned Jim Carpenter for opening the road for these horrors, but once their harmlessness had been clearly established, the row haddied down and the appearance of an amoeba did not merit over a squib onthe inside pages of the daily papers. 

 * * * * *

While the hole in the heaviside layer was no longer news for the dailypress, a bitter controversy still waged in the scientific journals as tothe reason why no observer on earth, even when using the most powerfultelescopes, could see the amoeba before they entered the hole, and thenonly when their telescopes were set up directly under the hole. When atelescope of even small power was mounted in the grounds back ofCarpenter's laboratory, the amoeba could be detected as soon as theyentered the hole, or when they passed above it through space; but, asidefrom that point of vantage, they were entirely invisible. 

Carpenter's theory of the absorptive powers of the material of which theheaviside layer was composed was laughed to scorn by most scientists, who pointed out the fact that the sun, moon and stars could be readilyseen through it. Carpenter replied that the rays of colored or visiblelight could only pass through the layer when superimposed upon a carrierwave of ultra-violet or invisible light. He stated dogmatically that theamoeba and the other denizens of space absorbed all the ultra-violetlight which fell on them and reflected only the visible rays which couldnot pass through the heaviside layer because of the lack of asynchronized carrier wave of shorter wave-length. 

Despetier replied at great length and showed by apparently unimpeachablemathematics that Carpenter was entirely wrong and that his statementsshowed an absolute lack of knowledge of the most elementary andfundamental laws of light transmission. Carpenter replied briefly thathe could prove by mathematics that two was equal to one and hechallenged Despetier or anyone else to satisfactorily explain theobserved facts in any other way. While they vainly tried to do so, Carpenter lapsed into silence in his Los Angeles laboratory and delvedever deeper into the problems of science. Such was the situation whenthe attack came from space. 

My first knowledge of the attack came when McQuarrie, the city editor ofthe San Francisco _Clarion_, sent for me. When I entered his office hetossed a Los Angeles dispatch on the desk before me and with a growlordered me to read it. It told of the unexplained disappearance of aneleven year old boy the night before. It looked like a commonkidnapping. 

"Well?" I asked as I handed him back the dispatch. 

With another growl he tossed down a second telegram. I read it withastonishment, for it told of a second disappearance which had happenedabout an hour after the first. The similarity of the two cases was atonce apparent. 

"Coincidence or connection?" I asked as I returned it. 

"Find out!" he replied. "If I knew which it was I wouldn't be wastingthe paper's money by sending you to Los Angeles. I don't doubt that I amwasting it anyway, but as long as I am forced to keep you on as areporter, I might as well try to make you earn the money the ownerwastes on paying you a salary, even although I know it to be a hopelesstask. Go on down there and see what you can find out, if anything. "

I jotted down in my notebook the names and addresses of the missingchildren and turned to leave. A boy entered and handed McQuarrie ayellow slip. He glanced at it and called me back. 

"Wait a minute, Bond, " he said as he handed me the dispatch. "I doubtbut you'd better fly down to Los Angeles. Another case has just beenreported. "

I hastily copied down the dispatch he handed me, which was almost aduplicate of the first two with the exception of the time and the name. Three unexplained disappearances in one day was enough to warrant speed;I drew some expense money and was on my way south in a chartered planewithin an hour. 

On my arrival I went to the Associated Press office and found a messagewaiting for me, directing me to call McQuarrie on the telephone at once. 

"Hello, Bond, " came his voice over the wire, "have you just arrived?Well, forget all about that disappearance case. Prince is on his way toLos Angeles to cover it. You hadn't been gone an hour before a wire camein from Jim Carpenter. He says, 'Send Bond to me at once by fastestconveyance. Chance for a scoop on the biggest story of the century. ' Idon't know what it's about, but Jim Carpenter is always front page news. Get in touch with him at once and stay with him until you have thestory. Don't risk trying to telegraph it when you get it--telephone. Getmoving!"

I lost no time in getting Carpenter on the wire. 

"Hello, First Mortgage, " he greeted me. "You made good time getting downhere. Where are you?"

"At the A. P. Office. "

"Grab a taxi and come out to the laboratory. Bring your grip with you:you may have to stay over night. "

"I'll be right out, Jim. What's the story?"

His voice suddenly grew grave. 

"It's the biggest thing you ever handled, " he replied. "The fate of thewhole world may hang on it. I don't want to talk over the phone; come onout and I'll give you the whole thing. "

 * * * * *

An hour later I shook hands with Tim, the guard at the gate of theCarpenter laboratory, and passed through the grounds to enter Jim'sprivate office. He greeted me warmly and for a few minutes we chatted ofold times when I worked with him as an assistant in his atomicdisintegration laboratory and of the stirring events we had passedthrough together when we had ventured outside the heaviside layer in hisspace ship. 

"Those were stirring times, " he said, "but I have an idea, FirstMortgage, that they were merely a Sunday school picnic compared to whatwe are about to tackle. "

"I guessed that you had something pretty big up your sleeve from yourmessage. " I replied. "What's up now? Are we going to make a trip to themoon and interview the inhabitants?"

"We may interview them without going that far, " he said. "Have you seena morning paper?"

"No. "

"Look at this. "

He handed me a copy of the _Gazette_. Streamer headlines told of thethree disappearances which I had come to Los Angeles to cover, but theyhad grown to five during the time I had been flying down. I looked atJim in surprise. 

"We got word of that in San Francisco, " I told him, "and I came downhere to cover the story. When I got here, McQuarrie telephoned me yourmessage and told me to come and see you instead. Has your messageanything to do with this?"

"It has everything to do with it, First Mortgage; in fact, it _is_ it. Have you any preconceived ideas on the disappearance epidemic?"

"None at all. "

"All the better--you'll be able to approach the matter with an unbiasedviewpoint. Don't read that hooey put out by an inspired reporter whoblames the laxness of the city government; I'll give you the factswithout embellishment. Nothing beyond the bare fact of the disappearanceis known about the first case. Robert Prosser, aged eleven, was sent tothe grocery store by his mother about six-thirty last night and failedto return. That's all we know about it, except that it happened in EagleRock. The second case we have a little more data on. William Hill, agedtwelve, was playing in Glendale last night with some companions. Theywere playing 'hide and go seek' and William hid. He could not be foundby the boy who was searching and has not been found since. Hiscompanions became frightened and reported it about eight o'clock. Theysaw nothing, but mark this! Four of them agree that they heard a soundin the air _like a motor humming_. "

"That proves nothing. "

"Taken alone it does not, but in view of the third case, it is quitesignificant. The third case happened about nine-thirty last night. Thistime the victim was a girl, aged ten. She was returning home from amoving picture with some companions and she disappeared. This time theother children saw her go. They say she was suddenly taken straight upinto the air and then disappeared from sight. They, also claim to haveheard a sound like a big electric fan in the air at the time, althoughthey could see nothing. "

"Had they heard the details of the second disappearance?"

"They had not. I can see what you are thinking; that they wereunconsciously influenced by the account given of the other case. "

"Consciously or unconsciously. "

"I doubt it, for the fourth case was almost a duplicate of the third. The fourth and fifth cases happened this morning. In the fourth case thechild, for it was a nine year old girl this time, was lifted into theair in broad daylight and disappeared. This disappearance was witnessed, not only by children, but also by two adults, and their testimony agreescompletely with that of the children. The fifth case is similar to thefirst: a ten year old boy disappeared without trace. The whole city isin a reign of terror. "

 * * * * *

The telephone at Carpenter's elbow rang and he answered it. A shortconversation took place and he turned to me with a grim face as he hungup the receiver. 

"Another case has just been reported to police headquarters from BeverlyHills, " he said. "Again the child was seen to be lifted into the air bysome invisible means and disappeared. The sound of a motor was plainlyheard by five witnesses, who all agree that it was just, above theirheads, but that nothing could be seen. "

"Was it in broad daylight?"

"Less than an hour ago. "

"But, Jim, that's impossible!"

"Why is it impossible?"

"It would imply the invisibility of a tangible substance; of a solid. "

"What of it?"

"Why, there isn't any such substance. Nothing of the sort exists. "

Carpenter pointed to one of the windows of his laboratory. 

"Does that window frame contain glass or not?" he asked. 

I strained my eyes. Certainly nothing was visible. 

"Yes, " I said at a venture. 

He rose and thrust his hand through the space where the glass shouldhave been. 

"Has this frame glass in it?" he asked, pointing to another. 

"No. "

He struck the glass with his knuckle. 

"I'll give up, " I replied. "I am used to thinking of glass as beingtransparent but not invisible; yet I can see that under certain lightconditions it may be invisible. Granted that such is the case, do youbelieve that living organisms can be invisible?"

"Under the right conditions, yes. Has any observer been able to see anyof the purple amoeba which we know are so numerous on the outer side ofthe heaviside layer?"

"Not until they have entered the hole through the layer. "

"And yet those amoeba are both solid and opaque, as you know. Why is itnot possible that men, or intelligences of some sort, are in the airabout us and yet are invisible to our eyes!"

"If they are, why haven't we received evidence of it years ago?"

"Because there has only been a hole through the heaviside layer for sixyears. Before that time they could not penetrate it any more than poorHadley could with his space ship. They have not entered the hole earlierbecause it is a very small one, at present only some two hundred andfifty yards in diameter in a sphere of over eight thousand milesdiameter. The invaders have just found the entrance. "

"The invaders? Do you think that the world has been invaded?"

"I do. How else can you explain the very fact which you have justquoted, that no evidence of the presence on these invisible entities haspreviously been recorded?"

"Where did they come from?"

"They may have come from anywhere in the solar system, or even fromoutside it but I fancy, that they are from Mars or Venus. "

"Why so?"

"Because they are the two planets nearest to the earth and are the oneswhere conditions are the most like they are on the earth. Venus, forexample, has an atmosphere and a gravity about . 83 of earthly gravity, and life of a sort similar to that of the earth might well live there. Further, it seems more probable that the invaders have come from one ofthe nearby planets than from the realms of space beyond the solarsystem. "

"What about the moon?"

"We can dismiss that because of the lack of an atmosphere. "

"It sounds logical, Jim, but the idea of living organisms of sufficientsize to lift a child into the air who are invisible seems a littleabsurd. "

"I never said they were invisible. I don't think they are. "

"But they must be, else why weren't they seen?"

"Use your head, First Mortgage. Those purple amoeba we encountered werequite visible to us, yet they are invisible to observers on the earth. "

"Yes, but that is because the heaviside layer is between them and theearth. As soon as they come below it they can be seen. "

 * * * * *

"Exactly. Why is it not possible that the Venetians, or Martians, orwhoever our invaders are, have encased themselves and their space flyerin a layer of some substance similar to the heaviside layer, a substancewhich is permeable to light rays only when a large proportion ofultra-violet rays accompany the visible rays? If they did this and thenconstructed the walls of their ship of some substance which absorbed allthe ultra-violet rays which fell on it; not only would the ship itselfbe invisible, but also everything contained in it--and yet they couldsee the outside world easily. That such _is_ the case is proved by thedisappearance of those children in mid-air. They were taken into a spaceship behind an ultra-violet absorbing wall and so became invisible. "

"If the walls absorbed all the ultra-violet and were impermeable tolight without ultra-violet, the ship would appear as a black opaquesubstance and could be seen. "

"That would be true except for one thing which you are forgetting. Theheaviside layer, as I have repeatedly proved, is a splendid conductor ofultra-violet. The rays falling on it are probably bent along the line ofthe covering layer so that they open up and bend around the ship in thesame manner as flowing water will open up and flow around a stone andthen come together again. The light must flow around the solid ship andthen join again in such a manner that the eye can detect nointerruption. "

"Jim, all that sounds reasonable, but have you any proof of it?"

"No, First Mortgage, I haven't--yet; but if the Lord is good to us we'llhave definite proof this afternoon and be in a position to successfullycombat this new menace to the world. "

"Do you expect me to go on another one of your crack-brained expeditionsinto the unknown with you?"

 * * * * *

"Certainly I do, but this time we won't go out of the known. I have ourold space flyer which we took beyond the heaviside layer six years agoready for action and we're going to look for the invaders thisafternoon. "

"How will we see them if they are invisible?"

"They are invisible to ordinary light but not to ultra-violet light. While most of the ultra-violet is deflected and flows around the ship ofelse is absorbed, I have an idea that, if we bathe it in a sufficientconcentration of ultra-violet, some would be reflected. We are going tolook for the reflected portion. "

"Ultra-violet light is invisible. "

"It is to the eye, but it can be detected. You know that radium isactivated and glows under ultra-violet?"

"Yes. "

"Mounted on our flyer are six ultra-violet searchlights. By the side ofeach one is a wide angle telescopic concentrator which will focus anyreflected ultra-violet onto a radium coated screen and thus make itvisible to us. In effect the apparatus is a camera obscura with all lensmade of rock crystal or fused quartz, both of which allow free passageto ultra-violet. "

"What will we do if we find them?"

"Mounted beneath the telescope is a one-pounder gun with radite shells. If we locate them, we will use our best efforts to shoot them down. "

"Suppose they are armed too?"

 * * * * *

"In that case I hope that you shoot faster and straighter than they do. If you don't--well, old man, it'll just be too damned bad. "

"I don't know that the _Clarion_ hires me to go out and shoot atinvisible invaders from another planet, but if I don't go with you, Iexpect you'd just about call up the _Echo_ or the _Gazette_ and ask themfor a gunner. "

"Just about. "

"In that case, I may as well be sacrificed as anyone else. When do westart?"

