Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep180: Episode 180: Sci-Fi Horror Stories

Episode Date: August 14, 2024

If you want to take ownership of your health, try AG1 and get a FREE 1-year supply of Vitamin D AND 5 Free AG1 Travel Packs with your first purchase.  Go to www.drinkAG1.com/creepen Today’s podcast is a compilation of classic works by old-school sci-fi authors of the 1930s, all stories in the public domain read here for you all under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license.  ‘The Raiders of the Universe’ by Donald Wandrei.  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29389/29389-h/29389-h.htm  ‘The Man from 2071’ by Sewell Peaslee Wright.  https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/31893/pg31893-images.html#The_Man_From_2071  ‘The Soul Snatcher’ by Tom Curry.  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29390/29390-h/29390-h.htm#The_Soul-Snatcher  ‘The Murder Machine’ by Hugh B. Cave.  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29255/29255-h/29255-h.htm#p377  ‘When the Moon Turned Green’ by Hal K. Wells.  https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/30532/pg30532-images.html#When_the_Moon_Turned_Green  ‘The Moon Weed’ by Harl Vincent.  https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/33016/pg33016-images.html#The_Moon_Weed

Experience a legacy that lasts at Dawn Valley North Lexus. Right now, Lisa, 2025 TX350 Premium Package from just 898 per month for 28 months at 4.9%. Plus qualified Lexus loyalty guests receive a 1.5% rate reduction for rates as low as 2.4%. See Don Valley Northlexus.com for details. A proud member of Wayne's Auto Group. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. And we're drawn to sci-fi horror stories because they blend the familiar with the unknown, pushing the boundaries of our fears into realms that are both imaginative and unsettling.

These stories allow us to confront our anxieties about technology, the future, and the vastness of the universe, all within the safety of fiction. The thrill comes from exploring what-if scenarios where scientific advancements lead to unexpected horrors, forcing us to question our understanding of reality and the limits of human control. The combination of speculative science and primal fear taps into a deep curiosity and a love for the mysterious, making sci-fi horror a compelling genre that challenges and captivates us, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution.

Tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Raiders of the Universes by Donald Wondray. He was in the 34th century that the Dark Star began its famous conquest, unparalleled in stellar animals. Fobar, the astronomer, discovered. He was sweeping the heavens with one of the newly invented multi-power De Sussendorf comet hunters, and some they caught his eye,

a new star of great brilliance in the foreground of the constellation Hercules. For the rest of the night, he cast aside all of his night. He cast aside all his plans and concentrated on the one star. He witnessed an unprecedented event. Mercia's nullifier had just been invented, a curious and intricate device, based on four-dimensional geometry that made it possible to see occurrences in the universe which had hitherto required the hundreds of years needed for light to cross the intervening space before they were visible on Earth.

By a hasty calculation with the aid of this invention, Ferber found that the new style was about 3,000 light years distant and that it was hurtling backward into space at the rate of 1,200 miles per second. The remarkable feature of his discovery was this appearance of a fourth magnitude star where none had been known to exist. Perhaps it had come into existence this very night. On the succeeding night, he was given a greater surprise. In line with the first star, but several hundred light years nearer was a second new star of even more brightness. and it too was hurtling backward into space at approximately twelve hundred miles per second. Fobar was astonished.

Two new stars discovered within 24 hours in the same part of the heavens, both of the fourth magnitude. But his surprise was as nothing when on the succeeding night, even while he watched, a third new star appeared in line with these, but much closer. At midnight he noticed firstly a pinpoint of failure. St. Light. By one o'clock the star was of eight magnitude. At two it was a brilliant sun of the second magnitude, blazing away from Earth, like the others at a rate of 1,200

miles per second. On the next evening and the next and the next, other new stars appeared until there were seven in all. Everyone on a line in the same constellation, Hercules. Everyone with the same radiance in the same proper motion. There were varying signs. Phobar had broadcast his discovery to the incredulous astronomers, but as star after star appeared nightly, all the telescopes on Earth were turned toward one of the most spectacular cataclysms that history had recorded. Far out in the depth of space, with unheard of regularity and unheard of precision, new worlds were flailing up overnight in a line that began at Hercules and extended toward the solar system.

Fobar's announcement was immediately flashed to Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, the other members of the Five Ward Federation. Saturn reported no evidence of the phenomena because of the interfering rings and the lack of mercy is nullified. But Jupiter, with a similar device, witnessed the phenomena and announced furthermore that many stars in the neighbourhood of the Nova had begun to deviate in singular and abrupt fashion from their normal position. It was not as yet much popular interest in the phenomenon. Without Mercy's nullifier, the stars were not visible to ordinary eyes, since the light rays would take years to reach the Earth. But every astronomer who had access to Mercia's nullifier hasten to focus his telescope on the region where extraordinary

events were taking place out in the unfathomable gulf of the night. Some terrific force was at work, creating worlds and disturbing the positions of stars within a radius already known to extend billions and trillions of miles from the path of the seven new stars. But of the nature of that force, astronomers could only get. Fobar took up his duties early on the eighth night. The last star had appeared about five hundred light years distant. If an eighth new star was found, it should not be more than a few light years away. But nothing happened. All night Fobar kept his telescope pointed at the probable spot, but search as he might, the heaven showed nothing new.

In the morning he sought eagerly for news of any discovery made by fellow watches, but they too found nothing unusual. Could it be that the mystery would now fade away, a new riddle of the skies? The next evening he took up his position once more, training his telescope on the seven bright stars, and then on the region where an eighth, if there were one,

should appear. For hours he searched the abyss in vain. He could find none. Apparently the phenomena were ended. At midnight he took a last glance before entering on some tedious calculations. It was there, in the center of the telescope a faint hazy object steadily growing in brightness. All his problems were forgotten as Fobar watched the 8th star increase hourly. Closer than any other, closer even than Alpha Centaur.

The newson appeared. scarcely three light-years away across the void surrounding the solar system. And all the while he watched, he witnessed a thing no man had ever seen before. The birth of a world. By one o'clock the new star was of fifth magnitude. By two it was of the first. As the faint flush of dawn began to come toward the close, that frosty, moonless November night, the new star was a great white-hot object more brilliant than any of the first.

other star in the heavens. Ferbar knew that when its light finally reached Earth so that the ordinary eyes could see, it would be the most beautiful object in the night sky. What was the reason for these unparalleled berths of worlds in the terrifying mathematical precision that characterized them? Whatever the cosmic force behind it, it was progressing toward the solar system. Perhaps it would even disturb the balance of the planets. The possible chance of such an event had all already called the attention of some astronomers, but the whole phenomenon was too inexplicable to permit more than mere speculation. The next evening was clouding. Jupiter reported nothing knew except that Neptune had deviated from its course and tended to pursue an erratic

and puzzling new orbit. Fobar pondered long over this last news item and turned his attention to the outermost planet on the succeeding night. To his surprise, he had great difficulty in The ephemerus was of absolutely no use. When he did locate Neptune after a brief search, he discovered it more than 80 million miles from its scheduled place. This was at 140. At 210, he was thunderstruck by a special announcement sent from the Central Bureau to every observatory and astronomer of no throughout the world, proclaiming the discovery of an ultra-plutonian planet. Phobar was incredulous for centuries that had been proved that no planet beyond Pluto could possibly exist. With feverish haste, Phobar ran to the huge telescope and rapidly focused it where the new planet should be. Five hundred million miles beyond Neptune was a flaming path like the beam of a giant searchlight

that extended exactly to the eighth solar planet. Fobar gasped, he could hardly credit the testimony of his eyes. He then looked more close. The great stream of flame still crossed his line of vision. At this time he saw something else. At the precise farther end of the flame path, a round disk, were dark. Beyond a doubt, a new planet of vast size now formed in addition to the solar group.

That planet was almost impervious to the illuminating rays of the sun and was barely discernible. Neptune, it was. shone brighter than it ever had and was falling away from the sun at a rate of twelve hundred miles per second all night Fobar watched the double mystery by three o'clock was convinced as far as lightning calculation showed so the invader was hurtling toward the sun at a speed of more than ten million miles an hour by three fifteen he thought that vanishing Neptune seemed brighter even than the

band of fire running to the invader at four His belief was certainty. With amazement and awe, Fubar sat through the long cold night, watching a spectacular and terrible catastrophe in the sky. As dawn began to break, and the stars grew pale. Fobar turned away from his telescope,

his brain, a world, his heart filled with a great fear. He'd witnessed the devastation of a world, the ruin of a member of his own planetary system by an invader from outer space. As dawn cut short his observations, he knew at last the cause of Neptune's brightness, knew that it was now a white-hot flaming sun that sped with increased rapidity away from the solar system. Somehow, the terrible swath of fire that flowed from the dark star to Neptune had drenched it out of its orbit and made it a molten inferno. At dawn came another bulletin from the central bureau.