"You old faker!" cried Jim, pounding me on the back. "You wouldn't missthe trip for anything. If you're ready we'll start right now. Everythingis ready. "

"Including the sacrifice, " I replied, rising. "All right, Jim, let's goand get it over with. If we live, I'll have to get back in time totelephone the story to McQuarrie for the first edition. "

I followed Jim out of the laboratory and to a large open space behindthe main building where the infra-red generators with which he hadpierced the hole through the heaviside layer had been located. Thereflectors were still in place, but the bank of generators had beenremoved. A gang of men were hard at work erecting a huge parabolicreflector in the center of the circle, about the periphery of which theinfra-red reflectors were placed. In an open space near the center stooda Hadley space ship, toward which Jim led the way. 

 * * * * *

I wondered at the activity and meant to ask what it portended, but inthe excitement of boarding the flyer forgot it. I followed Jim in; heclosed the door and started the air conditioner. 

"Here, First Mortgage, " he said as he turned from the control board andfaced me, "here are the fluoroscopic screens. They are arranged in abank, so that you can keep an eye on all of them readily. Beneath eachtelescope is an automatic one-pounder gun with its mount geared to thetelescope and the light, so that the gun bears continually on the pointin space represented by the center of the fluoroscopic screen whichbelongs to that light. If we locate anything, turn your beam until theobject is in the exact center of the screen where these two cross-hairsare. When you have it lined up, push this button and the gun will fire. "

"What about reloading?"

"The guns are self-loading. Each one has twenty shells in its magazineand will fire one shot each time the button is pushed until it is empty. If you empty one magazine, I can turn the ship so that another gun willbear. This gives you a total of one hundred and twenty shots quicklyavailable; there are sixty extra pounds, which we can break out and loadinto the magazines in a few seconds. Do you understand everything?"

"I guess so. Everything seems clear enough. "

"All right; sit down and we'll start. "

 * * * * *

I took my seat, and Jim pulled the starting lever. I was glued to theseat and the heavy springs in the cushion were compressed almost totheir limit by the sudden acceleration. As soon as we were well clearof the ground Jim reduced his power, and in a few moments we werefloating motionless in the air, a thousand feet up. He left the controlboard and came to my side. 

"Start your ultra lights, " he said as he joined me. "We may be able tospot something from here. "

I started the lights and we stared at the screens before us. Nothingappeared on any of them except the one pointing directly down, and onlyan image of the ground, appeared on it. Under Jim's tutelage I swung thebeams in wide circles, covering the space around us, but nothingappeared. 

"Those beams won't project over five miles in this atmosphere, " he said, "and the ship we are looking for may be so small that we would havetrouble locating it at any great distance. I am going to move over nearthe scene of the last disappearance. Keep your lights swinging and singout if you see anything on the screens. "

I could feel the ship start to move slowly under the force of a sidedischarge from the rocket motor, and I swung the beams of the six lightsaround, trying to cover the entire area about us. Nothing appeared onthe screens for an hour, and my head began to ache from the strain ofunremitting close observation of the glowing screens. A buzz soundingover the hum of the rocket motor attracted my attention; Jim pulled hislevers to neutral with the exception of the one which maintained ourelevation and stepped to an instrument on the wall of the flyer. 

"Hello, " he called. "What? Where did it happen? All right, thanks, we'llmove over that way at once. "

 * * * * *

He turned from the radio telephone and spoke. 

"Another disappearance has just been reported, " he said. "It happened onthe outskirts of Pasadena. Keep your eyes open: I'm going to head inthat direction. "

A few minutes later we were floating over Pasadena. Jim stopped theflyer and joined me at the screens. We swung our beams in wide circlesto cover the entire area around us, but no image on the screens rewardedus. 

"Doggone it, they must have left here in a hurry, " grumbled Jim. 

Even as he spoke the flyer gave a lurch which nearly threw me off myseat and which sent Jim sprawling on the floor. With a white face heleaped to the control board and pulled the lever controlling our oneworking stern motor to full power. For a moment the ship moved upwardand then came to a dead stop, although the motor still roared at fullspeed. 

"Can't you see anything, Pete?" cried Jim as he threw our second sternmotor into gear. 

Again the ship moved upward for a few feet and then stopped. I swung thesearchlights frantically in all directions, but five of the screensremained blank and the sixth showed only the ground below us. 

"Not a thing, " I replied. 

"Something ought to show, " he muttered, and suddenly shut off bothmotors. The flyer gave a sickening lurch toward the ground, but we fellonly a hundred yards before our motion stopped. We hung suspended in theair with no motors working. Jim joined me at the screens and we swungthe lights rapidly without success. 

"Look, Pete!" Jim cried hoarsely. 

 * * * * *

My gaze followed his pointing finger and I saw the door of our flyerspringing out as though some force from the outside were trying towrench it open. The pull ceased for an instant, then came again; thesturdy latches burst and the door was torn from its hinges. Jim swungone of the searchlights until the beam was at right angles to the hullof the flyer and pressed the gun button. A crash filled the confinedspace of the flyer as a one-pounder radite shell tore out into space. 

"They're there but still invisible, " he exclaimed as he shifted thedirection of the gun and fired again. "I am shooting by guess-work, butI might score a hit. "

He changed the direction of the gun again, but before he could press thebutton he was lifted into the air and drawn rapidly toward the opendoor. 

"Shoot, Pete!" he shouted. "Shoot and keep on shooting--it's your onlychance!"

I turned to the knobs controlling the guns and lights, but, before Icould make a move, something hard and cold grasped me about the middleand I was lifted into the air and drawn toward the open door after Jim. I tore at the thing holding me with my hands, but it was a smooth roundthing like a two-inch thick wire, and I could get no grip on it toloosen it. Out through the door I went and was drawn through the air afew feet behind Jim. He moved ahead of me for fifteen or twenty feet andthen vanished in mid-air. I dared not struggle in mid-air and I wasdrawn through a door into a large space flyer which became visible as Ientered it. The flexible wire or rod which had held me uncoiled and Iwas free on the floor beside Jim Carpenter. This much was clear andunderstandable, but when I looked at the crew of that space ship, I wassure that I had lost my mind or was seeing visions. I had naturallyexpected men, or at least something in semi-human form, but instead ofanything of the sort, before me stood a dozen gigantic beetles!

 * * * * *

I rubbed my eyes and looked again. There was no mistaking the fact thatwe had been captured by a race of gigantic beetles flying an invisiblespace ship. When I had time later to examine them critically, I couldsee marked differences between our captors and the beetles we wereaccustomed to see on the earth besides the mere matter of size. To beginwith, their bodies were relatively much smaller, the length of shell ofthe largest specimen not being over four feet, while the head of thesame insect, exclusive of the horns or pinchers, was a good eighteeninches in length. The pinchers, which by all beetle proportions shouldhave been a couple of feet long at the least, did not extend over thehead a distance greater than eight inches, although they were sturdy andpowerful. 

Instead of traveling with their shells horizontal as do earthly beetles, these insects stood erect on their two lower pairs of legs, which wereof different lengths so that all four feet touched the ground when theshell was vertical. The two upper pairs of legs were used as arms, thetopmost pair[A] being quite short and splitting out at the end into fourflexible claws about five inches long, which they used as fingers. Theseupper arms, which sprouted from a point near the top of the head, werepeculiar in that they apparently had no joints like the other threepairs but were flexible like an elephant's trunk. The second pair ofarms were armed with long, vicious-looking hooks. The backplatesconcealed only very rudimentary wings, not large enough to enable theinsects to fly, although Jim told me later that they could fly on theirown planet, where the lessened gravity made such extensive wing supportsas would be needed on earth unnecessary. 

[Footnote A: Mr. Bond has made a laughable error in his description. Like all of the coleoptera, the Mercurians were hexapoda (six legged). What Mr. Bond continually refers to in his narrative as "upper arms"were really the antenna of the insects which split at the end into fourflexible appendages resembling fingers. His mistake is a natural one, for the Mercurians used their antenna as extra arms. --James S. Carpenter. ]

The backplates were a brilliant green in color, with six-inch stripes ofchrome yellow running lengthwise and crimson spots three inches indiameter arranged in rows between the stripes. Their huge-faceted eyessparkled like crystal when the light fell on them, and from time to timewaves of various colors passed over them, evidently reflecting theinsect's emotions. Although they gave the impression of great muscularpower, their movements were slow and sluggish, and they seemed to havedifficulty in getting around. 

 * * * * *

As my horrified gaze took in these monstrosities I turned with a shudderto Jim Carpenter. 

"Am I crazy, Jim, " I asked, "or do you see these things too?"

"I see them all right, Pete, " he replied. "It isn't as surprising as itseems at first glance. You expected to find human beings; so did I, butwhat reason had we for doing so? It is highly improbable, when you cometo consider the matter, that evolution should take the same courseelsewhere as it did on earth. Why not beetles, or fish, or horned toads, for that matter?"

"No reason, I guess, " I answered; "I just hadn't expected anything ofthe sort. What do you suppose they mean to do with us?"

"I haven't any idea, old man. We'll just have to wait and see. I'll tryto talk to them, although I don't expect much luck at it. "

He turned to the nearest beetle and slowly and clearly spoke a fewwords. The insect gave no signs of comprehension, although it watchedthe movement of Jim's lips carefully. It is my opinion, and Jim agreeswith me, that the insects were both deaf and dumb, for during the entiretime we were associated with them, we never heard them give forth asound under any circumstances, nor saw them react to any sound that wemade. Either they had some telepathic means of communication or elsethey made and heard sounds beyond the range of the human ear, for it wasevident from their actions that they frequently communicated with oneanother. 

 * * * * *

When Jim failed in his first attempt to communicate he looked around foranother method. He noticed my notebook, which had fallen on the floorwhen I was set down; he picked it up and drew a pencil from his pocket. The insects watched his movements carefully, and when he had made asketch in the book, the nearest one took it from him and examined itcarefully and then passed it to another one, who also examined it. Thesketch which Jim had drawn showed the outline of the Hadley space flyerfrom which he had been taken. When the beetles had examined the sketch, one of them stepped to an instrument board in the center of the ship andmade an adjustment. Then he pointed with one of his lower arms. 

We looked in the direction in which he pointed; to our astonishment, thewalls of the flyer seemed to dissolve, or at least to become perfectlytransparent. The floor of the space ship was composed of some silverymetal, and from it had risen walls of the same material, but now theeffect was as though we were suspended in mid-air, with nothing eitheraround us or under us. I gasped and grabbed at the instrument board forsupport. Then I felt foolish as I realized that there was no change inthe feel of the floor for all its transparency and that we were notfalling. 

 * * * * *

A short distance away we could see our flyer suspended in the air, heldup by two long flexible rods or wires similar to those which had liftedus from our ship into our prison. I saw a dozen more of these rodscoiled up, hanging in the air, evidently, but really on the floor nearthe edge of the flyer, ready for use. Jim suddenly grasped me by thearm. 

"Look behind you in a moment, " he said, "but don't start!"

He took the notebook in his hand and started to draw a sketch. I lookedbehind as he had told me to. Hanging in the air in a position which toldme that they must have been in a different compartment of the flyer, were five children. They were white as marble, and lay perfectlymotionless. 

"Are they dead, Jim?" I asked in a low voice without looking at him. 

"I don't know, " he replied, "but we'll find out a little later. I amrelieved to find them here, and I doubt if they are harmed. "

The sketch which he was making was one of the solar system, and, when hehad finished, he marked the earth with a cross and handed the notebookto one of the beetles. The insect took it and showed it to hiscompanions; so far as I was able to judge expressions, they were amazedto find that we had knowledge of the heavenly bodies. The beetle tookJim's pencil in one of its hands and, after examining it carefully, madea cross on the circle which Jim had drawn to represent the planetMercury. 

 * * * * *

"They come from Mercury, " exclaimed Jim in surprise as he showed me thesketch. "That accounts for a good many things; why they are solethargic, for one thing. Mercury is much smaller than the earth and thegravity is much less. According to Mercurian standards, they must weigha ton each. It is quite a tribute to their muscular development thatthey can move and support their weight against our gravity. They canunderstand a drawing all right, so we have a means of communicating withthem, although a pretty slow one and dependent entirely on my limitedskill as a cartoonist. I wonder if we are free to move about?"

"The only way to find out is to try, " I replied and stood erect. Thebeetles offered no objection and Jim stood up beside me. We walked, orrather edged, our way toward the side of the ship. The insects watchedus when we started to move and then evidently decided that we wereharmless. They turned from us to the working of the ship. One of themmanipulated some dials on the instrument board. One of the rods whichheld our flyer released its grip, came in toward the Mercurian ship andcoiled itself up on the floor, or the place where the floor should havebeen. The insect touched another dial. Jim threw caution to the winds, raced across the floor and grasped the beetle by the arm. 

The insect looked at him questioningly; Jim produced the notebook anddrew a sketch representing our flyer falling. On the level be had usedto represent the ground he made another sketch of it lying in ruins. Thebeetle nodded comprehendingly and turned to another dial; the ship sankslowly toward the ground. 

 * * * * *

We sank until we hung only a few feet from the ground when our flyer wasgently lowered down. When it rested on the ground, the wire which hadheld it uncoiled, came aboard and coiled itself up beside the others. Asthe Mercurian ship rose I noticed idly that the door which had been tornfrom our ship and dropped lay within a few yards of the ship itself. TheMercurian ship rose to an elevation of a hundred feet, drifting gentlyover the city. 

As we rose I determined to try the effect of my personality on thebeetles. I approached the one who seemed to be the leader and, puttingon the most woeful expression I could muster, I looked at the floor. Hedid not understand me and I pretended that I was falling and grasped athim. This time he nodded and stepped to the instrument board. In amoment the floor became visible. I thanked him as best I could inpantomime and approached the walls. They were so transparent that I feltan involuntary shrinking as I approached them. I edged my way cautiouslyforward until my outstretched hand encountered a solid substance. Ilooked out. 

At the slow speed we were traveling the drone of our motors was hardlyaudible to us, and I felt sure that it could not be heard on the ground. Once their curiosity was satisfied, our captors paid little or noattention to me and left me free to come and go as I wished. I made myway cautiously toward the children, but ran into a solid wall. Remembering Jim's words, I made my way back toward him withoutdisplaying any interest. 

 * * * * *

Jim could probably have wandered around as I did had he wished, but hechose to occupy his time differently. With his notebook and pencil hecarried on an extensive conversation, if that term can be applied to acrudely executed set of drawings, with the leader of the beetles. I wasnot especially familiar with the methods of control of space ships and Icould make nothing of the maze of dials and switches on the instrumentboard. 

For half an hour we drifted slowly along. Presently one of the beetlesapproached, seized my arm and turned me about. With one of his arms hepointed ahead. A mile away I could see another space flyer similar tothe one we were on. 

"Here comes another one, Jim. " I called. 

"Yes, I saw it some time ago. I don't know where the third one is. "

"Are there three of them?"

"Yes. Three of them came here yesterday and are exploring the countryround about here. They are scouts sent out from the fleet of our brotherplanet to see if the road was clear and what the world was like. Theyspotted the hole through the layer with their telescope and sent theirfleet out to pay us a visit. He tells me that the scouts have reportedfavorably and that the whole fleet, several thousand ships, as near as Ican make out, are expected here this evening. "

"Have you solved the secret of their invisibility?"

 * * * * *

"Partly. It is as I expected. The walls of the ship are double, theinner one of metal and the outer one of vitrolene or some similarperfectly transparent substance. The space between the walls is filledwith some substance which will bend both visible and ultra-violet raysalong a path around the ship and then lets them go in their originaldirection. The reason why we can see through the walls and see theprotective coating of that ship coming is that they are generating somesort of a ray here which acts as a carrier for the visible light rays. Idon't know what sort of a ray it is, but when I get a good look at theirgenerators, I may be able to tell. Are you beginning to itch and burn?"

"Yes, I believe that I am, although I hadn't noticed it until youspoke. "

"I have been noticing it for some time. From its effects on the skin, Iam inclined to believe it to be a ray of very short wave-length, possibly something like our X-ray, or even shorter. "

"Have you found out what they intend to do with us?"

"I don't think they have decided yet. Possibly they are going to take usup to the leader of their fleet and let him decide. The cuss that is incommand of this ship seems surprised to death to find out that I cancomprehend the principles of his ship. He seems to think that I am asort of a rara avis, a freak of nature. He intimated that he wouldrecommend that we be used for vivisection. "

"Good Lord!"

"It's not much more worse than the fate they design for the rest oftheir captives, at that. "

"What is that?"

"It's a long story that I'll have to tell you later. I want to watchthis meeting. "

 * * * * *

The other ship had approached to within a few yards and floatedstationary, while some sort of communication was exchanged between thetwo. I could not fathom the method used, but the commander of our craftclamped what looked like a pair of headphones against his body andplugged the end of a wire leading from them into his instrument board. From time to time various colored lights glowed on the board beforehim. After a time he uncoupled his device from the board, and one of thelong rods shot out from our ship to the other. It returned in a momentclamped around the body of a young girl. As the came on board, she waslowered onto the deck beside the other children. Like them, she wasstiff and motionless. I gave an exclamation and sprang forward. 

"Pete!"

Jim's voice recalled me to myself, and I watched the child laid with theothers with as disinterested an expression as I could muster. I hadnever made a mistake in following Jim Carpenter's lead and I knew thatsomewhere in his head a plan was maturing which might offer us somechance of escape. 

Our ship moved ahead down a long slant, gradually dropping nearer to theground. I watched the maneuver with interest while Jim, with his friendthe beetle commander, went over the ship. The insect was evidentlyamused at Jim and was determined to find out the limits of hisintelligence, for he pointed out various controls and motors of the shipand made elaborate sketches which Jim seemed to comprehend fairly well. 

 * * * * *

One of the beetles approached the control board and motioned me back. Istepped away from the board; evidently a port in the side of the vesselopened, for I felt a breath of air and could hear the hum of the city. Iwalked to the side and glanced down, and found that we were floatingabout twenty feet off the ground over a street on the edge of the city. On the street a short distance ahead of us two children, evidentlyreturning from school, to judge by the books under their arms, werewalking unsuspectingly along. A turn of the dial sped up our motors, andas the hum rang out in a louder key the children looked upward. Two ofthe long flexible wires shot out and wrapped themselves about thechildren; screaming, they were lifted into the space flyer. The portthrough which they came in shut with a clang and the ship rose rapidlyinto the air. The children were released from the wires which coiledthemselves up on deck and the beetle who had operated them steppedforward and grasped the nearer of the children, a boy of about eleven, by the arm. He raised the boy, who was paralyzed with terror, up towardhis head and gazed steadily into his eyes. Slowly the boy ceasedstruggling and became white and rigid. The beetle laid him on the deckand turned to the girl. Involuntarily I gave a shout and sprang forward, but Jim grasped me by the arm. 

"Keep quiet, you darned fool!" he cried. "We can do nothing now. Waitfor a chance!"

"We can't stand here and see murder done!" I protested. 

"It's not murder. Pete, those children aren't being hurt. They are beinghypnotized so that they can be transported to Mercury. "

"Why are they taking them to Mercury?" I demanded. 

"As nearly as I can make out, there is a race of men up there who aresubject to these beetles. This ship is radium propelled, and the men andwomen are the slaves who work in the radium mines. Of course the workerssoon become sexless, but others are kept for breeding purposes to keepthe race alive. Through generations of in-breeding, the stock is aboutplayed out and are getting too weak to be of much value. 

"The Mercurians have been studying the whole universe to find a racewhich will serve their purpose and they have chosen us to be thevictims. When their fleet gets here, they plan to capture thousands ofselected children and carry them to Mercury in order to infuse theirblood into the decadent race of slaves they have. Those who are notsuitable for breeding when they grow up will die as slaves in the radiummines. "

 * * * * *

"Horrible!" I gasped. "Why are they taking children, Jim? Wouldn'tadults suit their purpose better?"

"They are afraid to take adults. On Mercury an earthman would havemuscles of unheard of power and adults would constantly strive to riseagainst their masters. By getting children, they hope to raise them toknow nothing else than a life of slavery and get the advantage of theirstrength without risk. It is a clever scheme. "

"And are we to stand here and let them do it?"

"Not on your life, but we had better hold easy for a while. If I can geta few minutes more with that brute I'll know enough about running thisship that we can afford to do away with them. You have a pistol, haven'tyou?"

"No. "

"The devil! I thought you had. I have an automatic, but it only carrieseight shells. There are eleven of these insects and unless we can getthe jump on them, they'll do us. I saw what looks like a knife lyingnear the instrument board; get over near it and get ready to grab it assoon as you hear my pistol. These things are deaf and if I work it rightI may be able to do several of them in before they know what'shappening. When you attack, don't try to ram them in the back; theirbackplates are an inch thick and will be proof against a knife thrust. Aim at their eyes; if you can blind them, they'll be helpless. Do youunderstand?"

"I'll do my best, Jim, " I replied. "Since you have told me their plans Iam itching to get at them. "

 * * * * *

I edged over toward the knife, but as I did so I saw a better weapon. Onthe floor lay a bar of silvery metal about thirty inches long and aninch in diameter. I picked it up and toyed with it idly, meanwhileedging around to get behind the insect which I had marked for my firstattentions. Jim was talking again by means of the notebook with hisbeetle friend. They walked around the ship, examining everything in it. 

"Are you ready, Pete?" came Jim's voice at last. 

"All set, " I replied, getting a firmer grasp on my bar and edging towardone of the insects. 

"Well, don't start until I fire. You notice the bug I am talking to?Don't kill him unless you have to. This ship is a little too complicatedfor me to fathom, so I want this fellow taken prisoner. We'll use him asour engineer when we take control. "

"I understand. "

"All right, get ready. "

I kept my eye on Jim. He had drawn the beetle with whom he was talkingto a position where they were behind the rest. Jim pointed at somethingbehind the insect's back and the beetle turned. As it did so, Jimwhipped out his pistol and, taking careful aim, fired at one of theinsects. 

As the sound of the shot rang out I raised my bar and leaped forward. Ibrought it down with crushing force on the head of the nearest beetle. My victim fell forward, and I heard Jim's pistol bark again; but I hadno time to watch him. As the beetle I struck fell the others turned andI had two of them coming at me with outstretched arms, ready to graspme. I swung my bar, and the arm of one of them fell limp; but the otherseized me with both its hands, and I felt the cruel hooks of its lowerarms against the small of my back. 

 * * * * *

One of my arms was still free; I swung my bar again, and it struck mycaptor on the back of the head. It was stunned by the blow and fell. Iseized the knife from the floor, and threw myself down beside it andstruck at its eyes, trying to roll it over so as to protect me from theother who was trying to grasp me. 

I felt hands clutch me from behind; I was wrenched loose from the bodyof my victim and lifted into the air. I was turned about and staredhard into the implacable crystalline eyes of one of the insects. For amoment my senses reeled and then, without volition, I dropped my bar. Iremembered the children and realized that I was being hypnotized. Ifought against the feeling, but my senses reeled and I almost went limp, when the sound of a pistol shot, almost in my ear, roused me. The spellof the beetle was momentarily broken. I thrust the knife which I stillgrasped at the eyes before me. My blow went home, but the insect raisedme and bent me toward him until my head lay on top of his and the hugehorns which adorned his head began to close. Another pistol shotsounded, and I was suddenly dropped. 

I grasped my bar as I fell and leaped up. The flyer was a shambles. Deadinsects lay on all sides while Jim, smoking pistol in hand, was staringas though fascinated into the eyes of one of the surviving beetles. Iran forward and brought my bar down on the insect's head, but as I didso I was grasped from behind. 

"Jim, help!" I cried as I was swung into the air. The insect whirled mearound and then threw me to the floor. I had an impression of falling;then everything dissolved in a flash of light. I was unconscious onlyfor a moment, and I came to to find Jim Carpenter standing over me, menacing my assailant with his gun. 

"Thanks, Jim, " I said faintly. 

"If you're conscious again, get up and get your bar, " he replied. "Mypistol is empty and I don't know how long I can run a bluff on thisfellow. "

 * * * * *

I scrambled to my feet and grasped the bar. Jim stepped behind me andreloaded his pistol. 

"All right, " he said when he had finished. "I'll take charge of thisfellow. Go around and see if the rest are dead. If they aren't when youfind them, see that they are when you leave them. We're taking noprisoners. "

I went the rounds of the prostrate insects. None of them were beyondmoving except two whose heads had been crushed by my bar, but I obeyedJim's orders. When I rejoined him with my bloody bar, the only beetleleft alive was the commander, whom Jim was covering with his pistol. 

"Take the gun, " he said when I reported my actions, "and give me thebar. "

We exchanged weapons and Jim turned to the captive. 

"Now, old fellow, " he said grimly, "either you run this ship as I wantyou to, or you're a dead Indian. Savvy?"

He took his pencil and notebook from his pocket and drew a sketch of ourHadley space ship. On the other end of the sheet he drew a picture ofthe Mercurian ship, and then drew a line connecting the two. The insectlooked at the sketch but made no movement. 

"All right, if that's the way you feel about it, " said Jim. He raisedthe bar and brought it down with crushing force on one of the insect'slower arms. The arm fell as though paralyzed and a blue light playedacross the beetle's eyes. Jim extended the sketch again and raised thebar threateningly. The beetle moved over to the control board, Jimfollowing closely, and set the ship in motion. Ten minutes later itrested on the ground beside the ship in which we had first taken theair. 

 * * * * *

Following Jim's pictured orders the beetle opened the door of theMercurian ship and followed Jim into the Hadley. As we emerged from theMercurian ship I looked back. It had vanished completely. 

"The children, Jim!" I gasped. 

"I haven't forgotten them, " he replied, "but they are all right for thepresent. If we turned them loose now, we'd have ninety reporters aroundus in ten minutes. I want to get our generators modified first. "

He pointed toward the spot where the Mercurian ship had stood and thentoward our generators. The beetle hesitated, but Jim swung his baragainst the insect's side in a vicious blow. Again came the play of bluelight over the eyes; the beetle bent over our generaters and set towork. Jim handed me the bar and bent over to help. They were bothmechanics of a high order and they worked well together; in an hour thebeetle started the generators and swung one of the searchlights towardhis old ship. It leaped into view on the radium coated screen. 

"Good business!" ejaculated Jim. "We'll repair this door; then we'll beready to release the children and start out. "

 * * * * *

We followed the beetle into the Mercurian ship, which it seemed to beable to see. It opened a door leading into another compartment of theflyer, and before us lay the bodies of eight children. The beetle liftedthe first one, a little girl, up until his many-faceted eyes looked fullinto the closed ones of the child. There was a flicker of an eyelash, atrace of returning color, and then a scream of terror from the child. The beetle set the girl down and Jim bent over her. 

"It's all right now, little lady, " he said, clumsily smoothing her hair. 

"You're safe now. Run along to your mother. First Mortgage, take chargeof her and take her outside. It isn't well for children to see thesethings. "

The child clung to my hand: I led her out of the ship, which promptlyvanished as we left it. One by one, seven other children joined us, thelast one, a miss of not over eight, in Jim's arms. The beetle followedbehind him. 