Neptune now had a surface temperature of 3,000 degrees centigrade, and was defying all laws of celestial mechanics, and within three days would have left the solar system forever. The results of such a disaster were unpredictable, and the entire solar system was likely to break up. Already Uranus and Jupiter had deviated from their orbits, unless something speedily occurred to check the onrush of the dark star, it was prophesied that the laws governing the planetary system would run to a new balance, and that in the ensuing chaos the whole group was spread apart and fall towards the ghost beyond the great surrounding volume. What was the nature of the great path of fire? What force did it represent? And was the

dark star control by intelligence, or was it a blind wanderer from space that had come by accident? The flame path alone implied that the dark star was guided by an intelligence that possessed the secret of inconceivable power. Menace hung in the sky now where all eyes could see in a great arc of fire. The world was on the brink of eternity, and vast forces at whose nature man could only guess were sweeping planets and suns out of its path. The following night was again cold and clear. High in the heavens where Neptune should have been hung a disc of enormously greater size. Neptune itself was almost invisible, hundreds of millions of miles beyond its scheduled position. As nearly as Fobar could estimate, not one hundredth of the sun's rays were reflected

from the surface of the dark star, proportion of far below those of the other planets. Fobar had a better view of the flame path, and it was with growing awe that he watched that strange sway in the sky during the dead of night. It shot out from the dark night. dark style like a colossal beam or huge pillar of fire seeking a food of worlds with a shiver of cold fear he saw that there were now three of the bands one toward Neptune one toward Saturn one toward the Sun the first was fading a milky misty white the second shone almost as bright as the first one previously had and the third toward the Sun was a dazzling stream of orange radiance burning

with a steady, terrible, unbelievable intensity across two and a half billion miles of space. That gigantic flare was the most brilliant sight in the whole night sky, an awful and abysmally prophetic flame that made city streets black with staring people, a radiance whose grandeur and terrific implication of cosmic power brought beauty and the fear of doom into the heaven. Those paths could not be explained by all the physicists and all the astrists and all the astradiens. astronomers in the Five World Federation. They possessed the properties of light, but they were rigid bands like a tube or a solid pillar from which only the faintest of rays escapes, and they completely shut off the heavens behind them. They had, moreover, singular properties which could

not be described as if a new force were embodied in them. Hour after hour, humanity watched the spectacular progress of the dark star, watched those mysterious and threatening pass of light that flowed from the invader when dawn came brought only a great fear and the oppression of impending disaster in the early morning phobar slept when he awoke he felt refreshed and decided to take a short walk in the familiar and peaceful light of day but he never took that walk he opened the door on a kind of dim and reddish twilight not a cloud hung in the sky but the sun shone feebly with a dull red glow the skies were dull and sombre as if the sun were dying as scientists had predicted it eventually would.

Flobara stared at the dull heavens in a daze, at the foreboding atmosphere and the livid sun that burned faintly as through a smoke curtain. Then the truth flashed on him. It was the terrible path of fire from the dark star. By what means he could not guess, by what appalling control of immense and inconceivable forces he could not even imagine the dark star was sucking light and perhaps more than light from the sun. Faber turned and shut the door. The world had seen its last door. If the purpose of the dark star was destruction, none of the planets could offer much opposition, but no weapon of theirs

was effective beyond a few thousand miles range at most, and the dark star could span millions. If the invader passed on, its havoc would only be a trifle small. for it had already destroyed two members of the solar system was now striking at its most vital path without the sun life would die but even with the sun the planets must rearrange themselves because of the destruction of balance even he could hardly grasp the vast and abysmal catastrophe that without warning had swept from space how could the dark star of traversed three thousand light years of space in a week's time was unthinkable so stupendom as a control of power so gigantic a manipulation of cosmic forces, so annihilating a possession

of the greatest secrets of the universe, was an unheard of concentration of energy and knowledge of stellar mechanics. But the evidence of his own eyes and the path of the Dark Star with flaming suns to mark its progress told him in language which could not be refuted that the Dark Star possessed all that immeasurable, titanic knowledge. It was the Lord of the Universe. There was nothing which the dark star could not crush or conquer or change. The thought of that immense supreme power numbed his mind. It opened vistas of a civilization and a progress and an unparalleled mastery of all knowledge which was almost beyond conception.

Already the news had raced across the world. On Fobar's television screen, fresh scenes of a nightmare. The radio spewed a gibberish of terror. In one day, panic had swept the earth. On the remaining members of the Five World Federation, the same story was repeated. Rioting mobs drowned out the chant of religious fanatics who hail judgment day. Great fires turned the air murky and flame shone. Machine guns spat regularly in city streets.

Looting, murder, and fear-crazed crimes were universal. Civilization had completely vanished overnight. The tides wrought higher than they ever had before. Every thousand people drowned on the American seaboard's 100,000 perished in China and India. Dead volcanoes boomed into the worst eruptions known. Half of Japan sunk during the most violent earthquake in history. Land rocked.

The seas boiled, cyclones howled out of the skies. A billion eyes focused on Mecca, the mad beating of Tompongs rolled across, Africa, women and children were trampled to death by the crowds that jammed into churches. As man lived in vain, asked a philosopher, the world is doomed, there is no escape, said the scientists. A day of reckoning has come, the wrath of God is upon us, shouted the street preachers. In a days, Phobar switched off of Bedlam and, walking like a man asleep, strode out. He didn't care where, if only to get away.

The ground and the sky were like a dying fire. The sun seemed a half-dead cinder. Only the great swath of radiance between the sun and the dark star had any brilliance. Sinister, menacing, and now larger even than the sun, the invader from beyond hung in the heaven, as Fubar watched it. Yet around him prickled strangely. A sixth sense gave warning. He turned to race back into his house, but his legs failed.

The fantastic orange light bathed him, countless needles of pain shot through his whole body, and the world darkened. The earth had somehow been blotted out. There was a brief blackness, the nausea of space and of a great fall that compressed eternity into a moment. Then a swimming confusion and outlines which gradually came to rest. Furbar was too utterly amazed to cry out or run. He stood inside the most titanic edifice he could have imagined,

a single gigantic structure, vaster than all New York City. Far overhead swept a black roof fading into the horizon. Beneath his feet was the same metal substance. In the midst of this giant work sawed the base of a tower that pierced the roof thousands of feet above. Everywhere loom machine. enormous dynamos, cathode tubes a hundred feet long, masses and mountains of such fantastic

apparatus that he'd never encountered before. The air was bluish, electric. From the black substance came a phosphorescent radium. The triumphant drone of motors and a terrific crackle of electricity were everywhere. Off to his right, purple-blue flames, the size of sequoia trees flickered around a group of what looked like condensers as huge. is Gibraltar. At the base of the central tower, half a mile distant, Fobar could see something that resembled a great switchboard studied with silver controls. Near it was a series of mechanisms at whose purpose he could not even get. All this his astounded eyes took in in one confused glance. The thing that gave him unreasoning terror

was the hundred-foot-high metal monster before him. It defied. defied description. It was unlike any colour known on earth, a blinding colour sinister with power and evil. Its shape was equally ambiguous. It rippled like quicksilver, now compact, now spread out into a thousand limbs, but what a poured fo'a-la was its definite possession of rational life. Moreover, his very thoughts were transmitted to him as clearly as though ridden in his own native English. Follow me. Ferber's mind did not function, but his legs moved regularly.

In the grasp of this mental, metal monster, he was a mere automaton. Ferber noticed idly that he had to step down from a flat disk a dozen yards across. By some power, some tremendous discovery that he could not understand, he'd been transported across millions of miles of space, and doubtedly to the dark star it's. itself. The colossal thing, indescribable, a blinding nameless color, rippled down the hall and stooped before a disk of silvery black. In the center of the disk was a metal seat with a control board nearby. Be seated. Ferbar sat down. The Titan flicked the controls and

nothing happened. Ferber sensed that something was radically wrong. He felt the surprise of his gigantic companion he didn't know it then but the fate of the solar system hung on that incident abruptly the giant stooped phobar shrank back but a flowing mass of cold in the sunset metal swept around him lifted him 50 feet in the air dizzy sick horrified he was hardly conscious of the whirlwind motion into which the giant had suddenly shot he had a dim impression of machines racing by of countless other giants of a sudden opening in the walls of the immense building and then a rush across the surface of metal land even his vertigo he had enough curiosity to marvel that there was no vegetation no water only the dull black metal everywhere yet there

was air and then a city loomed before them to fobara it seemed a city of gods or giants fully five miles it soared towards space its fantastic angles and arcs and cubes and pyramids amazing in the dimensions of a totally alien geometry tier by tier the stupendous city hundreds of miles wide mounted toward a central tower like the one in the building he'd left Fobar never knew how they got there but his numb mind was at last forced into clarity by a greater will He stared about him. His captor had gone. He stood in a huge chamber circling to a dome far overhead. Before him, on a dais of four thousand feet in diameter, stood, sat, rested, whatever it might be called, another monster, far larger than any he'd yet seen, like a mountain of pliant thinking, living metal. and Fobar knew that he stood in the presence of the ruler.

The metal cyclops surveyed him as Fobar might have surveyed an ant. Gold, deadly, dispassionate scrutiny came from something that might have been eyes or a seeing intelligence locked in a metal body. There was no sound, but inwardly to Fobar's consciousness from the peak of the Titan far above, came a command. What are you called? Fobar opened his lips, but even before he spoke, he knew that the thing had understood his thoughts.

Fobar. I am Gaboré, ruler of Zlaibati, the Lord of the Universes. Lord of the Universes. I, my world come from one of the universes beyond the reach of your telescopes. Fobar somehow felt that the thing was talking to him as he would to a newborn baby. What do you want with me? Tell your earth that I want the entire supply of your radium ores mind and placed above ground

according to the instructions I give. By seven of your days hence, a dozen questions sprang to Fobar's lips. He felt again that he was being treated like a child. Why do you want our radium ore? Because they are the rarest of the elements on your side. scale, are absent on ours and supply us with some of the tremendous energy we need. Why may you obtain the oars from other worlds? We do. We're taking them from all worlds where they exist.

But we need yours also. Radies of the universe, looting young worlds of their precious radium ores, piracy on a cosmic scale. And if Earth refuses your demand? For answer, Gabureg rippled to a wall of the room and pressed a button. The wall dissolved, weirdly, mysteriously. A series of vast silver plates were revealed, and a battery of control, even. This will happen to all of your earth unless the oars are given to us. The Titan then closed a switch, and on the screen flashed the picture of a huge tower such as Fobar had seen in the metal city. Gaborag adjusted a second control that was something like a range fighter.