"Do any of you know where you are?" asked Jim as he came out. 

"I do, sir, " said one of the boys. "I live close to here. "

"All right, take these youngsters to your house and tell your mother totelephone their parents to come and get them. If anyone asks you whathappened, tell them to see Jim Carpenter to-morrow. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. "

"All right, run along then. Now, First Mortgage, let's go hunting. "

 * * * * *

We wired our captive up so securely that I felt that there was nopossible chance of his escape; then, with Jim at the controls and me atthe guns, we fared forth in search of the invaders. Back and forth overthe city we flew without sighting another spaceship in the air. Jim gavean exclamation of impatience and swung on a wider circle, which took usout over the water. I kept the searchlights working. Presently, farahead over the water, a dark spot came into view. I called to Jim and weapproached it at top speed. 

"Don't shoot until we are within four hundred yards, " cautioned Jim. 

I held my fire until we were within the specified distance. The newcomerwas another of the Mercurian space-ships; with a feeling of joy I swungmy beam until the cross-hairs of the screen rested full on the invader. 

"All ready!" I sung out. 

"If you are ready, Gridley, you may fire!" replied Jim. I pressed thegun button. The crash of the gun was followed by another report fromoutside as the radite shell burst against the Mercurian flyer. Thedeadly explosive did its work, and the shattered remains of the wreckfell, to be engulfed in the sea below. 

"That's one!" cried Jim. "I'm afraid we won't have time to hunt up theother right now. This bug told me that the other Mercurians are due hereto-day, and I think we had better form ourselves into a receptioncommittee and go up to the hole to meet them. "

 * * * * *

He sent the ship at high speed over the city until we hovered over thelaboratory. We stopped for a moment, and Jim stepped to the radiotelephone. 

"Hello, Williams, " he said, "how are things going? That's fine. In anhour, you say? Well, speed it up as much as you can; we may call for itsoon. "

He turned both stern motors to full power, and we shot up like a rockettoward the hole in the protective layer through which the invaders hadentered. In ten minutes we were at the altitude of the guard ships andJim asked if anything had been seen. The report was negative; Jim leftthem below the layer and sent our flyer up through the hole into space. We reached the outer surface in another ten minutes and we were none toosoon. Hardly had we debouched from the hole than ahead of us we sawanother Mercurian flyer. It was a lone one, and Jim bent over thecaptive and held a hastily made sketch before him. The sketch showedthree Mercurian flyers, one on the ground, one wrecked and the third onein the air. He touched the drawing of the one in the air and pointedtoward our port hole and looked questioningly at the beetle. The insectinspected the flyer in space and nodded. 

"Good!" cried Jim. "That's the third of the trio who came ahead asscouts. Get your gun ready, First Mortgage: we're going to pick himoff. "

Our ship approached the doomed Mercurian. Again I waited until we werewithin four hundred yards; then I pressed the button which hurled it, acrumpled wreck, onto the outer surface of the heaviside layer. 

"Two!" cried Jim as we backed away. 

"Here come plenty more, " I cried as I swung the searchlight. Jim lefthis controls, glanced at the screen and whistled softly. Dropping towardus from space were hundreds of the Mercurian ships. 

"We got here just in time, " he said. "Break out your extra ammunitionwhile I take to the hole. We can't hope to do that bunch alone, so we'llfight a rearguard action. "

 * * * * *

Since our bow gun would be the only one in action, I hastily moved thespare boxes of ammunition nearer to it while Jim maneuvered the Hadleyover the hole. As the Mercurian fleet came nearer he started a slowretreat toward the earth. The Mercurians overtook us rapidly; Jim lockedhis controls at slow speed down and hurried to the bow gun. 

"Start shooting as soon as you can, " he said. "I'll keep the magazinefilled. "

I swung the gun until the cross-hairs of the screen rested full on theleading ship and pressed the button. My aim was true, and the shatteredfragments of the ship fell toward me. The balance of the fleet sloweddown for an instant; I covered another one and pressed my button. Theship at which I had aimed was in motion and I missed it, but I had thesatisfaction of seeing another one fall in fragments. Jim was loadingthe magazine as fast as I fired. I covered another ship and fired again. A third one of our enemies fell in ruins. The rest paused and drew off. 

"They're retreating, Jim!" I cried. 

"Cease firing until they come on again, " he replied is he took theshells from the magazines of the other guns and piled them near the bowgun. 

I held my fire for a few minutes. The Mercurians retreated a shortdistance and then came on again with a rush. Twenty times my gun wentoff as fast as I could align it and press the trigger, and eighteen ofthe enemy ships were in ruins. Again the Mercurians retreated. I held myfire. We were falling more rapidly now and far below we could see theblack spots which were the guard ships. I told Jim that they were insight; he stepped to the radio telephone and ordered them to keep wellaway from the hole. 

 * * * * *

Again the Mercurian ships came on with a rush, this time with beams oforange light stabbing a way before them. When I told Jim of this hejumped to the controls and shot our ship down at breakneck speed. 

"I don't know what sort of fighting apparatus they have, but I don'tcare to face it, " he said to me. "Fire if they get close; but I hope toget out of the hole before they are in range. "

Fast as we fell, the Mercurians were coming faster, and they were notover eight hundred yards from us when he reached the level of the guardships. Jim checked our speed; I managed to pick off three more of theinvaders before we moved away from the hole. Jim stopped the side motionand jumped to the radio telephone. 

"Hello, Williams!" he shouted into the instrument. "Are you ready downthere? Thank God! Full power at once, please!

"Watch what happens, " he said to me, as he turned from the instrument. 

Some fifty of the Mercurian flyers had reached our level and had startedto move toward us before anything happened. Then from below came a beamof intolerable light. Upward it struck, and the Mercurian ships on whichit impinged disappeared in a flash of light. 

"A disintegrating ray, " explained Jim. "I suspected that it might beneeded and I started Williams to rigging it up early this morning. Ihated to use it because it may easily undo the work that six years havedone in healing the break in the layer, but it was necessary. That endsthe invasion, except for those ten or twelve ships ahead of us. How isyour marksmanship? Can you pick off ten in ten shots?"

"Watch me, " I said grimly as the ship started to move. 

 * * * * *

Pride goeth ever before a fall: it took me sixteen shots to demolish theeleven ships which had escaped destruction from the ray. As the last onefell in ruins, Jim ordered the ray shut off. We fell toward the ground. 

"What are we going to do with our prisoner?" I asked. 

Jim looked at the beetle meditatively. 

"He would make a fine museum piece if he were stuffed, " he said, "buton the whole, I think we'll let him go. He is an intelligent creatureand will probably be happier on Mercury than anywhere else. What do yousay that we put him on his ship and turn him loose?"

"To lead another invasion?" I asked. 

"I think not. He has seen what has happened to this one and is morelikely to warn them to keep away. In any event, if we equip the guardships with a ray that will show the Mercurian ships up and keep thedisintegrating ray ready for action, we needn't fear another invasion. Let's let him go. "

"It suits me all right, Jim, but I hold out for one thing. I will neverdare to face McQuarrie again if I fail to get a picture of him. I insiston taking his photograph before we turn him loose. "

"All right, go ahead, " laughed Jim. "He ought to be able to stand that, if you'll spare him an interview. "

An hour later we watched the Mercurian flyer disappear into space. 

"I hope I've seen the last of those bugs, " I said as the flyer fadedfrom view. 

"I don't know, " said Jim thoughtfully. "If I have interpreted correctlythe drawings that creature made, there is a race of manlike bipeds onMercury who are slaves to those beetles and who live and die in thehorrible atmosphere of a radium mine. Some of these days I may lead anexpedition to our sister planet and look into that matter. "

MECHANICAL VOICES FOR PHONE NUMBERS

 New developments whereby science goes still farther in its assumption of human attributes were described and demonstrated recently by Sergius P. Grace, Assistant Vice-President of Bell Telephone Laboratories, where the developments were conceived and worked out. 

 One development described, and soon to be put into service in New York, transforms a telephone number dialed by a subscriber into speech. Although the subscriber says not a word the number dialed is spoken aloud to the operator. 

 The device is expected to simplify and speed the hooking together of automatic and voice-hand-operated telephone exchanges, and also to speed long-distance calls from automatic phones through rural exchanges. 

 The numbers which can thus be spoken are recorded on talkie films and those which are to go into use here have already been made, all by an Irish girl said to have the best voice among the city's "number, please" girls. 

 Mr. Grace demonstrated this device by carrying into the audience a telephone with a long cord connected with a loud speaker on the stand, which represented central. A member of the audience was requested to dial a number, and choose 5551-T, the letter T representing the exchange. 

 This number the spectator dialed on the phone Mr. Grace carried. There was no sound but the clicking of the dial. Then, two seconds later, the loudspeaker spoke up clearly, in an almost human voice, "5551 T. "

 As for the recording of the sound films, there is a film for each of the ten Arabic numerals from zero to nine, and these wound on revolving drums. The dial on the telephone automatically sets in action the drum corresponding to the numeral moved on the dial. 

 Another development which sounds promising for bashful suitors and other timid souls, enables a person to store within himself electrically a message he desires to deliver and then to deliver it without speaking, simply by putting a finger to the ear of the person for whom the message is intended. 

 This Mr. Grace demonstrated. He spoke into a telephone transmitter and his words were clearly heard by all in the audience, by means of amplifiers. At the same time a part of the electrical current from the amplifier, representing the sentence he voiced, was stored in a "delay circuit, " another recent invention of the laboratories. After being stored four and a half seconds this current was transformed to a high voltage and passed into Mr. Grace's body. He then put his finger against the ear of a member of the audience, who heard in his brain the same sentence. The ear drum and surrounding tissues are made to act as one plate of a condenser-receiver, Mr. Grace explained, with the vibrations of the drum interpreted by the brain. 

 A new magnetic metal, "perminvar, " and a new insulating material, "para gutta, " which make possible construction of a telephone cable across the Atlantic to supplement the radio systems, were also described. Actual construction of the cable is expected to be started in 1930, Mr. Grace said. 

[Illustration: _The flight was hovering above the first fire-ball. _]

Earth, the Marauder

CONCLUSION OF A THREE-PART NOVEL

_By Arthur J. Burks_

CHAPTER XIX

_Desolation_

Stranger, more thrilling even than had been the flight of the Earthafter being forced out of its orbit, was the flight of those dozenaircars of the Moon, bearing the rebels of Dalis' Gens back to Earth. 

[Sidenote: Martian fire-balls and the terrific Moon-cubes wreaktremendous destruction on helpless Earth in the final death struggle ofthe warring worlds. ]

For the light which glowed from the bodies of the rebels, which had beengiven them by their passage through the white flames, was transmitted tothe cars themselves, so that they glowed as with an inner radiance oftheir own--like comets flashing across the night. 

Strange alchemy, which Sarka wondered about and, wondering, looked aheadto the time when he should be able, within his laboratory, to analyzethe force it embodied, and thus gain new scientific knowledge of untoldvalue to people of the Earth. 

As the cars raced across outer darkness, moving at top speed, greaterthan ever attained before by man, greater than even these mighty carshad traveled, Sarka looked ahead, and wondered about the fearful reporthis father had just given him. 

That there was an alliance between Mars and the Moon seemed almostunbelievable. How had they managed the first contact, the firstnegotiations leading to the compact between two such alien peoples? Hadthere been any flights exchanged by the two worlds, surely thescientists of Earth would have known about it. But there had not, thoughthere had been times and times when Sarka had peered closely enough atthe surface of both the Moon and of Mars to see the activities, or theresults of the activities, of the peoples of the two worlds. 

Somehow, however, communication, if Sarka the Second had guessedcorrectly, had been managed between Mars and the Moon; and now that theEarth was a free flying orb the two were in alliance against it, perhapsfor the same reason that the Earth had gone a-voyaging. 

 * * * * *

Side by side sat Sarka and Jaska, their eager eyes peering through theforward end of the flashing aircar toward the Earth, growing minute byminute larger. They were able, after some hours, to make out theoutlines of what had once been continents, to see the shadows in valleyswhich had once held the oceans of Earth. .. . 

And always, as they stared and literally willed the cubes which pilotedand were the motive power of the aircars to speed and more speed, thatmarvelous display of interplanetary fireworks which had aroused theconcern of Sarka the Second. 

What were those lights? Whence did they emanate? Sarka the Second hadsaid that they came from Mars, yet Mars was invisible to those in thespeeding aircars, which argued that it was hidden behind the Earth. There was no way of knowing how close it was to the home of these rebelsof Dalis' Gens. 

And ever, as they flashed forward, Sarka was recalling that vague hinton the lips of Jaska, to the effect that Luar, for all her sovereigntyof the Moon, might be, nonetheless, a native of the Earth. But. .. . 

How? Why? When? There were no answers to any of the questions yet. Ifshe were a native of Earth, how had she reached the Moon? When had shebeen sent there? Who was she? Her name, Luar, was a strange one, andSarka studied it for many minutes, rolling the odd syllables of it overhis tongue, wondering where, on the Earth, he had heard names, or words, similar to it. This produced no result, until he tried substitutingvarious letters; then, again, adding various letters. When he achieved acertain result at last, he gasped, and his brain was a-whirl. 

 * * * * *

Luar, by the addition of the letter _n_, between the _u_ and the _a_, became Lunar, meaning "of the Moon!" Yet Lunar was unmistakably a wordderived from the language of the Earth! It was possible, of course, thatthis was mere coincidence; but, taken in connection with the suspicionsof Jaska, and the incontrovertible fact that Luar resembled people ofthe Earth, Sarka did not believe in this particular whim of coincidence. 

Who was Luar?

His mind went back to the clucking sounds which, among the Gnomes of theMoon, passed for speech. He pondered anew. He shaped his lips, as nearlyas possible, to make the clucking sounds he had heard, and discoveredthat it was very difficult to manage the letter _n_!

The conclusion was inescapable: This woman, Luar, had once been _Lunar_, the _n_, down the centuries, being dropped because difficult for theGnomes to pronounce. 

"Yes, Jaska, " he said suddenly, "somewhere on Earth, when we reach it, we may discover the secret of Luar--and know far more about Dalis thanwe have ever known before!"

Jaska merely smiled her inscrutable smile, and did not answer. Byintuition, she already knew. Let Sarka arrive at her conclusion byscientific methods if he desired, and she would simply smile anew. 

Sarka thought of the manner in which Jaska and he had been transportedto the Moon; of how much Dalis seemed to know of the secrets of thelaboratory of the Sarkas. Might he not have known, two centuries ago, ofthe Secret Exit Dome, and somehow managed to make use of it in someghastly experiment? And still the one question remained unanswered: Whowas Luar?

 * * * * *

The Earth was now so close that details were plainly seen. The Himalayaswere out of sight, over the Earth, and by a mental command Sarka managedto change slightly the course of the dozen aircars. By passing over thecurve of the Earth at a high altitude, he hoped also to see from abovesomething of the result of the strange aerial bombardment of which hisfather had spoken. 

In their flight, which had been, to them a flight through the glories ofa super-heavenly Universe, they had lost all count of time. NeitherSarka nor Jaska, nor yet the people in those other aircars, could havetold how long they had been flying, when, coming over the curve of theEarth, at an elevation of something like three miles, they were able atlast to see into the area which had once housed the Gens of Dalis. 

A gasp of horror escaped the lips of Sarka and of Jaska. 

The Gens of Dalis had occupied all the territory northward to the Pole, from a line drawn east and west through the southernmost of what hadonce been the Hawaiian Islands. Upon this area had struck the strangeblue light from the deep Cone of the Moon. 

Here, however, the light was invisible, and Sarka flew on in fear thatsomehow his aircars would blunder into it, and be destroyed--for thatthe blue light was an agent of ghastly destruction became instantlyapparent. 

 * * * * *

The dwellings of the Gens of Dalis were broken and smashed into chaoticruins. Over all the area, and even into the area of the Gens southwardof that which had been Dalis, the blind gods of destruction hadpractically made a clean sweep. Sarka had opportunity to thank God that, at the time the blue column had struck the Earth, it had struck at thespot which had been almost emptied of people, and realized that blindchance had caused it. For, in order for the Gens of Dalis to be inposition to launch their attack against the Moon, he had managed, bymanipulating the speed of the Beryls, to bring that area into positiondirectly opposite the Moon. 

Had it been otherwise, the blue column might have struck anywhere, andwiped out millions of lives!

"God, Jaska, " murmured Sarka. "Look!"

Think of a shoreline, once lined with mighty buildings, after thepassage of a tidal wave greater than ever before known to man. Thedevastation would be indescribable. Multiply that shoreline by the vastarea which had housed the Gens of Dalis, and the mental picture isalmost too big to grasp. Chaos, catastrophe, approaching an infinity ofdestruction. 

The materials of which the vast buildings, set close together, had beenmade, had been twisted into grotesque, nightmarish shapes, and the wholefused into a burned and gleaming mass--which covered half of what hadonce been a mighty ocean--as though a bomb larger and more devastatingthan ever imagined of man, a bomb large enough to rock the Earth, hadlanded in the midst of the area once occupied by the Gens of Dalis!

Yet, Sarka knew, remembering the murmuring of the blue column as it cameout of the cone, all this devastation had been caused in almost absolutesilence. People could have watched and seen these deserted buildingsslowly fuse together, run together as molten metal runs together, likethe lava from a volcano of long ago under the ponderous moving to andfro of some invisible, juggernautlike agency. 

 * * * * *

Sarka shuddered, trying to picture in his mind the massing of theminions of Mars, who thus saw a new country given into their hands--ifthey could take it. Had the Earth been taken by surprise? Had Sarka theSecond been able to prepare for the approaching catastrophe?

"Father, " he sent his thoughts racing on ahead of him, "are those lightswhich are striking the Earth causing any damage?"

"Only, " came back the instant answer, "in that they destroy the courageof the people of the Earth! The people, however, now know that Sarka isreturning, and their courage rises again! The flames are merely a hintof what faces us; but the people will rise and follow you wherever youlead!"

So, as they raced across the area of devastation, the face of Sarkabecame calm again. On a chance, he sent a single sentence of strangemeaning to his father. 

"The ruler of the Moon is a woman called Luar, which seems a contractionof Lunar!"

For many minutes Sarka the Second made no answer. When it came itstartled Sarka to the depths of him, despite the fact that he hadexpected to be startled. 

"There was a woman named Lunar!"

CHAPTER XX

_Sarka Commands Again_

Ahead, through the storms which still hung tenaciously to the roof ofthe world, flashed those dozen aircars of the Moon. Now Sarka couldplainly see the dome of his laboratory, and from the depths of himwelled up that strange glow which Earthlings recognize as the joy ofreturning home, than which there is none, save the love for a woman, greater. 

Now he could see the effect of those flares, or lights, from Mars, whichimpinged on the face of the Earth, though he could see no purpose inthem, no reason for their being, since they seemed to do no damage atall, though the effect of them was weird in the extreme. 

Outer darkness, rent with ripping, roaring storms, flurries of ice, snowand sleet, shot through and through by balls of lambent flames inunguessable numbers. Eery lights which struck the surface of the Earth, bounded away and, half a mile or so from the surface again, burst intoflaming pin-wheels, like skyrockets of ancient times. Strange lights, causing weird effects, but producing no damage at all, save to lessen tosome extent the courage of Earthlings, because they did not understandthese things. And always, down the ages, man had stood most in fear ofthe Unknown. 

 * * * * *

Sarka peered off across the heavens where a ball of flame now seemed tobe rising over the horizon, and was amazed at the size of this planet. Mars was close to Earth, so close that, had they possessed aircars likethose of the Moon-people--which remained to be seen--they could easilyhave attacked the Earth. 

Across the face of the Earth flashed those fiery will-o'-the-wisps fromMars, without rhyme or reason; yet Sarka knew positively that theypossessed some meaning, and that the Earth had been forced thus close toMars for a purpose. What that purpose was must yet be discovered. 

Then, under the aircars, the laboratory of Sarka. 

Down dropped the aircars to a landing near the laboratory, and to thecubes in the forepeak of each Sarka sent the mental command:

"Assure yourselves that the aircars will remain where they are! Musterinside the laboratory, keeping well away from the Master Beryl!"

Then to the people who had returned, clothed in strange radiance, fromthe Moon with Sarka and with Jaska he spoke:

"Leave the cars and enter my laboratory, where further orders will begiven you!"

With Jaska still by his side, Sarka entered the laboratory through theExit Dome. Inside, clothing was swiftly brought for the rebels, forSarka and for Jaska. But, even when they were clothed, these people whohad come back seemed to glow with an inner radiance which transfiguredthem. 

Sarka the Second, his face drawn and pale, came from the Observatory tomeet his son, and the two were clasped in each other's arms for amoment. Sarka the Second, who had looked no older than his son, seemedto have aged a dozen centuries in the time Sarka had been gone. 

But it was not of the threatened attack by Martians that Sarka theSecond spoke. He made no statement. He merely asked a question:

"Was Lunar very beautiful, and just a bit unearthly in appearance?"

 * * * * *

Sarka started. 

"Yes. Beautiful! Wondrously, fearfully beautiful: but I had the feelingthat she had no heart or soul, no conscience: that she wassomehow--well, bestial!"

A moan of anguish escaped Sarka the Second. 

"Dalis again!" he ejaculated. "But much of the fault was mine! Beforeyou were born, we scientists of Earth had already several times realizedthe necessity of expansion for the children of Earth if they were tocontinue. Dalis' proposal to my father was discarded, because itinvolved the wholesale taking of life. But after the oceans had beenobliterated, and the human family still outgrew its bounds, Dalis cameto my father and me with still another proposal. It involved a strange, other-worldly young woman whom he called Lunar! Her family--well, nothing was known about her, for her family could not be traced. Wipedout, I presume, in some inter-family quarrel, leaving her alone. Dalisfound her, took an interest in her, and the very strangeness of her gavehim his idea, which he brought to my father and me. 

"His proposal was somewhat like that which you made when we sent theEarth out of its orbit into outer space, save that Dalis' schemeinvolved no such program. His was simply a proposal to somehowcommunicate with the Moon by the use of an interplanetary rocket thatshould carry a human passenger. 

"He put the idea up to this girl, Lunar, and she did not seem to careone way or another. Dalis was all wrapped up in his ideas, and gave thegirl the name of Lunar, as being symbolical of his plans for her. Hecoached and trained her against the consummation of his plan. We knewsomething, theoretically at least, about the conditions on the Moon, andeverything possible was done for her, to make it feasible for her toexist on the Moon. My error was in ever permitting the experiment to bemade, since if I had negatived the idea. Dalis would have gone nofurther!

"But I, too, was curious, and Lunar did not care. Well, the rocket wasconstructed, and shot outward into space by a series of explosions. Noword was ever received from Lunar, though it was known that she landedon the Moon!

 * * * * *

"I say no word was ever received, yet what you have intimated provesthat Dalis has either been in mental communication with her, hoping toinduce her to send a force against the Earth, and assist him inmastering the Earth, overthrowing we Sarkas--or has been biding histime against something of the thing we have now accomplished. "

This seemed to clear up many things for Sarka, though it piled higherupon his shoulders the weight of his responsibilities. Theother-worldliness of Lunar, called now Luar, explained her mastery ofthe Gnomes, and through them the cubes, and her knowledge of theomnipotent qualities of the white flames of the Moon's core, which mighthave been, it came to Sarka in a flash, the source of all life on theMoon in the beginning!

"But father, " went on Sarka, "I don't see any sense in this aerialbombardment by Mars!"

"I believe, " said Sarka the Second sadly, "that before another ten hourspass we shall know the worst there is to be known: but now, son, insteadof going into attack against the Moon, we go into battle against thecombined forces of Mars and of the Moon!"

 * * * * *

Sarka now took command of the forces of the Earth. Swiftly he turned tothe people of the Gens of Dalis who had come back with him. 

"You will be divided into eleven equal groups, as nearly as possible. Father, will you please arrange the division? Each group will beattached to the staff of one of the Spokesman of the Gens, so that eachSpokesman will have the benefit of your knowledge with reference toconditions on the Moon. Each group will re-enter its particular aircar, retaining control of the cube in each case, of course, and will at oncerepair to his proper station. Telepathy is the mode of communicationwith the cubes, and you rule them by your will. Each group, whenassembled by my father, will choose a leader before quitting thislaboratory, and such leader will remain in command of his group, underthe overlordship of the Spokesman to whom he reports with his group. Youunderstand!

"Your loyalty is unquestioned. You will consecrate your lives to thewelfare of the Gens to which you are going, since you no longer have aGens of your own!"

Sarka turned to the cubes, which had formed in a line just inside theExit Dome, and issued a mental command to the cube that had piloted hisaircar from the Moon. The cube faded out instantly, appearingimmediately afterward on the table of the vari-colored lights. 

"Father, " said Sarka, "while I am issuing orders to the Spokesmen, please see if you can discover the secret of these cubes: how they areactuated, the real extent of their intelligence! The rest of you, withyour cubes, depart immediately and report to your new Gens!"

 * * * * *

Within ten minutes the divisions had been made, and the Radiant Peoplehad entered the aircars and, outside the laboratory, risen free of theEarth, and turned, each in its proper direction, for the Gens of itsassignment. The Sarkas and Jaska watched them go. 

There remained but one aircar, standing outside on half a dozen of thosegrim tentacles, with two tentacles swinging free, undulating to and frolike serpents. Harnessed electricity actuating the tentacles--cars andtentacles subservient to the cubes. 

The aircars safely on their way, Sarka stepped to the Master Beryl, tuned it down to normal speed, and signalled the Spokesmen of the Gens. 

"The Moon and Mars are in alliance against us, and Dalis has alliedhimself and his Gens with the ruler of the Moon! I don't know yet whatform the attack will take, but know this: that the safety of the world, of all its people, rests in your hands, and that the war into which weare going is potentially more vast than expected when this venturebegan, and more devastating than the fight with the aircars of the Moon!Coming to you, in aircars which we managed to take from theMoon-people, are such of the people of the Gens of Dalis as were able toreturn with me. Question them, gather all the information you can aboutthem, and through them keep control of the cubes which pilot theaircars, for in the cubes, I believe, lies the secret of our possiblevictory in the fight to come!"

 * * * * *

Sarka scarcely knew why he had spoken the last sentence. It was asthough something deep within him had risen up, commanded him to speak, and deeper yet, far back in his consciousness, was a mental picture ofthe devastation he had witnessed on his flight above the area that hadonce housed the Gens of Dalis. 

For in that ghastly area, he believed, was embodied an idea greater thanmere wanton destruction, just as there was an idea back of the fierylights from Mars greater than mere display. Somehow the two were allied, and Sarka believed that, between the blue column, and the fiery lightsfrom Mars, the fate of the world rested. 

He could, he believed, by manipulation of the Beryls that yet remained, maneuver the world away from that blue column--which on the Earth wasinvisible. But to have done so would have thwarted the very purpose forwhich this mad voyage had been begun. The world had been started on itsmad journey into space for the purpose of attacking and colonizing theMoon and Mars. 