He pressed a third lever, and from the tower leaped a huge surge of terrific energy, like a bolt of lightning a quarter of a mile broad. The giant closed another switch, and on the second plate flashed a picture of New York City. And then, waiting. Seconds, minutes drifted by. The atmosphere became ten. nerve-cracking Fobar's eyes ached with the intensity of his stare what would happen and then abruptly it came a monstrous bolt of energy streaked from the skies

purple blue death and a pillar a fourth of a mile broad crashed into the heart of New York City swept up and down Manhattan across and back and suddenly vanished within 15 seconds only a molten hell of fused structures and incinerated millions of human beings remained of the world's first city fobobar was crushed appalled and then utter loathing for this soulless thing poured through him or if only it is useless you can do nothing answered the ruler as though it had grasped his thought but why if you could pick me me off the earth, do you not draw the radium oars in the same way? Fobar demanded. The orange ray only picks up loose portable objects. We can and will transport the

radium ores here by means of the ray after they have been mined and placed on platforms or disks. Why did you select me from all the millions of people on Earth? Solely because you were the first apparent scientists whom our cosmetel chanced upon. He'll be up to you, to notify your earth governments of our demand. But afterwards, Ferbar burst out aloud. What then? We will depart. But it'll mean death to us. The solar system will be wrecked with Neptune gun and sat and following it. Garberet made no answer. To that impassive cold inhuman thing, it did not matter if a nation or a whole world perished. Ferbar had already seen with what deliberate calm it had destroyed a city, merely to show him what the power lords of the

Slabati controlled. Besides, what guarantee was there that the invaders would not loot the earth of everything they wanted, and then annihilate all life upon it before they departed. Yet Fobar knew he was helpless, knew that the men of earth would be forced to do whatever was asked of them, and trust that the raiders would fulfil their promise. Two hours remain for your stay here. ruler's dictum to interrupt his line of thought for the first half of that period you will tell me of your world and answer whatever questions I may ask during the rest of the interval I will explain some of the things you wish to learn about her again Fobar felt Garbereg's

disdain knew that the metal giant regarded him as a kind of plaything for an hour or two's amusement and yet he had no choice as we told Garbereg of the life on earth how it arose and along what lines it had developed. He narrated in brief the extent of man's knowledge, his scientific achievements, his mastery of weapons and forces and machines, his social organisation. And when he finished, he felt as a stone-aged man

might feel in the presence of a brilliant scientist of the 34th century. If any sign of interest had shown on the peak of the metallic lord, Fobar failed to see it. But he sensed an intolerant sneer of ridiculed in Garbury, as though the ruler considered

these statements to be only the most elementary of facts. Then, for three-quarters of an hour, in the manner of one lecturing an ignorant pupil, the giant crowded its thought-pitches into Fobar's mind, so that finally he understood a little of the raiders, and of the sudden terror that had flamed from the abysses into the solar system. The universe of matter that you know is only one of the countless universes which comprise the cosmos, began Garberet. In your universe you have a scale of 92 elements you have your color spectrum your rays and waves of many kinds you are subject to definite laws controlling matter and energy as you know but we are of a different universe on a different scale from yours a trillion light years away in space eons distant in time

the natural laws which govern us differ from those controlling you in our universe you would be hopelessly lost completely helplessly helpless unless you possess the knowledge that your people will not attain even in millions of years. But we, who are so much older and greater than you, have for so long studied the nature of the other universes that we can enter, and leave at will, taking what we wish, doing as we wish, creating or destroying worlds whenever the need arises,

coming and hurtling away when we choose. There is no vegetable life in our universe. There is only the scale of elements raging from 800,000, 42 to 966 on the extension of your own scale. At this high range, metals of complex kinds exist. There is none of what you call water, no vegetable world, no animal kingdom. Instead, there are energies, forces, rays, and waves, which are food to us and which nourish our lifestream,

just as pigs, potatoes, and bread are food to you. Trillions of years ago in your time calculation, but only a few dozen centuries ago in hours, Life arose on the giant world, Krypton, in our universe. It was life, our life, the life of my people and myself, intelligence animating bodies of pliant metal, existing almost endlessly on an almost inexhaustible source of energy. But all matter wears down.

On Krypton, there was a variety of useful metals, others that were valueless. There was comparatively little of the first and much of the second. Critton itself was a world as large as your entire solar system, with a diameter roughly of four billion miles. Our ancestors knew that Krypton was dying, that the store of our most precious element, Slalra, was dwindling. But already our ancestors had mastered the forces of our universe and had made inventions that are beyond your understanding, had explored the limits of our universe in space cars that were propelled by the free energies in space, and by the attracting, repelling influences of stars. The metal inhabitants of Kitton

employed every invention they knew to accomplish an engineering miracle that make sure bridges and mines seen by the puny efforts of a net. They blasted all the remaining oars of Saurath from the surface and interior of Ketton and refined them. Then they created a giant vacuum,

deadfield in space, a hundred million miles away from that world. The deadfield was controlled, from Krypton by atomic projectors, energy absorbers, gravitation nullifiers and cosmetals, range regulators and a host of other inventions. As fast as it was mined and extracted, the Sarreth metal was vaporized, shot into the dead field by interstellar rays and solidified there along an invisible framework which we projected. In a decade of our time, we had pillaged the crichton of every particle of sarah,

Then in our skies hung an artificial world, a manufactured sphere, giant new planets, the world you yourself are now on. Slobarty. We did not create a solid globe. We left chambers, tunnels, passageway, storerooms, throughout, piercing it from surface to surface. And thus, even as Slabarty was being created, we provided for everything that we needed or could need. Experimental laboratories, subsurface vaults, chambers for the innumerable huge ray dynamos, energy storage batteries and other apparatus which we need. And when all was ready, we transferred by space cars and by atomic individuation, all our necessities

from Quton to the artificial world of Slabati. And when everything was prepared, we destroyed the dead field by duplicate control from Slabarti, turned our repulsion power on full against the now useless and dying giant world of Qutton and swung upon our path. But our whole universe is incredibly old. It was mature before ever your young suns flamed out of the geish nebulae. It was decaying when your molten planets were flung from the central sun. It was dying before the boiling seas had given birth the land upon your sphere.

While we had enough of our own particular electrical food to last us for a million or fewer years, and enough power to guide Slabati to other universities, We had exhausted all the remaining energy of our entire universe. We finally left it to dwindle behind us in the black evisces of space. We left it a dead cinder, the void of life, vitiated of activity and utterly lacking in cosmic forces. A universe finally run down. The universes, as you may know, are set off from each other by totally black and empty absence. expanses so vast that light rays have not yet crossed many of them how did we accomplish the feat

of traversing such a goal by the simplest of means acceleration why because to remain in our universe meant inevitable death we gambled on the greatest adventure in all the cosmos to begin with we circled our universe to the remotest point opposite where we wanted to leave we then turned our attraction powers on partway, so that the millions of stars before us drew us ahead, and then we gradually stepped up the power to its full strength, thus ever increasing our speed. At the same time, the stars passed to our rear and our flight, we turned our repulsion rays against them, stepping that power up also. Our initial speed was 24 miles per second. Midway into our universe, we reached the speed of your lights, 186,000 miles per second.

second. By the time we left our universe, we were hurtling at a speed which we estimated to be 1,600 million miles per second. Yet even at that tremendous speed, it took us years to cross from our universe to yours. If we'd encountered even a pletoid at that enormous rate, we would have probably been annihilated in white-hot death. But we had planned well. There are no superiors to our stellar mechanics or astronomers or our scientists. When we finally hurtled from the black void into your universe, we found what we'd only dared hope for. A young universe with many planets and cooling worlds rich in radium ords,

the only element in your scale that can help to replenish our vanishing energy. Half your universe, we've already deprived of its odds. Your Earth has more that we want. and we shall continue on our way to loot the rest of the world before passing on to another universe we are a planet without a universe

we will wander in pillage until we find a universe like the one we come from or until the party itself disintegrates and we perish we could easily wipe out all the dwellers on earth and mine the oars ourselves but that will be a needless waste of our powers

for since you cannot defy us and since the desire for life burns as high in you as in us, and as it does in all sentient things in the universe, your people will save themselves from death and save us from wasting energy by mining the oars for us. What happens afterwards? We do not care. The seven new sons, as you saw, were dead worlds

that we used as buffers to slow down Slavati. The full strength of our repulsion force directed against any single world necessarily turns it into a liquid or geist state depending on various factors your planet Neptune was pulled out of the solar system by the attraction of the Labarty's mass the flame paths as you call them are directed streams of energy for different purposes the one to the sun supplies us for instance with heat light and electricity which in turn are stored up for eventual view the orange ray that you felt is one of our achievements it's similar to the double action

pumps used in some of your sulphur mines, whereby a pipe is enclosed in a larger pipe and hot water forced down through the larger tubing, returning sulfur-laden through the central pipe. The orange ray instantaneously dissolves any portable object up to a certain size, propels it back to Slabati through its centre, which is the reverse ray, and here reforms the object, just as you were recreated on the disc that you stood on when you regained consciousness. But didn't I have enough time to explain everything on Slabati to you, nor would you comprehend it all if you did. Your stay is almost up.

In that one control panelized all the power that we have mastered. Boasted Garberet with supreme egotism. It connects with the individual controls throughout Zla Barti. What's the purpose of some of these levers? Asked Fobar, with a desperate hope in his thoughts. A filament of metal whipped to the panel from the Lord of Zlbati. This first section duplicates the control panel that you saw in the laboratory where you opened your eyes.

Do not think that you can make use of this information. In ten minutes you will be back on your earth to deliver our command. Between now and that moment you will be so closely watched that you can do nothing and will have no opportunity to try. Now this first lever controls the attraction rays. The second, the repulsion force. The third dial regulates the orange ray by which you will be returned to Earth. The fourth switch directs the electrical bolt that destroyed New York City.

Next it is a device that we have never had occasion to use. It releases the Cranor wave throughout Slabarty. Its effect is to make each atom of Zla-Bati, the Sralath medal and everything on it, become compact, to do away with the empty spaces that exist in every atom. theoretically it would reduce Labarti to a fraction of its present size, diminish its mass while its weight and gravity remained as before. The next lever controls matter to be transported between here and the first laboratory. Somewhat like the orange ray, it disintegrates the object and reassembles it here.

So, so that was what Phobar's captor had been trying to do with him back there in the laboratory. Why was it not brought here by that means? Burst out Phobar. Because you belong to a different universe, answered Gabor. Without experimentation we cannot tell what natural laws of ours you would not be subject to, but this is one of them. A gesture of irritation seemed to come from him, though. Some laws hold good in all the universes we have thus far investigated.