The Moon had been colonized by the Gens of Dalis, already in potentialrevolt against the Earth. Mars was next, and by forcing the Earth intoclose proximity to Mars the people of the Moon had played into the handsof Earth-people--if the people of Earth were capable of carrying out theprogram of expansion originally proposed by Sarka!

If they were not . .. Well, Sarka thought somewhat grimly, the resultantcataclysmic war would at least solve the problem of over-population!Inasmuch as the Earth was already committed to whatever might transpire, Sarka believed he should take a philosophic view of the matter!

 * * * * *

Sarka turned to an examination of the Master Beryl, and even as hepeered into the depths of it, he thought gratefully how nice it was tobe home again, in his own laboratory, upon the world of his nativity. Heeven found it within his heart to feel somewhat sorry for Dalis, and tofeel ashamed that he had, even in his heart, mistreated him. 

Then he thought, with a tightening of his jaw muscles, of the casual wayin which Dalis had destroyed Sarka the First, of his forcing his peopleto undergo the terrors of the lake of white flames without telling themthe simple secret; of his betrayal of the Earth in his swift alliancewith Luar; or Luar herself when, as Lunar, a strange waif of Earth, Dalis had sent her out as the first human passenger aboard a rocket tothe Moon. All his pity vanished, though he still believed he had doneright in sparing Dalis' life. 

Suddenly there came an ominous humming in the Beryl, and simultaneouslysignals from the vari-colored lights on the table. Sarka whirled to thelights, noting their color, and mentally repeating the names of theSpokesmen who signalled him. 

Even before he gave the signal that placed him in position to conversewith them, he noted the strange coincidence. The Spokesmen who desiredspeech with him were tutelary heads of Gens whose borders touched thedevasted area where Dalis had but recently been overlord!

An icy chill caressed his spine as he signalled the Spokesmen to speak. 

"Yes, Vardee? Prull? Klaser? Cleric?"

 * * * * *

The report of each of them was substantially the same, though couched indifferent words, words freighted heavily with strange terror. 

"The devasted area has suddenly broken into movement! Throughout thatportion of it visible from my Gens area, the fused mass of debris isbubbling, fermenting, walking into life! An aura of unearthly menaceseems to flow outward from this heaving mass, and the whole is assuminga most peculiar radiance--cold gleaming, like distant starshine!"

"Wait!" replied Sarka swiftly. "Wait until the people I have sent youhave arrived! Report to me instantly if the movement of the mass isnoticeably augmented, and especially so if it seems to be breaking up, or coagulating into any sort of form whatever!"

Then he dimmed the lights, indicating that for the moment there wasnothing more to be said. Just then his father, face very gray and veryold, entered the room of the Master Beryl from the laboratory. 

"Son!" he said. "The crisis is almost upon us! The Martians are coming!"

CHAPTER XXI

_Cubes of Chaos_

Sarka raced into the Observatory, wondering as he ran how the attack ofthe Martians would manifest itself; but scarcely prepared for thebrilliant display which greeted his gaze. Compared to the oncomingflames from Mars, the preceding display of lights had been as nothing. The whole Heavens between the Earth and Mars seemed alight with anunearthly glare, as though the very heart of the sun had burst andhurled part of its flaming mass outward into space. 

On it came with unbelievable speed. 

But there was no telling, yet, the form of the things which were coming. 

"What are they?" whispered Jaska, standing fearlessly at Sarka's side. "Interplanetary cars? Rockets? Balls of fire? Or beings of Mars?"

"I think, " said Sarka, after studying the display for a few minutes, "that they are either rockets or fireballs, perhaps both together! Butthe Martians cannot consolidate any position on the Earth without comingto handgrips. Since they must know this, we can expect to see the peopleof Mars themselves when, or soon after, those balls of fire strike theEarth!"

Sarka raced back to the room of the Master Beryl as a strident hummingcame through to him. 

 * * * * *

The Spokesmen of the Gens whose borders touched those of the devastedDalis area, were reporting again, and their voices were high pitchedwith fear that threatened to break the bounds of sanity. 

"The ferment in the devasted area, " was the gist of their report, "isassuming myriads of shapes! The fused mass has broken up into isolatedmasses, and each mass of itself is assuming one of the many forms!"

"What forms?" snapped Sarka. "Quickly!"

"Cubes! Thousands and millions of cubes, and the cubes themselves areforming into larger cubes, some square, some rectangular! In the midstof these formations are others, mostly columnar, each column consistingof cubes which have coalesced into the larger form from the same smallcubes! The columnar formations are topped by globes which emit anethereal radiance!"

"Listen!" Sarka's voice was vibrant with excitement. "Spokesmen of theGens, make sure that every individual member of your Gens is fullyequipped with flying clothing including belts and ovoids--prepared foran indefinite stay outside on the roof of the world! Get your people outswiftly, keeping them in formation! Keep about you those people of Daliswhom I sent you, and understand before you break contact with yourBeryls, that instructions received from these people come from me! Inturn, after you have quitted the hives, anything you wish to say to meyou can repeat to any one of the glowing people of Dalis!"

The contacts were broken. Sarka stared into the Beryl, glancing swiftlyin all directions, to see whether his orders were obeyed. 

Out of the myriads of hives were flying the people of all the Gens ofEarth, their vast numbers already darkening the roof of the world. Theadvance fires from Mars seemed to have no effect on them, which Sarkahad expected, since the fires seemed to consume nothing they had touchedpreviously. 

 * * * * *

By millions the people came forth. People dressed in the clothing ofthis Gens or that, wearing each the insignia of the house of hisSpokesman. A brave show. Sarka could see the faces of many, now inlight, now in shadow, as the advance fires of Mars lighted them for amoment in passing, then left them in shadow as the bursting balls offire faded and died. 

Strange, too, that the fireballs made no noise. Noiseless flame whichrebounded from the surface of the Earth broke in silence, deluging theheavens with shooting stars of great brilliance. Through its displayflew the people of the Gens, mustering in flight above flight, each tohis own level, under command of the Spokesmen of the Gens. 

"How long, father, " queried Sarka, "should it take to empty the Gensareas?"

"The people of Earth have been waiting for word to go into battle sincewe first sent the people of Dalis against the Moon-men. They still areready! The dwellings of our people, _all_ of them, can be emptied withinan hour!"

"I wonder, " mused Sarka, "if that is soon enough!"

Perhaps yes, perhaps no. It would be a race, in any case. Sarka dividedhis attention between the rapidly changing formations of the Moon-cubesin that devasted area and the onrushing charge of the fire-balls fromMars. All were visible to him through the Master Beryl, and from theObservatory, though the Martian fire-balls were now so close that thevanguard of them could even be seen in the Master Beryl, adjusted toview only activities on the surface of the Earth. 

Even as the last flights of the Gens of Earth were slipping into the icyair from the roof of the world, the Moon-cubes began their terrifying, appalling attack, every detail of which could be seen by Sarka from theMaster Beryl. 

 * * * * *

Those columns, composed of cubes, seemed to be the leaders of a vastcube-army. The top of each of them was a gleaming globe whose eery lightplayed over the country immediately surrounding each column, their weirdlight reflected in the squares, rectangles and globes that other cubeshad formed. 

Sarka sought swiftly among the columns for the one which mightconceivably be in supreme command; but even as he sought the Moon-cubesmoved to the attack. The globes on the tops of the columns dimmed theirlights, and the squares, rectangles and globes got instantly intoterrible motion. 

Southward from the position in which they had formed they began to move, the squares and rectangles apparently sliding along the surface of thescarred and broken soil, the globes rolling. 

Southward there was the vast wall of the Gens that bordered the devastedarea in that direction, and the cube-army was instantly at full chargetoward this, in what Sarka realized was, to be a war of demolition!

Within a minute, Sarka was conscious of a trembling of all thelaboratory, and the eyes of Jaska were wide with fear. Swiftly thetrembling grew, until sound now was added to the vast, awesome tremor--avast, roaring crescendo of sound that mounted and mounted as the speedof the cube-army increased. The vanguard of the cube-army struck thedwelling of the Gens southward of that of Dalis, and a mighty, rocketing roar sounded in the Master Beryl, was audible inside thelaboratory, even without the aid of the Beryl, at whose surface Sarkastared as a man fascinated, hypnotized. 

 * * * * *

The cube-army struck the dwellings, disappeared into them as though theyhad been composed of tissue paper, and continued on! Over the tops ofthe cube-army toppled the roofs of the dwellings, there, in the midst ofthe cubes, to be ground to powder, with a sound as of a millionavalanches grinding together in some awesome, sun-size valley. Southward, in the wake of the chaotic charge, moved a mighty, giganticcrevasse, whose sides were the walls of the hives left standing. Andstill the cube-army moved in, grinding everything it touched to dust, trampling buildings into nothingness, destroying utterly along a fronthundreds of miles wide, and as deep as the dwellings of men!

"God!" cried Sarka, his voice so tense that both his father and Jaskaheard it above the roaring which shook and rocked the world. "Do yousee? The Moon-cubes are destroying the dwelling of our people, and theMartians are to destroy the people who have fled!"

"There must be a way, " said Sarka the Second quietly, "to circumvent thecubes! But what? Your will still rules the cubes which piloted you fromthe Moon?"

"Yes, " replied Sarka tersely, "but there are only a dozen of the cubes. What can they do against countless millions of them? Cubes which areMoon-cubes, brought to the Earth in the heart of that blue column, herereformed to create an army which is invincible, because it cannot beslain! It means that the Moon-people themselves, thousands of miles outof our reach, have but to sit in comfort and watch their cube-slavesdestroy us! When they have laid waste the Earth, the Martians have butto finish the fight!"

 * * * * *

"If, beloved, " said Jaska, "your will commands those twelve cubes, itcan also command all the others, for they must be essentially the same. Call on the rebels of Dalis to help you!"

"Then what of the Spokesmen of the Gens, who will be out of contact withme?"

"They must stand on their own feet, must fight their own battle! Call toyou the people who have passed through the white flames, and fight withthe distant will of Luar and of Dalis for control of the cube-army!"

Again that exaltation, which convinced him he could move mountains withhis two hands, coursed through the being of Sarka. 

Quietly be answered Jaska. 

"I believe you are right, " he said softly. "Those of us who have passedthrough the flames which bore these Moon-cubes will control the cubes, even bend them to our will. The Spokesmen must vanquish the Martians orperish!"

Then he sent his mental commands to the Spokesmen:

"Meet the Martians when they arrive and destroy or drive them back! Youlive only if you win! We speak no more until victory is ours! People ofthe Gens of Dalis, go to the areas being devasted by the cubes, takingyour cubes and aircars with you, and I will join you there! _And Jaskawith me!_"

Sarka had not himself mentally spoken the last four words. Jaska hadthought-spoken them, before he could prevent. He turned upon her, lipsshaping a command that she remain behind. But she forestalled him. 

"I, too, have been through the white flames! You may have need of all ofus!"

CHAPTER XXII

_The Struggle for Mastery_

The people of all the Gens of Earth were now between two fires. Thecube-army, ruled by the mistress of the Moon, was laying waste thedwellings of the Gens, destroying them with a speed and surety of whichno earthquake, whatever its proportions, would have been capable. TheGens were forced out upon the roof of the world--where, scarcely hadthey maneuvered into their prearranged formations, than the Martiansstruck. 

Those huge balls of fire, larger even than the aircars of the Moon, landed in vast and awe-inspiring numbers on the roof of theworld--landed easily, with no apparent effort or shock. The light ofthem made all the world a place of vast radiance, save only that portionwhich was being destroyed by the cube-army, and this area had a cold, chill radiance of its own. 

By groups and organisations the fire-balls of Mars landed, and restedquiescent on the surface of the globe. 

Sarka, pausing only long enough in his laboratory to study this strangeattack and to discover how it would get under way, was at the same timepreparing to go forth to take his own strange part in the defensiveaction of Earthlings. A vast confidence was in him. .. . 

"We will lose millions of people, father, " he said softly. "But it willend in our victory, in the most glorious war ever fought on this Earth!"

"That is true, my son!" replied the older man sadly. 

 * * * * *

For several minutes the vast fire-balls, which seemed to be monsterglowing octagons, rested where they had landed, and even then the Gensof the people were closing on them, bringing their ray directors andatom-disintegrators into action. 

Then, when the Earthlings would have destroyed the first of the vastfire-balls--and Sarka was noting that the flames which bathed the ballsseemed to have no effect whatever on Earthlings, save to outline them inmantles of fire--the fire-balls wakened to new life. 

They opened like the halves of peaches falling apart, and out upon theroof of the world poured the first Martians Earth had ever seen!

They were more than twice the size, on the average, of Earth people, andat first glance seemed to resemble them very much, save that their eyes, of which each Martian was possessed of two, were set on the ends of longtentacles which could stretch forth to a length of two feet or more fromthe eye-sockets and thus be turned in any direction. Each eye wasindependent of its neighbor, as one could look forward while the otherlooked backward, or one could look right while the other looked left. 

Each Martian possessed two arms on each side of a huge, powerful torso, and legs that were like the bolls of trees, compared to the slenderlimbs of Earthlings. All the Martians seemed to be dressed in the skinsof strange, vari-colored beasts. Each carried in his upper right hand aslender canelike thing some three feet in length, from whose tip thereflashed those spurts of flame which had puzzled the Earth people beforethe actual launching of the attack. 

 * * * * *

Beyond these weapons, the Martians seemed to possess no weapons ofoffense at all, nor of defense. 