The orange ray, for instance, picked you up as it would have plucked one of us from the service of Grypton. but on Slabati, which is composed entirely of Slarek, your atomic nature and physical constitution are so different from ours that they were unaffected by the energy that ordinarily transports objects here. And thus the metal nightmare went rapidly over the control panel. At length, Fobar's captor, or another thing like him, re-entered when Garbereg flicked a strange-looking protuberance on the panel. You will now be returned to your world, came the thought of Garber. He should watch you through our cosmetel to see that you deliver our instructions. Unless the nations of earth obey us, it will be obliterated at the end of seven and eight. A wild impulse to smash that

impassive metallic master passed from Fobar as quickly as it came. He was helpless. Sick and despairing, he felt the cold, baffling coloured metal clothes around him again. Once more he was born aloft for the journey to the laboratory, from there to be propalled back to earth. Seven days of grace, but Fobar knew that less than ten minutes remained to him. Only here could he possibly accomplish anything. Once off the surface of Zlaubarty, there was not the remotest chance that all the nations of earth could reach the invaders or even attempt to defy them. what could he do alone in a week to say nothing of ten minutes he sensed the amused supercilious contempt of his captain that was really the greatest obstacle this ability of theirs to read thought

pictures and already he'd given them enough word pictures of english so they could understand in the back of phobar's mind the ghost of a desperate thought suddenly came what was it he'd learned years ago in college homer the odyssey a plutarch from rusty disused corners of memory crept forth the half-forgotten words he bent all his efforts to the task not daring to think ahead or plan ahead or visualize anything but the greek words he felt the bewilderment of his captor to throw it off the track phobar suddenly let an ancient english nursery rhyme slip into his thoughts the disgust that emanated from his captor was laughable. Fobar could have shouted aloud, but the Greek words. Already the pair had left the mountain high titan city far behind, and they rippled across the smooth black

surface of Zobarty and bore like rifle bullets down on the swiftly looming laboratory. In a few minutes it would be too late forever. Now the lost Greek words burst into Fobar's mind and, hoping against hope he thought in Greek word pictures which his captor could not understand. He weighed chances, long shots, into his brain flashed an idea. But they were now upon the laboratory, and a stupendous door dissolved weirdly into shimmering haze, and they sped through. Fobar's hand clutched a bulge in his pocket. Would it work? How could it? They were now beyond the door, and racing across the great expanse of the floor, past the central tower, past the control panel which he'd first seen. Then, as if by magic, they leaped into Fobar's mind a clear-cut, vivid picture

of violet oceans of energy crackling and streaking from the heavens to crash through the laboratory roof and barely mistracking his captor behind. Even as Fobar created the image of that terrific death, his captor whirled around in a lightning movement, a long arm of metal flicking outward at the same instant to drop Fobar to the ground. Like a flash Fobar was on his feet, his hand whipped from his pocket, where all his strength he flung a gleaming object straight toward the fifth lever on the control panel a dozen yards away. As a clumsy arrow would, his oversized bunch of keys twisted to their mark, clanked,

and spread across the fifth control, which was the size regulator. As rapidly as Fobar's captor had spun around, it reversed again, having guessed his trip. A tentacle of pliant metal snaked toward Fobar like a streak of flame. But in those few seconds a terrific holocaust had taken place. As Fobar's keys

battered against the fifth lever, became an immediate, growing, strange, high-pitched wine and a sickening collapse of the very surface beneath them. Everywhere outlines of objects wavered, changed, melted, shrank with a steady and nauseatingly swift motion.

The roof of the laboratory high overhead plunged downward. The far distant walls swept inward, contracted. And the metal monsters themselves dwindled as though they were vast rubber figures from which the air was hissing. Fobar sprang back as the tentacle whipped after him. Only that jump in the suddenly dwarfing dimensions of the giant saved him. And even in that instant of wild action, Fobar shouted aloud for this whole world was collapsing, together with everything on it, except he himself, who came from a different

universe, and remained unaffected. It was the long shot he'd gambled on, the one chance he'd had to strike a blow. All over the shrinking laboratory, the monsters were rushing toward him. His dwindling counter flung another tentacle toward the control panel to replace the size-regulating lever, but Fobar had anticipated that possibility and had already been. leapt to the switchboard, sweeping a heavy bar from its place and crashing it down on the lever so hard that it could not be replaced without being repaired. Almost in the same move, he'd bounded away again, the former hundred-foot giant now scarcely more than his own heights. But throughout the laboratory, the other metal things had halted in their tasks and were racing onwards.

Fobar always remembered that battle in the laboratory as a scene from some horrible nightmare. The The catastrophe came so rapidly that he could hardly follow the whirlwind events. The half-dozen great leaps he made from the lashing tentacles of his pursuer suffice to give him a few seconds respite, and then the weird, howling sound of the tortured world swelled to a piercing whale. His lungs were laboring from the violence of his exertions. Again and again he barely escaped from the curling whips of the metal tentacles. Now the monster was hardly a foot-high, the huge condensers and tumours.

chutes and colossal machinery were like those of a pygmy laboratory and overhead the roof plunged ever down but phobar was cornered at last he stood in the center of a circle of the foot-high things his captors suddenly shot forth a dozen rope-like arms toward him as the others closed in he didn't even have a weapon but he dropped the bar in his first mad bound away from the control panel he saw himself trapped in his own trip for in minutes at most the laboratory would be crushing him with fearful fall blindly phobar reverted to a primitive defense in this moment of infinite danger and he kicked with all his strength as a squat monster before him the thing tried to whirl aside but phobar's shoe squashed thickly through and in a disorder of quivering pieces the metal creature fell and subsided knowing at last

that the invaders were vulnerable, and how they could be killed, Fobar went leaping and stamping on those nearest him. Underfoot they disintegrated into little pulpy lumps of inert metal. And in a trice he broke beyond the circle and darted to the control panel. One quick glance showed him that the roof was now scarcely a half-dozen yards above. With the fingers that fumbled in haste at tiny levers and dials, he spun several of them. The repulsion ray full, the attraction ray full. When they were set, he picked up the bar, he dropped and smashed the controls so that they were helplessly jam. You almost feel the planet catapult through the heavens. The laboratory roof was only a foot over his head now. He whirled around, squashed a dozen tiny creeping

things, leapt to a disc that was now not more than a few inches broad, stooping low, balancing himself precariously. He somehow managed to close the tiny switch. The haze of unlawedged orange light in Valcham, became a great vertigo and dizziness and pain. He felt himself falling through bottomless spaces, so exhausted that he could scarcely move. Flobar blinked his eyes open to brilliant daylight in the chill of a November Indian summer night. The sun shone radiant in the heavens. Off in the distance he heard a pandemonium with bells and whistles. Wearily he noticed that there were no flame paths in the sky. Staggering weakly, he made his way to the observatory,

mounted the steps with tired limbs, and wobbled to the eyepiece of his telescope, which he'd left focused on the dark star two hours before. Almost trembling, he peered through it. The dark star was gone. Somewhere far out in the abysses of the universe, a runaway world plunged headlong at ever-mounting speed to uncharted re-res. regions under its double acceleration of attraction and repulsion. A sigh of contentment came from his lips as he sank into a heavy and profound sleep.

Later he would learn of the readjustments in the solar system, and of the colder climate that came to Earth, and of the vast changes permanently made by the invading planets, and of a blazing new star discovered in Orion that might signify the birth of a sun or the death of a metallic dark world. But these were events to be. And he demanded his immediate reward of a day's dreamless slump. Hey, Ontario.

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Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BEDMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. The man from 271. Perhaps this story does not belong with my other tales of the Special Patrol Service. And yet there is, or should be, a report somewhere in the musty archives of the service covering the incidents. Not accurately, you know, not in detail.

Among a great mass of old records which I was browsing through the other day, I happened to cross that report. It occupied exactly three lines, a logbook of the air talk. Just before departure, discovered Stoway, apparently demented and dejected him. But the hard-headed higher-ups of the service, that report was enough. Or had I given the facts they would have called me to the base for a long, winded investigation. It would have taken weeks and weeks filled with fussy questioning. dozens of stoop-shouldered laboratory men would have prodded and sneaked and asked for long-written accounts in those days keeping the logbook was writing enough for me and being grounded at base for weeks would have been punishment nothing would have been gained by any detailed report the service needed action rather than the reports anyway well now that I'm an old man on the retired list I have time to run and it will be a particular pleasure to write this account

for it will go to prove that these much honoured scientists of ours, with all their tremendous appropriations and long-winded discussions, and not nearly so wonderful as they think they are. They are, and always have been, too much interest in abstract formulas, and not enough in their practical application. Never had a great deal of use for it. Well, I've received orders to report to Earth, regarding a dull routine matter of reorganising the emergency base, which is a very-organizing the emergency base, which is a very much, had been established there, oh, Earth, I might add, for the benefit of those who have forgotten your

geography of the universe. It's not a large body, but its people furnished almost all of the office of personnel of the Special Patrol Service. I being a native of Earth, I received the assignment with considerable pleasure, despite its dry and uninteresting nature. It was a good sight to see Old Earth, bundled up in her continuity clouds, growing larger and larger in the television disc. No matter how much you wander around the universe, no matter how small and insignificant the world of your birth, there is a tie that cannot be denied.

I have set my ships down on many strange and unknown worlds with danger and adventure awaiting me. But there is, for me, no thrill which quite duplicates that of viewing again that particular little ball of mud from whence I sprang. I've said that before, I shall probably say it again.

I'm proud to claim Earth is my birthplace, small end-towed of the way as she is. Our base on Earth was adjacent to the city of Greater Denver on the Pacific coast. Couldn't help wondering, as we settled swiftly over the city, whether our historians and geologists and other scientists were really right in saying that Denver had at one period been far from the Pacific. Well, it seemed impossible as I gazed down on that blue tranquil sea that it had engulfed hundreds of years ago. a vast portion of North America, but I suppose the men of science know best.

Well, I need not go into the routine business that brought me to Earth. Suffice to say, it was settled quickly by the afternoon of the second day. Well, I'm referring, of course, to Earth days, which are slightly less than half the length of an Inaran of Universe time. A number of my friends had come to meet me, visit me during my brief stay on Earth, and, having finished my business with such dispatch, I decided to spend that evening with them. and leave the following morning. It was very late when my friends departed,

and I strode out with them to their monocard, returning the salute of the Airtak's lone sentry, who was pacing his post before the huge circular exit of the ship. The Airtak lay lightly upon the earth, her polished sides gleaming in the light of the crescent roof. In the side toward me, the circular entrance gap like a sleepy map. The sentry, knowing the eyes of his commander were upon him,

strode back and forth with brisk military precision. Slowly, I still think of my friends, I made my way toward the ship. I'd taken only a few steps when the sentry's challenge rang out sharply. Oh, who goes there? I glanced up in surprise. Shiro, the man on guard, had seen me leave. I should have had no difficulty in recognizing me,

but the challenge had not been meant for me. Well, between myself and the air-tucks, they stood a strange figure. An instant before, I would have sworn that there was no human in sight, save myself and the century. But now this man stood not twenty feet away, swaying as though ill or terribly weary, barely able to lift his head and turn it toward the sentry. Friend, he gasped. Friend!

I think you would have fallen to the ground if I hadn't clapped an arm around his shoulders and supported you. Just a moment, whispered the stranger. I'm a bit faint. I'll be all right. I stared down at the man, unable to reply. This was a nightmare, no less. I could fill the sentry staring, too.

The man was dressed in the style so ancient that I couldn't remember that period. 21st century, at least, perhaps earlier. And while he spoke English, which is a language of earth, He spoke it with a harsh and unpleasant accent that made his words difficult, almost impossible, to understand. Their meaning did not fully sink in until an instant after he'd finished speaking. "'Sure'all,' I said sharply, "'help me take this man inside. He's ill.' "'Yes, sir.'

The guard leapt to obey the order, and together we led him into the Eerta, into my own stater. There was some mystery here, and I was eager to get at the root of it. The man with the ancient costume and the strange accents not come to the spot where we'd seen him by any means with which I was familiar. He materialized out of thin air. There was no other way to reckon for his present. We propped the stranger in my most comfortable chair, and I turned to the sentry.

I was staring at our weird visitor with wondering, fearful eyes, and when I spoke he started as though stung by an electric shot. Very well, I said briskly. That'll be all, though. resume your post immediately again shiro yes sir it won't be necessary for you to make a report of this incident i'll attend to that understand yes sir i think it's to the man's everlasting credit and to the credit of the service which had trained him that he executed a snappy salute did an about-face and left the room about another glance at the man slumped down in my big easy chair with a feeling of cold nervous apprehensions such as I've seldom experienced in a rather varied and active life, I then turned to my visitor. He hadn't moved, save to lift his head. He was staring at me, his eyes fixed

in his chalky white face. They were dark, long eyes, abnormally long, and they glittered with a strange, uncanny light. You feeling better? I asked. His thin, bloodless lips moved, but for a moment no sound came from me. He tried again. Order, he said. I drew him a glass from the tank in the wall of my room. He downed it at a gulp and passed the empty glass back to me. More, he whispered.

He drank the second glass more slowly, his eyes darting swiftly, curiously around the room. Then his brilliant, piercing glance fell upon my face. Tell me, he commanded sharper. What year is this? I stared at him. It occurred to me that my friends might have conceived and executed an elaborate hoax. And then I dismissed the idea instantly.

There were no scientists among them who can make a man materialize out of nothingness. Are you in your right mind? I asked slowly. The question strikes me as damnably odd, sir. The man laughed wildly and slowly straightened up in the chair. His long bony fingers clasped and unclasped slowly, as though feeling were just returning to them. Your question, he replied in his odd, unfamiliar accent. He's not unnatural, under the circumstances.

I assure you that I am of sound mind, of very sound mind. He smiled, rather a ghastly smile and made a vague, slight gesture with one hand. Would you be good enough to be good enough? to answer my question. What year is this? Earth year, you mean? He stared at me then, his eyes flickering. Yes, he said. Earth year, oh, are there other ways of figuring time now? Oh, certainly. Each inhabited world has its own system. There's a master system for the universe. Who are you? What are you? You should ask me a question the smallest, the smallest, child should not first he insisted tell me what year this is earth reckoning i told him and the light flickered up in

his eyes again cruel triumphant light thank you he nodded and then slowly and softly as though he spoke to himself he added less than half a century off less than half a century and they laughed at me Oh, I shall laugh at them now. Hmm. You choose to be mysterious, sir, I asked impatiently. No, no. You'll understand, and then he'll forgive me, I know. I've come through an experience such as no man has ever known before.

If I'm shaken weak, surprising to you, it's because of that experience. He paused for a moment, his long, powerful fingers gripping the arms of the chair. You see, he added, I've come out of the past and into the present, or from the present into the future, depends upon one's viewpoint. If I'm distraught, then forgive me. A few minutes ago, I was Jacob Harbauer, a little laboratory on the edge of a mountain park near Denver. Now my nameless being hurtled into the future, pausing here many centuries from my own ear. Do you wonder now that I'm so unnerved?

Do you mean, I said slowly, trying to understand what he babbled for, that you have come out of the past, that you, that you, that you, it was too monstrous to put into words. I mean, he replied, I was born in the year, twenty-twenty-eight. I'm forty-three years old, or I was a few minutes ago, but his eyes flickered again with that strange man. I'm a scientist I've left my age far behind me for a time I've done what no other human being has ever done I've gone centuries into the future but I don't understand could he after all be a madman can a man leave his own age and travel ahead to another even in this age of yours have they not discovered that secret our Bauer exulting You travel the universe, I gather. Your scientists have not yet learned to move in time.

Listen, let me explain to you how simple the theory is. A ticket that you're an intelligent man. Your uniform and its insignia would seem to indicate a degree of rank, can I crack. I'm John Hanson, commander of the airtime, of the Special Patrol Service. I informed him. Then you will be capable of grasping, in part at least, What I have to tell you, it's really not so complex. See, time is a river, flowing steadily, powerful, and a fixed rate of speed.

It sweeps the whole universe along in its bosom at that same speed. That's my conception of it. Is that clear to you? I should think, I replied, that the universe is more like a great rock in the middle of your stream of time that stands motionless while the minutes, the malice, and the days roll by. No, the universe travels on the breast of the current of time. It leaves yesterday behind and sweeps on towards tomorrow.

It's always been so until I challenged this so-called immutable law. I said to myself, why should a man be a helpless stick on the stream of time? Why need he be born on this slow current at the same speed? Why cannot he do as a man in a boat? Pedal backwards or forwards? back to a point already passed ahead faster than the current to a point that drifting he would not reach so soon in other words why can he not slip back through time to yesterday or ahead to tomorrow and if to tomorrow why not next year next century these are questions i ask myself other men have asked themselves the same questions i know they were not new but how about drew himself far forward in his chair and leaned close to me, almost as though he prepared himself to

spread. No other man ever found the answer. That remained for me. Well, I was not entirely correct, of course. I found that one could not go back in time. The current was against one. But to go ahead with the current at one's back, I was different. Spent six years on the property, working day and eyes, handicapped by lack of funds, ridiculed by the press. Look, Harbauer reached inside his antiquated costume and drew forth a flat packet which he passed to me. I unfolded it curiously. My fingers clumsy with excitement.

I could hardly believe my eyes. The thing Harbauer had handed me was the folded fragment of a newspaper, such as I'd often seen in museums. I recognised the old-fashioned time. and the peculiar arrangement of the columns instead of being yellow and brittle with age and preserved in fragments behind sealed glass this paper was fresh and white and the ink was as black as the day it had been printed what this man said then must be true he must i can understand your amazement said harbauer it had not occurred to me that a paper which to me was printed only yesterday

seemed so antique to you, but that must appear as remarkable to you was fresh papyrus, newly inscribed with the hieroglyphics of the ancient Egyptians, which seemed to, well, people of my day and age. But you read it. You'll see how my world viewed my efforts. There was a sharpness, a bitterness in his voice that made me vaguely uneasy. Even though he'd solved the riddle of moving in time as men have always moved in space, my first condition. My first convalued, he'd, that I had a madman to deal with why not be so far from the truth. Well, ridicule and persecution have unseated the reason of all too many men. The type was unfamiliar to me, and the spelling was archaic, but I managed to stumble through

the article. It read, as nearly as I can recall it, like this. Harbauer says time is like Great River. Jacob Harbauer, local inventor, an exclusive interview propounds a theory that man can move about in time exactly as a boat moves about on the surface of a swift flowing river save that he can not go back in time on account of the opposition of the current well that is very fortunate this writer feels it would be a terrible thing for example if some good-looking scam from our present 21st century were to

dive into the past and steal cleopatra from antony or start an affair with josephine and sent Napoleon scurrying back from the front and let the Napoleonic wars go to parts. We'd have to have all our histories rewritten. Haldauer is well known in Denver as the eccentric of Vantahoo for the last five or six years has occupied a lonely shack in the mountains, guarded by a high fence of barbed wire. He claims he's now perfected equipment which will enable him to project himself forward in time, expects to make the experiment in the very near future. This writer was permitted to view the equipment which Harbaugh says will shoot him into the future.