"With our ray directors and atom-disintegrators, " said Sarka, movinginto the Exit Dome with Jaska, "we can blast them from the face of theEarth!"

But in a moment he realized that he had spoken too hastily. 

The nearest fire-ball was, of course, within the area of the Gens ofCleric, and Sarka could here see with his naked eyes all thattranspired. The Martian passengers, who moved swiftly away from theirfire-ball vehicles, then a flight of the Gens of Cleric descended uponthe fireball and its fleeing passengers, with tiny ray directors andatom-disintegrators held to the fore, ready for action. 

The Martians, at some distance from their glowing vehicle, paused andformed a ragged line, facing the ball, staring at the descending peopleof the Gens of Cleric, their tentaclelike eyes waving to and fro, oddlylike the tentacles of those aircars of the Moon. 

The flight was hovering above the first fireball. In a second now, atthe command of an underling, the ray directors would destroy fire-balland Martians as thoroughly as though they had never existed at all. 

 * * * * *

But then a strange thing happened. At that exact moment, timing theiractions to fractions of seconds, the Martians raised and pointed theircanelike weapons of the spurting flames. They pointed them, however, notat the Earthlings, but at the fire-ball which had brought them to Earth!

Instantly the fire-ball exploded as with the roaring of a hundred mightyvolcanoes--and the descending flight of the Gens of Cleric was blastedinto countless fragments! Bits of them flew in all directions. Manydropped, the mangled, infinitesmal remains of them, down to the roof ofEarth, while many were hurled skyward through formations abovethem--while those formations, to a height of a full two miles, werebroken asunder. Many flights above that first flight were smashed andbroken, their individual members hurled in all directions by that onesingle blast of a single fire-ball. 

Individuals who escaped destruction were hurled end over end, upwardthrough other flights higher above, and the whole aggregation of flightswhich had been concentrated on that first fire-ball was instantlydemoralized, while full fifty per cent of its individuals were instantlytorn to bits!

Sarka groaned to the depths of him. 

"The leader of the Martians, or the master who sent them here, sent themhere to win. For if they do not win, they cannot return to Mars, as theywill have destroyed their vehicles! Their confidence is superhuman!"

"Have faith in the courage of Earthlings, son!" said Sarka. 

It was much to ask, for if one single one of these fire-balls couldwreak such havoc with the people of Earth, what would be the destructionby the countless other unexploded fireballs of the Martians?

 * * * * *

Still, the Spokesmen themselves must discover a way to hold their own, to win against the Martians. For Sarka there was greater work to do. Hemust oppose the wills of Luar and of Dalis in a mighty mental conflict, which would decide whether the homes of men would be saved, or utterlydestroyed by the Moon-cubes. 

But as he left through the Exit Dome, with Jaska by his side, heshuddered, and was just a little sick inside as he saw the fearfulresult of that first explosion of a Martian fire-ball! Bits of humanwreckage were scattered over the Earth for a great distance in alldirections from where the fire-ball had exploded. And at that spot agigantic crater had been torn in the roof of the world, going down tonone knew what depths. 

Even the Martians, here only to consolidate positions which had passedthe demolition of the Moon-cubes, were capable of demolitions almost asghastly and complete as those of the cubes!

The sound was incapable of being described, for outside the laboratorythe sound of the advance of the Moon-cubes eating into the dwellings ofmen, tumbling them down, grinding them to powder, was cataclysmic in itsmighty volume. A million express trains crashing head-on into walls ofgalvanized iron at top speed, simultaneously. 

Ear-drum crashing blows as fireballs exploded. The screams and shrieksof maimed and dying Earthlings--of Earthlings unwounded but possessed ofabysmal fear. .. . 

 * * * * *

Then, resolutely, Sarka turned his back on the conflict between theMartians and the people of Earth, and hurtled across the devastatedroof of the world toward that area which was feeling the destructiveforce of the vandal cube-army. As he flew, Jaska keeping pace with himin silence, his mind was busy. 

Passage through the white flames of the Moon had given him the key. Those white flames--source of all life on the Moon--rendered almostgodlike those whom it bathed . .. Gave them unbelievable access of mentalbrilliance . .. Were the source of that blue column which had forced theEarth outward toward Mars . .. Were the source, in some way, of the cubesthemselves, as he and Jaska, after passing through them, owed their nownear-divinity to the same white flames! Those flames had made Luarmistress of the Moon--therefore of the Gnomes and of the cubes!Therefore, Sarka, having been bathed in the flames, should make himselfmaster of the cubes, if he could out-will the combined determinations ofLuar and of Dalis!

His confidence was supreme as he fled through outer darkness toward theeery light which came from the area of demolitions. Looking ahead, hecould see tiny glows in the sky, which he knew to be the rebels ofDalis' Gens, flying to keep their rendezvous with him. 

Higher mounted his courage and his confidence as he approached theroaring crash, perpetual and always mounting, which showed him where thecube-army was busiest. The sound vibrated the very air, causing thebodies of Sarka to tingle with it, causing them to flutter and shake intheir flight with its awesome power. But they did not hold back, flewonward through the gloom, leaving behind them the brightly lighted areaswhere Gens of Earth battled with the fireballs of the Martians, movinginto the area of the eery glowing of the cubes. 

 * * * * *

Just as he approached the spot where mighty dwellings were tumblingbefore the march of the cube-army, he sent a single command toward thecube which had piloted him from the Moon. 

"Come to me on the edge of the crevasse nearest the place of mostdestruction!"

Would the cube now be subservient to his will? He wondered. Everythingdepended upon that. If not, then he might as well try to stay the forcesof a mighty avalanche with his breath, as halt the cube-army with hiswill. 

But strangely enough, the closer he came to the vast area of tumblingdwellings the calmer he became, the more sure that he would win againstthe cubes. 

For when he landed at the lip of the crevasse, across which he couldlook for a hundred miles, a single cube gleamed brightly almost at hisfeet, awaiting his orders!

One by one, by twos, threes, fours, dozens, came the glowing people whohad been bathed in the white flames of the Moon's life-source, and aseach dropped down beside him, Sarka gave a command. 

"Drop down in the midst of the cubes! Make your own cube the rallyingpoint for this vast army of cubes, force the cubes to desist in theirmighty destruction, be subservient to your will--and do you, each ofyou, be subservient to _my_ will!"

 * * * * *

Away dropped the rebels, glowing points of white flame, dropping downthe sides of the crevasse, a mighty, awesome canyon, into the very heartof the activity of the cubes, and from the brain of Sarka, aided by thewill of Jaska, went forth a simple command:

"Cease your march of destruction, O Moon-cubes, and harken to the willof Sarka, your master! Draw back from your labors, and muster, not assquares, rectangles and columns, but as individual cubes, in the areaalready devastated by you! Rally about the glowing people who havepassed through the flames which were your Moon-mother, and wait fororders! Take no further heed of commands from Dalis and Luar!"

Instantly it seemed to Sarka that he had drawn into some invisiblevortex which tore at his brain, at his body, at his soul. Inside him acold voice seemed to say:

"Fool, Sarka! My will is greater than yours!"

But though the force of the will of Luar, whose thought he recognized, tore at him, almost shriveled the soul and brain of him with its might, he continued to send his thought-command out to the Moon-cubes, forcingit through the wall of Luar's will, hurling it like invisibleprojectiles at the cube-army below. 

Exultation possessed him, buoyed him up, gave him greater courage andconfidence as the moments passed for even as all his being concentratedon the will-command to the cubes, his senses told him that the mightysound of destruction was dying away, fading out. 

 * * * * *

Slower now the dwellings fell, slower moved the Moon-cubes; and as theyslowed in their mighty march through the dwellings of men, so increasedthe confidence, the power of will, of Sarka and his people--the rebelsof the Gens of Dalis. 

Then, after an hour, whose mighty mental conflict had bathed Sarka inthe perspiration of superhuman effort, the sound of destruction ceasedall together, and the dwellings ceased to fall. 

A silent shout, like an inborn paean of rejoicing, surged through Sarkaas he noted the retreat from the dwellings of men, of the Moon-cubes!Back and back retreated the squares and the rectangles, the columns andthe globes, breaking apart as they retreated. 

Within fifteen minutes after the destruction had ceased, millions ofgleaming cubes winked upward from the bottom of thecrevasse--motionless, quiescent!

Sarka sent forth another thought. 

"I am your master, O cubes of the Moon!"

No sound, no movement, answered him. 

"Luar and Dalis are no longer able to command you!"

Still no sound or movement of the cubes. 

 * * * * *

Then, taking a deep breath, as of a swimmer preparing to dive into icywater, Sarka gave a new command. 

"Dissolve! Reform on the roof of the world in globes! Roll over the faceof the Earth, destroy the fire-balls of Mars--and take prisoners, insidethe globes, the attackers from Mars!"

Instantly the gleaming cubes vanished, and darkness as of a mighty pitpossessed the crevasse of destruction. Then, at the lip of the greatcrevasse, the cubes swept into form--myriads of globes which gleamedwith the cold blue brilliance of the Moon!

They had no sooner formed as globes than they were in action again, rolling over the roof of the world as with a rising crescendo of thundertumbling down the night-black sky. So mighty was their rush that theroof of the world trembled and shook. 

Above their charge raced Sarka and Jaska, and with them the rebels ofthe Gens of Dalis. 

All were present when the cubes crashed into the fire-balls from Mars, swept the Martians within themselves as prisoners, held themsecurely--and continued on, destroying the fire-balls in myriads. Hereand there fire-balls exploded on contact, destroying the globes, whichimmediately reformed again, as though the explosions had not been feltat all. 

 * * * * *

Sarka had won the allegiance of the Moon-cubes, which had defeated andtaken prisoners the Martians, destroying the vehicles in which theymight have returned to Mars. And as realization came, darkness settledover the roof of the world; the last flare of Mars faded and died. 

This done, the cubes formed in mighty rows, facing the laboratory ofSarka. His heart beating madly with exultation, Sarka studied them. Thenhe stepped into the Observatory, gazed away across the space whichseparated the Earth from the Moon, sent a mental message wingingoutward. 

"Luar! Dalis!"

Faintly, fearfully, came the answer. 

"We hear, O Sarka!"

"Shift the blue column away from the Earth! Do not interfere as wereturn to our orbit about the sun! Obey, or I combine the totalknowledge of Mars, the Earth, and the Moon in an attack against you andyour Martian ally! Inform your ally that their people will not return, that the Earth has need of them--but that two Gens of Earth will bereceived by Martians in perfect amity, and these Gens allowed bidingplaces on Mars! Unless your ally obeys, the Martians in my hands will bedestroyed!"

In an hour the answer came, the snarling thought-answer of Dalis. 

"We hear! We obey! But Dalis is never beaten while he lives! His daywill come!"

 * * * * *

Sarka found himself feeling even a little sorry for sorely beaten Dalis;but his face was grim as he sent another command to the people of Daliswho had passed through the life-source of the Moon. 

"Take command of the cubes, and force them to repair the damage whichhas been done to the dwellings of men--to repair them completely, overall the face of the Earth!"

As the glowing people hurried to obey, Sarka softly asked his father:

"But what shall we do with the Martians?"

Sarka the Second smiled. 

"Release them and send them to the lowest level where, guarded by thecubes, they will be set to constructing fireballs like those in whichthey arrived for the use of Earth if Dalis, or the Martians, ever attackagain! And, son. .. . "

"Yes, O my father?" said Sarka softly. 

"I have another suggestion for the employment of the cubes! Let thembuild aircars to be used by the Gens of Prull and of Klaser, astransportation to Mars whenever you are ready for them to go!"

Sarka smiled boyishly, happily. 

"Yes, O my father; and is there anything else?"

"Yes! Take Jaska as your mate! Do you not see that she is waiting foryou to speak?"

Sarka turned to Jaska, whose face was glorious in her surrender, andwhose lips were parted in a loving smile--which faded only when Sarka'slips caressed it away. 

 (_The end. _)

 ASTOUNDING STORIES

 _Appears on Newsstands_

 THE FIRST THURSDAY IN EACH MONTH

[Illustration: The Readers' Corner

_A Meeting Place for Readers of_ Astounding Stories]

 _From Australia_

 Dear Editor:

 I am taking the privilege of writing to you in an endeavor to show my appreciation of your magazine Astounding Stories. 

 Although I am an inveterate reader I must say that I have never read any book or magazine to come up to the above, and confess that though I am ignorant of the intricacies of science (and lacked interest in same prior to my reading your first issue) same is described so plainly that I have no trouble in fully understanding exactly what the author conveys. I must thank you for this other interest in the monotony of life. 

 Have pleasure of informing you that through my enthusiasm have created several subscribers, and on occasions when adopting the age old custom of placing my foot upon the rail and bending the elbow, have entered into many a conversation and discussion re the different stories included in your magazine. 

 I assure you of my whole-hearted support in the furthering of the popularity of your enjoyable and unique work in my country, and wish you every success in your venture. --M. B. Johnston, 237 Flinders Lane, Melbourne, Australia. 

 _Mr. Neal's Favorites_

 Dear Editor:

 The other day I saw Astounding Stories on one of the newsstands. I purchased it, and after reading "Brigands of the Moon", I eagerly finished the rest of the magazine. I did not like "Out of the Dreadful Depths. " In my opinion it should not be in a Science Fiction magazine. The only thing the matter with your magazine is that it is too small. I would like to read some stories in "our" magazine by Ed Earl Repp, David H. Keller, M. D. , Miles J. Brewer, M. D. , and Stanton Coblentz--Francis Neal, R. R. 4, Box 105, Kokomo, Ind. 