The apparatus is housed in a low, barn-like building in the rear of his shaft. Along one side of the room is a veritable bank of electrical apparatus with innumerable controls, many huge tubes of unfamiliar shape and appearance, a mighty generator of some kind, an intricate maze of gleaming copper busbar. In the center of the room is a circle of metal. about a foot in thickness, insulated from the flooring by four truncated cones of fluted glass. This disc is composed of two unfamiliar metals, arranged in concentric circles. Above this disc, at height of about eight feet, is suspended a sort of grid,

composed of extremely fine silvery wires, supported on a framework of black insulating material. Ask for a demonstration of his apparatus. Harbauer finally, consented to perform an experiment with a dog a white short-haired mongrel that parbauer informed us he kept to warn him of approaching strangers he bound the dog's legs together securely and placed the struggling animal in the center of the heavy metal disc then the inventor hurried to the central control panel and manipulated several switches which caused a number of things to happen almost at once the big generator started with a growl and unsettled immediately into a deep hum. The whole row of tubes glowed with a purplish brilliancy. It was a crackling sound of the air, and the grid above the disc seemed to become

incandescent, although it gave forth no apparent heat. From the rim of the metal disk, thin blue streamers of electric flames shut up toward the grid, and the little white dog began to whine nervously. Now watch! shouted a harbauer. He closed another switch, and the space between the disk and the grid became a cylinder of livid light, for a period of perhaps two seconds. Then Harbao pulled all the switches and pointed triumphantly to the disc. It was empty. We looked around the room for the dog, but he was not visible anywhere.

I've sent him nearly a century into the future, said Harbauer. We'll let him stay there every moment and then bring him back. What you mean to say? We asked, that the pup is now roaming around somewhere in the 22nd century. Arlowe said he meant just that, and added that he would now bring the dog back to the present time. The switches were closed again, but this time it was the metal plate that seemed incandescent, on the grid above that shot out the streaks of thin blue flame. As he closed the last switch, the cylinder of light appeared again.

When the switches were opened, there was the dog in the sense. of the dix, howling and struggling against his bombs. Look, cried Harbauer. He's been attacked by another dog or some other kind of animal, while in the future. You see the blood on his shoulder? We ventured the humble opinion that the dog had scratched or bid himself in struggling to free himself from the cause with which Harbao had bound him, and the inventor flew into a terrible rage, cursing and waving his arms as though demented, feeling that,

discretion was the better part of valor, we beat a hasty retreat, pausing at the barbed wire gate only long enough to ask Mr. Harbauer if he'd be good enough, sometime when he had a few minutes to spare, to dash into next week and bring back some stock market reports to aid us in our financial investments. Under the circumstances, we did not wait for a response, but we presume we are persona non grata, the Harbao establishment from this time on, and all in all, we are not story. I folded the paper and passed it back to him. Some of the illusions I did not understand, but the general tone of the article was very clear indeed. You see, said Harbauer, his voice grating with anger. I try to be courteous to that man, to give him a simple, convincing demonstration

of the greatest scientific achievement in centuries. And the fool returned to write this, to hold me up to ridicule, to paint me as a crack-brained wild-eyed fanatic. Look, it's hard for the layman to conceive of a great scientific achievement, I said soothingly. All great inventions and inventors have been laughed at by the populace at large. Ah, true, true. Harbauer nodded his head solemnly. But just the same. He broke off suddenly and forced a smile.

I found myself wishing that he completed that broken sentence though. I felt that he'd almost revealed something that would have been most enlightening. Oh, but enough of that fool and his babblings, he continued. I'm here as living proof that my experiment is a success. I have a tremendous curiosity about the world in which I find myself. This, I take it, is a shift for navigating space? That's right. the air talk of the special patrol service.

Would you care to look around a bit? I would indeed. There was a tremendous eagerness in the man's voice. You're not too tired. No, I'm quite recovered from my experience. Harbauer leapt to his feet, those abnormally long, slitted eyes of his glowing. I'm a scientist and I'm most curious to see what my fellows have created since my own era.

I picked up my dressing-gown and tossed it to him. Slid this on them, to cover your clothing. You'd be an object of too much curiosity to those men who are on duty, I suggested. I was much taller than he was, and the garment came within a few inches of the floor. He nodded the sincture around his middle and thrust his hands into the pockets, turning to me for approval. I nodded, a motion for him to proceed me through the door. as an officer of the special patrol service it's often been my duty to show parties and individuals through my ship well most of these parties are composed of females who have

only exclamations to make instead of intelligent comment and who possess an unbounded capacity for asking utterly asinine questions it was therefore a real pleasure to show harbauer through the ship he was a keen eager listener when he asked the question he asked many of them, he showed an amazing grasp of the principles involved. My knowledge of our agreement was, of course, only practical, same for the rudimentary theoretical knowledge that everyone has of present-day inventions and devices. The Ethon shoes which lit the ship interested him only a little. The atomic generators, the gravity pads, their generators, and the disintegrator ray, however, he delved into with that frenzied ardour, of which only a scientist, I believe, is capable.

Questions poured out of him, and I asked them as best I could, or sometimes completely and satisfactorily, so that he nodded and said, I see, I see, but sometimes so poorly that he frowned, and cross-question me insistently until he obtained the desired information. In the big, soundproof navigating room, I explained the operation of the numerous instruments, including the two three-dimensional charts, actuated by super radio reflexes. television disc, the attraction meter, the surface temperature gauge, and the complex control system. Forward, I added, is the operating room. You can see it through these glass partitions. The navigating officer in command relays his orders to men in the operating room who attend to the actual

execution of those orders. Just as a pilot or the navigating officer of a ship of my day gives his orders to the quartermaster of the wheel, nodded half-hour. and began firing questions at me again, going over the ground we'd already covered, to check up on his information. I was amazed at the uncanny accuracy with which he'd graved such a great mass of technical detail. It had taken me years of study to pick up what he had taken from me, and apparently retained intact, and something more than an hour of Earth-time. I glanced at the Earth-time clock on the wall of the navigating room as he triumphantly

finished his questioning. less than an hour remained before the time set for our return trip. I'm sorry, I commented, to be an ungracious host, but I'm wondering what your plans may be. You see, we're due to start in less than an hour, and a passenger would be in your way. Harbaugh smiled as he uttered the words, but there was a gleam in his long eyes that rather startled me. I wondered if I only imagined the steelings of his wife. Don't let that worry you, sir. It's not worrying me, I replied, watching him closely.

I have enjoyed a very remarkably, very pleasant experience. If you should care to remain aboard the airtight, I should like exceedingly to have you accompany us to our base, or I could place you in touch with other laboratory men, with whom you would have much in common. Harbauer threw back his head and laughed, not pleasantly. Thanks. He said, I have no time for that.

They could give me no knowledge that I need now. You've told me and showed me enough. I understand how you've released atomic energy. It's a matter so simple that a child should have guessed it. The man has wandered about it for centuries. Not that the power was there, but lacking a key to unfetter it. Now I have that key. True, but perhaps our scientists would like, in exchange.

change the secret of moving forward in time, I suggested reasonably enough. What do I care about them? snapped Harvauer. He loosened the cord of the robe with a quick, impatient gesture, as though it confined him too tightly, and threw the garment from it. Then, suddenly, he took a quick stride toward me and thrust out his ugly hair. I know enough now to give me power over all my world. He cried. Haven't you guessed the reason for my interest in your engines of destruction?

I came down the centuries ahead of my generation, so I might come back with power in my hands, power to wipe out the fools who made a mockery of me. And I have that power. He ate him. He tapped his forehead dramatically with his left hand. I'll bring a new regime to my ear, he continued, fairly shouting now. I'll be what many have tried to be, and what no man has ever been, the master of the world, absolute, unquestioned, supreme master.

He paused, his eyes glaring into mine, and I knew from the light that shone behind those long, narrow slits, that I was dealing with a madness. True, you will, I said gently, moving carelessly toward the microphone. With that in my hand, a slight pressure on the general attention signal, and I would have the whole crew of the air attack here in a moment. But I'd explained the workings of the navigation room's equipment only too well. Stop, snarled Halbauer, and his right hand flashed up. See this? Perhaps you don't know what it is, so I'll tell you.

It's an automatic pistol. Not so efficient as your disintegrator ray, deadly enough. There's certain death for eight men in my hand, understand. Perfectly. What an utter fool I'd been. I was not armed, and I knew that Harbauer spoke the truth. I'd often seen weapons similar to the one he held in the military museums. They're still there, if you're curious, rusty and broken,

but not unlike our present atomic pistols in general appearing. They propelled the bullet by the explosion of a sort of powder, inefficient, of course, but, as he'd said, deadly enough for the purpose. Good. You are a good sort, Hansen, but don't take any chances. I'm not going to, I promise you. You see, and he laughed again, the light in his long eyes dancing with evil.

I'm not likely to be punished for a few killers committed centuries after I'm dead. I've never killed a man, but I won't hesitate to do so now, if one or more should get in my way. But what? I asked, soothing. Why should you wish to kill anyone? You have what you came for, you say. We're not depart in peace. He smiled crookedly, and his eyes narrowed with cunning.

You approve of my little plan to dominate the world? He asked softly, his eyes searching my face. No, I said boldly, refused. to lie to him. I do not, and you know it. Very true. He pulled out his watch with his left hand, and held it before his hand, so he could observe the time without losing sight of me for even an instant. I doubted that I could secure your willing cooperation. Therefore, I am commanding. You see, there are a few instruments and pieces of equipment that I should like to take back to my laboratory with me. Perhaps I'd be able to reproduce some without models, but with the models my task will be much easy.

The question remaining is a simple one. Will you give me the proper orders to have this equipment removed to the spot where you first saw me? Or shall I be obliged to return to my own era without these equipment? Leaving behind me a dead commander of the special patrol service and any other who may try to stop me. I tried to keep cool under the lash of his marks. mocking voice. I've never been adept at holding my temper when I should, but somehow I managed it this time. Frowning, I kept him waiting for a reply, utilising the time to do what was perhaps the hardest, fastest thinking of my life. There wasn't a particle of doubt in my mind regarding

his ability to make good his threat, nor his readiness to do so. I caught the faint glimmering of an idea and fenced with it eagerly. How are you going back to your own period? You're Your own era, I asked him. You told me that it was impossible to move backward in time. That's not answering my question, he said, Leary. Don't think you're a fooling me, but I'll tell you just the same. I can go back to my own era, that is back to my own actual existence. I shall return just two hours after I leave.

I couldn't go back further than that, and it's not necessary that I do so. I can only go back because I came from that present. I'm not really of this future at all, so I go back from whence I came. But, uh, I objected, thinking of something I'd read in the clipping each other. You're not going back to your own era. You can't. If you return, you put your project into execution.

History doesn't record that activity. I saw from the sudden narrowing of his abnormally long eyes that I caught his interest and I press my advantage hastily. Remember that all the history of your time is written, Harbauer. It's in the books of Earth's history, with which every chart of this age into which you have thrust yourself is familiar. And those histories do not record the domination of the world by yourself. So, you're confronted by an impossibility. nor my reasoning now sounds specious yet it was a line of thought which could not be waved aside i saw harbauer's black brows knit together and mounting anger dark in its face i don't know but i believe i was never near a death than i was at that instant a fool he cried idiot imbecile you think you can confuse me turn me from my purpose with words do you

Do you believe me to be a child or weekly? I tell you, I've planned this thing to the last detail. If I hadn't found what I saw from this first trip, I would have taken another, a dozen, a score, until I found the information I saw. Now, the last 60 years of my life, I've worked day and night to this end. Your histories and your words. My plan had worked. The man was beside himself with insane anger,

and in his rage he forgot for an instant that he was my captain. Taking a desperate chance, I launched myself at his legs. His weapon roared over my head just as I struck. I felt the hot gas and the thing beat against my neck. I caught the reeking scent of the smoke. Then we were both on the floor, unlocked in a mad embrace. Half hour was a smaller man than myself, but he had the amazing snob.

strength of a xenium. He fought viciously, using every ounce of his strength against me, striving to bring his weapon into use, hammering my head upon the floor, racking my body mercilessly, grunting, cursing, mumbling constantly as he did so. But I was in better shape than half that one. I've never seen a laboratory man who could stand the strain of prolonged physical exertion, bending over test tubes and meters is no life for a man. A grip. A grip. with him, I was in my own element, and he was out of his. I let him wear himself out, exerting myself as little as possible, confining my efforts to keeping his weapon where he couldn't use it. I felt him weakening at last. His breath was coming in great sobs, his long eyes started from

their sockets with the strained effort he was putting forth. And then, with a single mighty effort, and not the pistol from his hand so that it slid across the floor and brought up with a crash against a wall of the room. Now, I said, and turned on him. He knew, at that moment when I put forth my strength, that I had been playing with him. I read the shock of sudden fear in his eyes. My right arm went about him in a deadly hold. I had him in a grip that paralysed him. Grimly, I jerked him to his feet, and he stood there trembling with weakness, his shoulders

heaving as his breath came and went between his teeth. You realize, of course. But you're not going back. I sat quietly. Back. Half dazed. He stared at me through the quivering lids of his peculiar eyes. What do you mean?

I mean that you're not going back to your own ear. You'd come to us, uninvited, and you're going to stay here. No, no, he shouted, and struggled so desperate to free himself, that I was high put to hold him, without tightening my grip sufficiently to dislocate his shoulders. You wouldn't do that. I must return. I must prove to them. That's exactly what must not happen, and what shall not happen, I interrupted it. You know, you're in a strange predicament, Harbauer. It's already written that you do not return.

Can't you see that man? If it were to be that you left this age and returned your own, you'd make known your discovery. History would record it. History does not record it. They're struggling, against me, but against, well, against a fate that's been sealed all these centuries.

When I'd finished, he stared at me as though hypnotized, motionless and limp in my life. grasp and then suddenly he began to shake and I saw such depths of terror and horror in his eyes as I never hoped to see again mechanically he glanced down at his watch lifting his wrist into his line of vision as slowly and ponderously as though it bore a great weight two minutes he whispered huskily then the automatic switch will close back in my laboratory if I am not standing where where you're

found me between the disc and the grid of my time machine where the reversed energy can reach me to to take me back then he sagged in my arms and dropped to his knees sobbing and yet what you say is true it's already written that i did not return his sobs cut harshly through the silence of the room pitying his despair i reached down to give him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder it is a terrible thing to see a man break down as Harbao had done. As he felt my grip on him relax, he suddenly shot his fist into the pit of my stomach and leapt to his feet. Growning, I doubled up, weak and nervous, from that instant, vicious, unexpected blow. Shrieked Harbaugh, you soft-hearted fool. He struck me then in the face, sending me crashing

to the floor, and snatched up his pistol. I'm going now, shouted, going. What do I care for your records and your histories? They're not yet written. If they were, I'd change them. He then bent over me and snatched from my hand the ring of keys, one of which I'd used to unlock the door of the navigating room. I tried to grip him around the legs,

but he tore himself loose, laughing insanely in a high-pitched cackling sound that seemed hardly human. Farewell, he caught mockingly from the doorway, and then the door slammed. As I staggered to my feet, I heard the lot click. It must have acted then by instinct or inspiration. There was no time to think. It would take him not more than three or four seconds to make his way to the exit,

strawed by the guard to the spot where we'd found him, and then disappear. By the time I could arouse the crew and have my orders executed, His time will be up and, unless the whole affair were some terrible nightmare, he would go hurtling back through time to his own era, armed with a devastating knowledge. There was only one possible means of preventing his escape in time. I ran across the room to the emergency operating controls, cut in the atomic generators with one hand and pulled the vertical ascent lever to full power. There was a sudden shriek of air, and my legs almost thrust themselves through my body. Quickly I pushed the lever back until, with my eye on the altimeter, I held the air attack at her retained height, something over a mile, as I recall it. Then I pressed the general attention signal and snatched up my microphone.

Less than a minute later, Corrie and Hendricks' fellow officers were in the room and besieging me with solicitous questions. It had been my idea, of course, to keep Harbao from leaving the ship, but it was not so destined. Shiro, the sentry on duty outside the air-top, was the only witness to Harbao's fate. I was walking my post, sir, he reported, watching the sun come up when suddenly I heard the sound of running feet inside the ship. Turned towards the entrance and drew my pistol to be in readiness. I saw the stranger we had taken into the ship appeared the exit. exit which as you know was open just as I opened my mouth to command him to holds the airtack shut up from the ground at terrific speed the stranger had been

about to leap upon me indeed he had discharged some sort of weapon at me for I heard a crash of sound and a missile of some kind well as you know this passed through my left arm as the ship left the ground he tried to draw back but he was off balance and the inertia of his body momentarily incapacitated him my thing he slipped clutched at the gangway across the threads which seal the exit and then at a height I estimate to be around 500 feet he fell the airtack shot on up until it was lost to sight and the stranger crashed at the ground a few feet from where I was standing almost exactly the spot where we first saw him so

and now sir comes apart I guess you'll find hard to believe when he struck the ground he was smashed flat he died instantly I started to run toward him and then then I stopped my eyes had not left the spot for a moment sir but he his body that is suddenly disappeared that's the truth sir for I saw it with my own eyes there wasn't a sign of him left I see I replied I believe that I did see we've gone straight up and his body by no great coincidence had fallen upon the spot close to the exit of the airtack where we'd first found him and his machine in operation had brought him or rather his mangled body back to his own age dumb you've not mentioned this affair to anyone

sure no sir it wasn't anything you'd be likely to tell nobody would believe you I went at once to have my arm attended to and reported here according to orders. Very good, Cheryl. You, um, keep the entire affair to yourself. I'll make all the necessary reports. That's an order, understand. Yes, sir.

And that'll be all. Take good care of your arm. He saluted me with his good hand, and then left. Later in the day, I wrote in the logbook of the airtime, the report I mentioned at the beginning of this story. Just before departure, discovered storeway apparently demented and ejected and that was a perfectly truthful statement and it served its purpose now i've given the whole story in detail just to prove what i've so

often contended that these owlish laboratory men whom this age reveres so much not nearly so wise and omnipotent as they think they are well i'm quite sure they would have discredited or attempted to discredit my story had I told it at the time. They would have resented the idea that someone so much ahead of them had discovered a principle that still baffles this age of ours. I would have had no evidence to present. Perhaps even now the story will be discredited. If so, I don't care. I'm much too old, and too near the portals of that impenetrable mystery, in the shadow of which I've stood so many times, to concern myself with what others may think or so well I know what I've related here is the truth and in my mind I have a vivid

and rather pitiful picture of a mangled body bloody and alone in the barn-like structure at the ancient paper described a body broken emotions lying across that striated metal disc like a sacrificial victim a victim and a sacrifice of science there have been many such the soul snatcher by tom curry the shrill voice of a woman broke the steady hum of the many machines in the great semi-darkened laboratory who's the onslaught of weak femininity against the ebony shadow of jared the silent servant of professor ramsie burr not many people were able to get to the famous man against his wishes as jared obeyed orders implicitly and was generally an efficient barrier. I will see him. I will, screamed the middle-aged woman. I'm Mrs. Mary Baker and he,

it's his fault my son's going to die. His fault. The professor, Professor Burr. Jared was unable to keep her quiet. Coming in from the sunlight, her eyes were not yet accustomed to the strange, subdued haze of the laboratory, an immense chamber crammed full of equipment, the vista of which seemed like an apartment in hell. Bizarre shape stood out from the mass of impedimentia. Great stills which rose two full stories in height. Dynamo's immense tubes of coloured liquids. A hundred puzzles to the inexpert up.

A small plump figure of Mrs. Baker was very out of place in this setting. Her voice was pointed, reading. A look at her made it evident that she was a conventional, good woman. She had soft, cloudy golden eyes and a pathetic mouth, and she seemed on the point of tears. Madam, the daughter is busy, whispered Jared, endeavoring to shew her out of the laboratory with his polite hands. He was respectful, but firm. She refused to obey. She stopped when she was within a few feet of the activity in the laboratory,

and stared with fear and horror at the center of the room, and its occupant, Professor Burr, whom she had addressed during her flurried entrance. The Professor's face, as he peered at her, seemed like a disembodied stare, for she could only see eyes behind a mask of lavender-gray glass eye-holes, with its flapping ends of dirty, grey-white cloth. She drew in a deep breath and gasped, with a pungent fumes, acrid and penetrating of sulfuric and nitric acids, stabbed at her lungs. It was like the breath of hell, and aptly Professor Burr seemed like the

devil himself manipulating these infernal machines. Acting swiftly, the tall figure stepped over and threw two switches in a single sweeping movement. The familiar light which had lived in a long row of tubes on a nearby bench had bruntly ceased to ride like so many tongues of flame, and the embers of hell died out. Then the peasant, the peasant, Professor flooded the room in harsh grey-green light and stopped the high-pitched humming wine of his dynamites. A shadow picture writhing on the wall, projected from a lead-glass barrel, disappeared suddenly. The great colour filters and other machines lost their semblance of horrible life, and a regretful sigh seemed to come from the metal creatures as they gave up the ghost.