 _No Ghost Stories_

 Dear Editor:

 I received your April issue and I think it is the best yet. I have but one complaint to make, and that is your magazine seems to print some good science stories, but also has some stories which do not belong in a Science Fiction magazine. They might come under the name of weird tales. Is your magazine devoted to pure 100 per cent. Science Fiction? If so, I think you ought to leave out the ghost stories. --Louis Wentzler, 1933 Woodbine St. , Brooklyn, N. Y. 

 _From the Other Sex_

 Dear Editor:

 You'll be surprised to hear from a girl, as I notice only boys wrote to praise your new magazine. I tried reading some of the Science Fiction magazines my brother buys every month but I'd start reading a story only to leave it unfinished. But your magazine is different. When I picked it up to read it I thought I'd soon throw it down and read something else, but the moment I started to read one of the stories of your new magazine I read it to the finish. I never read such vivid and exciting stories. Even my brother who loves all kinds of Science Fiction magazines couldn't stop praising your new magazine. He said Astounding Stories beats them all. 

 Some of our readers criticized your new magazine, and I haven't anything but disagreement for them. Yet, who am I, to judge persons who have read and know all about Science Fiction?

 Will recommend your new magazine to all my friends. --Sue O'Bara, 13440 Barley Ave. , Chicago, Illinois. 

 _January Issue Was First_

 Dear Editor:

 I have just finished reading the April issue of "our" magazine. Can mere words describe my feelings? I am classing the stories as follows: A--excellent; B--very good; C--good; D--passable; E--poor. 

 A--"Monsters of Moyen, " "Vampires of Venus, " "The Ray of Madness, " "The Soul-Snatcher. "

 B--"The Man Who Was Dead. "

 C--None. D--None. E--None. 

 "Brigands of the Moon" is getting more and more interesting. Can you please tell me which month's issue was the first one, as I didn't procure the first two copies and should like to do so?--Eli Meltzer, 1466 Coney Island Ave. , Brooklyn, N. Y. 

 "_Eclipses All_"

 Dear Editor:

 Just as soon as your new magazine came out I espied it. It eclipsed all the other magazines on the stand. As a cub magazine I couldn't ask for more. 

 I am going to comment on your stories now because I know you want me too, for I know you would like to know what sort of stories your readers like. 

 I have a lot to say about Ray Cummings. He is the best writer I have ever seen. His stories couldn't be beat. "Phantoms of Reality" was a corking good story, but I believe his new serial, "Brigands of the Moon, " is going to be better. Captain S. P. Meek is a very good writer also. I take immense joy in his Dr. Bird stories. And we must not forget that great writer, Murray Leinster. His stories are really good. 

 I congratulate you on your new magazine, Mr. Editor. --Albert Philbrick, 117 N. Spring St. , Springfield, Ohio. 

 "_A Unique Magazine_"

 Dear Editor:

 I've been trying to write your magazine for a long time, so here goes. 

 I've bought every copy from the first issue and sure think it is a good magazine. In fact I should say a unique magazine; there are but few magazines in its class among Science Fiction magazines. The stories come up to the standards of good Science Fiction, and some go far above it. A few stories I did not like were: "The Man Who Was Dead, " "The Soul Snatcher, " "The Corpse on the Grating" and "The Stolen Mind. " The science in all these stories was very poor. But your magazine became better in my eyes when you published "Phantoms of Reality, " "Tanks, " "Old Crompton's Secret, " "Brigands of the Moon, " "Monsters of Moyen, " and all of Captain S. P. Meek's stories. These were extraordinarily good stories. 

 Wesso's drawings are very good, and I hope you keep him. I have seen his drawings in another magazine for quite a time. I don't like the illustrations of your other artist. Could you, by chance, secure an artist by the name of Leo Morey or Hugh Mackay? They both illustrate for other Science Fiction magazines and are about as good as Wesso. Please keep the latter. And why don't you have him to do all of your illustrating?

 Sorry to seem such a grouch, but I don't like your grade of paper either. And why not enlarge the magazine to about 11" x 9" by 1/2", and charge 25 cents for your thoroughly good magazine, apart from the defects I have mentioned. 

 About your authors. They are, for the most part, good. But they are mostly amateurs at writing Science Fiction stories. I am delighted to see such expert writers of Science Fiction as Harl Vincent, Ray Cummings, Victor Rousseau and Captain S. P. Meek writing for your magazine, but couldn't you include in your staff of authors A. Hyatt Verrill, Dr. Miles J. Breuer, Dr. David H. Keller, R. F. Starzl, and a few more such notable authors? I hope to see these authors in your magazine soon. --Linus Hogenmiller, 502 N. Washington St. , Farmington, Mo. 

 _The Star System!_

 Dear Editor:

 One star means fairly good, two stars, good; three stars, excellent; four, extraordinary; no stars--just another story. 

 I give "Brigands of the Moon, " by Ray Cummings, three stars; "The Atom-Smasher, " by Victor Rousseau, three stars; "Murder Madness, " by Murray Leinster, two stars; "Into the Ocean Depths, " by S. P. Wright, two stars, and "The Jovian Jest, " by L. Lorraine, no stars. It was short and sweet. 

 Wesso sure can draw. I would like to see a full page illustration for each story by him. 

 My favorite type of stories are interplanetary, and, second favorite, stories of future wars. Will you have many of them in the future? I like long stories like the novelette in the May issue of Astounding Stories--Jack Darrow, 4225 N. Spaulding Ave. , Chicago, Illinois. 

 _We Expect Not To_

 Dear Editor:

 While going over your "The Readers' Corner" of the April issue, I noticed in your answer to one of the letters that you will avoid reprints. Now many of your readers have not read the older classics of Science Fiction. Would it not be a good idea to publish a reprint at least once a year? One of the suggestions given was Merritt's "Through the Dragon Glass. " Another very interesting story, and one that I am sure almost all of your followers have not read, is "The Blind Spot, " by Homer Flint. 

 I like the idea of having three members to a volume, as it will be much easier to bind. Now, starting with the April issue, I think that the best story in there is "Monsters of Moyen. " "The Ray of Madness" was up to the usual standard of Capt. S. P. Meek's stories. "The Man Who Was Dead" was fairly good; average, I would say. I did not like "Vampires of Venus. "

 I say that the May issue was the best of the Astounding Stories. I was satisfied with every story in it. "Into the Ocean Depths" was the best story, "The Atom Smasher" being a close second. I like the way the story "Into the Ocean Depths" ended; a slight trace of sadness and not at all like the "and they lived happily ever after" ending. A real story. 

 I was disappointed in not finding any story concerning Dr. Bird in the April issue. Will any more be printed soon?

 Before I close I would like a definite answer to this question: Will you ever, or in the near future, reprint any of the genre of Science Fiction, stories by the late master Garret P. Serviss, or from the pen of A. Merritt and H. G. Wells?--Nathan Greenfeld, 313 E. 70th St. , New York City. 

 _Again Reprints_

 Dear Editor:

 Although I am a reader of six Science Fiction magazines, I was more than glad to see the latest one out, Astounding Stories. Because the stories are all interesting. I consider Astounding Stories superior to most of the Science Fiction periodicals on the newsstands to-day. 

 My favorite stories are those of interplanetary voyages and other worlds. My favorite authors are: Ray Cummings, A. Merritt, Victor Rousseau, Murray Leinster, Arthur J. Burks and Harl Vincent. I hope that you will soon have stories by Edmond Hamilton and David H. Keller. 

 Now here is something I hope you will give some thought and consideration. I noticed that many of the readers wrote in, requesting reprints. I am one of those who would like to see you publish some reprints, especially stories by Edgar Rice Burroughs, A. Merritt and Ray Cummings. These authors have written many masterpieces of Science Fiction. It is very difficult, if not impossible, for a person to get these stories. They could be made available easily if Astounding Stories would reprint them. 

 Most of the readers who object to reprints do so because they would hate to see a story by H. G. Wells or Jules Verne. I, myself, do not like these authors as they are too dull. But if you have only reprints by the three authors I mentioned and a few other popular writers, I am sure all the readers would welcome them. At least you could have a vote and see how they stand on reprints--Michael Fogaris, 157 Fourth St. , Passaic, N. J. 

 _Likes_ "_The Readers' Corner_"

 Dear Editor:

 Your "The Readers' Corner" interests me very much. It surely does show how your magazine pleases its readers. You cannot get too much science in your stories to suit me. Chemistry and physics more than anything else. 

 I surely enjoyed reading "Mad Music" and "The Thief of Time. " I don't like long stories. They are too interesting to have to wait a month for the next part. 

 I hope that your magazine continues to have as "astounding" stories as it has in the past. --Vern L. Enrich, R. F. D. 1, Casey, Illinois. 

 _From Master Weiner_

 Dear Editor:

 One day coming home from school I saw your magazine. That night I bought it and have since been an ardent reader. 

 But why not give us a change? I prefer stories of the Sargasso Sea, the Maelstrom, and about invasions of the Earth. --Milton Weiner, age 12, 2430 Baker St. , Baltimore Maryland. 

 _High Praise_

 Dear Editor:

 Enclosed you will find twenty cents in stamps for the first copy of Astounding Stories. 

 I have just finished the May issue of Astounding Stories and the rating of the stories is: 1--"Brigands of the Moon"--Excellent! 2--"The Atom Smasher"--Marvelous! 3--"Murder Madness"--Perfect. 4--"Into the Ocean's Depths"--Good. 5--"The Jovian Jest"--Pretty Good. 

 The cover design by H. Wesso is good. Don't lose him. 

 I would like more stories by Victor Rousseau and Ray Cummings. Where are some stories by H. G. Wells, Stanton Coblens, Gawain Edwards, Francis Flagg, Henrik Jarve and Dr. Keller? My favorite stories are interplanetary stories. 

 Here are some things that may improve your magazine (though I must say that your magazine is about perfect as it is): More pictures in long stories; about two novelettes in each issue; about two short stories in each issue; more interplanetary novels and novelettes; about one serial in one issue; smoother paper. --Isidore Horowitz, 1161 Stratford Avenue, New York City. 

 "_Fairly Good Satire_"

 Dear Editor:

 I have read your two issues of Astounding Stories and I feel they will fill a very much needed place in literature. 

 I am especially interested in the stories like the "Vampires of Venus" and the "Brigands of the Moon. " The "Vampires of Venus" can be classed as a fairly good satire on Earth beings; I consider that story one with a moral. It reminds one of Voltaire's Micromegas, and it's taking us to another planet to show us our faults at home will stimulate interest in social improvement. 

 I have kept tab on Edgar Rice Burroughs' writings because he teaches evolution in a way that makes it easy for the ordinary reader to grasp. 

 You have a great field, if you can keep up the interplanetary stories and mix some evolutionary stories with them. 

 The true stories are playing a valuable part in stimulating people to take a deeper view of life, and you have a field in Astounding Stories almost without a competitor. --J. L. Stark, 530 Sutcliffe Ave. , Louisville, Kentucky. 

 _He is H. W. Wessolowski_

 Dear Editor:

 Since I have read every copy of Astounding Stories since it was inaugurated I feel well qualified to contribute a few bouquets and also some criticism. The cover illustrations are wonderful but I cannot find the artist's name on it. So good an artist should put his "moniker" on his productions. I am glad to see that the words "Super-Science" are on the top of the cover in bright red letters; some other Science Fiction magazines seem desirous of disguising the contents of their magazines for some obscure and mysterious reason. 

 And now a brickbat. It is my humble opinion that the science should be examined more carefully before the stories are printed in this excellent magazine. The stories should be not only astounding, but should contain some science information that will be remembered after the fiction is forgotten. "The Man Who Was Dead" is an excellent ghost story or weird tale, but is out of place in "our" magazine. (I take the liberty to call it "our" magazine since a department is given over to the readers and we express our choice of the kind of stories that are printed. ) However, taken all together, our magazine is steadily improving; each issue up to now has been distinctly better than the one before. 

 I have graded the stories in the April and May copies as follows: Excellent--"Vampires of Venus, " "The Ray of Madness, " "Brigands of the Moon, " "Murder Madness, " "Into the Ocean's Depths" and "The Jovian Jest. " Good--"Monsters of Moyen, " "The Atom Smasher" and "The Soul Searcher. " Poor--"The Man Who Was Dead. "

 My favorite authors are Dr. David H. Keller, Harl Vincent, Lillith Lorraine, Anthony Pelcher, Capt. S. P. Meek, Dr. Miles J. Breuer and Ray Cummings. I can hardly wait a month for my next copy. --Wayne D. Bray, Campbell, Missouri. 

 _Story Says Cro-Magnons Fled to Europe_

 Dear Editor:

 Ever since I was first introduced to Astounding Stories by a cousin I have been a steady reader. I have not missed a single issue so far. 

 I hope you will have stories by Hyatt Verril, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Edmond Hamilton, Leslie Stone, Stanton A. Coblentz and Francis Flagg. 

 The stories I like best in each issue (not counting serials) are: "Phantoms of Reality, " "Spawn of the Stars, " "Vandals of the Stars, " "Vampires of Venus" and "The Atom Smasher. " In "The Atom Smasher" it says that all Europeans descended from the Atlanteans. Now when the hero killed them all with the disintegrating ray, would he not have affected their birth?

 Wesso is some artist. I saw a mistake on the cover of the March issue. The color of space is a deep black, not blue, because the blue color of the heavens when viewed from the earth is due to the reflection of light by the atmosphere. --George Brande, 141 South Church St. , Schenectady, N. Y. 

 "_The Readers' Corner_"

All Readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come overin 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everything that's ofcommon interest in connection with our Astounding Stories. 

Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this isa department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make full useof 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. _