To the woman, it had been like entering the abode of fear. She couldn't restrain her shutters, but she bravely confronted the tall figure of Professor Burr, as he came forth to greet her. He was extremely tall, with a red, bony mask of a face pointed at the chin by a sharp little goatee, feathery blonde hair, silvered in her eye, covering his great head. "'Madame,' said Burr in a gentle, disharmingly quiet voice, your manner of entrance. might have cost you your life. Luckily I was able to deflect the rays from your person or else you might not now be able to voice your complaint, for such seems to be your purpose in coming here. He turned to Jared, who was standing close by. Very well, Jared, he may go. After this, it will be as well to throw the bolts, although in this case I am quite willing to see the

visitor. Jared slid away then, leaving the plump little woman. to confront the famous scientist. For a moment, Mrs. Baker stared into the pale grey eyes, the pupils of which seemed black as cold by contrast. Some, his bitter enemies among them, claim that Professor Ramsey Burr looked cold and bleak as an iceberg, either saying that he had a baleful glare, his mouth was grim and determined.

Yet, through her eyes, Mrs. Baker, looking at the Professor's bony mask, a face with that high-bridged intrepid nose those passionless gray eyes thought that ramesy burr would be handsome if a little less cadaverous and more human the experiment which you ruined by your untimely entrance continued the professor was not a safe one his long white hand waved toward the bunched apparatus but to her the room seemed all glittering metal coils of snake-like wire ruddy copper dull lead and tubes of all shames. Hell, courtrons of unknown chemicals seethings slowly bubbled.

Beetle-black baker-light fixtures reflected the hideous light. She cried, clasping her hands as though she addressed him in prayer. Forget your science, Professor Burr. Be a man. Help me. Three days from now, my boy, my son, whom I love above all else in the world, is going to die. Three days is a long time. said the professor calmly do not lose hope I have no intention of allowing your son Alan Baker

to pay the price for a deed of mine and I freely confess it was I who was responsible for the death of what was the person's name Smith I believe it was you who made Alan get poor Mr Smith to agree to the experiments which killed him in which the world blamed on my son she said they called it the deed of a scientific theme to Professor Burr perhaps they're right but Alan Alan's innocent he are quiet ordered Burr raising his hand remember madam madam your son Alan is only a commonplace medical man while I taught him a little from my vast tour of knowledge he was ignorant and of much less value to science and humanity than myself do you not understand can you not

comprehend also that the man Smith was a martyr to science He was no lost of mankind, and only sentimentalists could have blamed anyone for his death. Well, I should have succeeded in the interchange of atoms which we were working on, and Smith would at this moment be hailed as the first man to travel through space in invisible form, projected on radio waves, had it not been for the fact that the alloy which conducts the three types of sinusoid or fail, burned out. Yes, it was an error in calculation. Smith would now be called the Lindbergh of the atom but for that. Yet Smith has not died in vain, for I have finally corrected this error.

Science is but trial and correction of error, and all will be well. Alan, Alan must not die at all, she cried. For weeks he's been in that death-house. It's killing me. The governor refuses him a pardon, nor will he commute my son's sentence. In three days he used to die in the electric chair For a crime which you admit you alone are responsible for And yet you remain in your laboratory

Immersed in your experiments And do nothing, nothing The tears came now and she sobbed hysterically It seemed that she was making an appeal To someone in whom she'd only a forlorn hope Nothing, repeated Burr, pursing his thin lips nothing madam i have done everything i have as i've told you perfected the experiment it's successful your son has not suffered in vain the smith's name will go down with the rest of science's martyrs as

one who died for the sake of humanity but if you wish to save your son you must be calm you must listen to what i have to say you must not fail to carry up my instructions to the letter I'm ready now. And with that light, the light of hope, sprang in the mother's eyes. She grasped his arm and stared at him with a shining face through tear-dipped eyelashes. Do you mean it? Can you save him? Even after the governor has refused me.

What can you do? No influence will snatch Alan from the jaws of the law. The public's greatly excited and very hostile toward him. quiet smile played at the corners of burgh's thin lips carl he says place this coat about you alan wore it when he assisted the professor replaced his own mask and conducted the woman into the interior of the laboratory i will show you said professor burr she saw before her now on long metal shelves which appeared to be delicately poised on fine scales who's balance was registered by hairline indicators two small metal cages professor burr stepped over to a row of

common cages set along the wall there was a small minarjury there guinea pigs the martyrs of the animal kingdom rabbits monkeys and some cats the man of science reached in and dragged out a meowing cat placing it in the right-hand cage on the strange table he then obtained a small monkey and put this animal in the left-hand cage beside the cat the cat on the right squatted on its haunches meowing and looking up at its tormentor the monkey after a quick look around began to investigate the upper reaches of its new cage over each of the animals was suspended a fine curious metallic armament for several minutes while the woman puzzled at how this demonstration was to effect the rescue of her condemned son waited impatiently the professor deftly worked at the

apparatus connecting wires here and there i am ready now said burr watch the two animals care of yes yes she replied faintly for she was quite afraid the great scientist was stooping over looking at the balances of the indicators through microscopes she saw him reach for his switches and then a brusque order caused her to turn her eyes back to the animals the cat in the right-hand cage the monkey at the left both animals screamed in fear and a sympathetic chorus sounded from the menagerie as a long purple spark dance from one gray metal pole to the other over the cages on the table but first mrs baker noticed no change the spark had died the professor's voice unhurried, grave, broke the silence.

First part of the experiment is over, he said. The ego! Oh my God! cried the woman. You've driven the poor creatures mad! She indicated to the cats. That animal was clawing at the top bars of its cage, uttering a bizarre, chattering sound, somewhat like a monkey. The cat hung from the bars, swinging itself back and forth,

as if on a trapeer. and then reached up and hung by its hind claws. As for the monkey, it was squatting on the floor of its cage, and it made a strange sound in its throat, almost a meow, as it hissed several times at the professor. Oh, they are not mad, said Burr. As I was explaining to you, I finished the first portion of the experiment.

The ego, the personality of one animal, has been taken out and put into the other. She was unable to speak. Well, he had mentioned madness. Was he, Professor Ramsey Burr, crazy? Well, it was likely enough, and yet the whole thing. These surroundings did seem plausible. She hesitated about speaking, watching with fascinated eyes the out-of-character behaviour of the two beasts.

Burr went on. The second part follows at once. Now that the two egos have interchanged, I will shift the bodies. When it's completed, the monkey will have taken the place of the cat, and vice versa. Now, watch. It was busy for some time with his levers, and the smell of Ozzo unleashed Mrs. Baker's nostrils, and she stared with horrified eyes at the animals. She then blinked.

The sparks crackled madly, the monkey meowed, and the cat chatted. were her eyes going back on her she could now see neither animal distinctly they seemed to be shaking in some cosmic disturbance and were merely blurs well this illusion for to her it seemed it must be optical has persisted or grew worse until the quaking forms of the two unfortunate creatures were like so much ectoplasm in swift motion ghosts whirling about in a dark room she could see the cages of the two unfortunate creatures were like so much ectoplasm in swift motion ghosts whirling about in a dark room Yes, she could see the cages quite distinctly, and the table and even the indicators of the scales. She closed her eyes for a moment, the accurate odors penetrated to her lungs, and she coughed, opening her eyes. Now she could see clearly again. Yes, she could see a monkey, and it was climbing quite naturally about its cage.

It was excited but just a monkey. the cat while protesting mightily, he'd act like a cat. And then she gasped. Had her mind in the excitement betrayed her? She looked at Professor Byr. On his lean face, there was a smile of triumph. He seemed to be awaiting her applause. She looked again at the two cages. Surely at first the cat had been in the right-hand cage and the monkey in the left, but now now the monkey was in the place where the cat had been and the cat had been shifted to the left-hand cage and so it was with smith when the alloys burned out said burr it is impossible to extract the ego or dissolve the atoms and translate them into radio waves unless there's a connection with some other ego and body for in such a case the translated soul and body would have no place to go luckily for you madame It was the man Smith who was killed when the alloys felled me. It might have been Alan, for he who was the second pole of the connection.

She began failing. How can this mad experiment have anything to do with saving my boy? He waved impatiently at her evident stupidity. Do you not understand? It is so I will save Alan, your son. I shall switch our egos or souls, as you say, and then switch the bodies. Must always take it this sequence. Why I have not ascertained, but it always works like this.

Mrs. Baker was terrified. What she had just seen smacked of the blackest magic. Yet a woman in her position must grasp at straws. The world was blaming her son for the murder of Smith. A man Professor Burr had made use of as he might a guinea-pity, and Alan must be snatched from the death-house. Do you mean you can bring Alan from the prison to here? Just by throwing those switches? she asked. That's it.

But there is more to it than that, for it is not magic, madam. It is science, you understand. There must be some physical connection. but with your help that can easily be done professor ramsie burr she knew was the greatest electrical engineer the world had ever known and he stood high as a physicist nothing hindered him in the pursuit of knowledge they said he knew no fear and he lived on an intellectual mountain top he was so great that he almost lost sight of himself to such a man nothing was impossible so hope what held hope sprang in Mary Baker's heart, and she grasped the bony hand of the professor and kissed him. Oh, I believe, I believe you, she cried. You can do it. You can save Alan. I'll do anything, anything you tell me to do. Very well. You visit your son daily at the death house, do you not? She nodded, a shiver of remembrance of that dread spot

passing through her then you will tell him the plan and let him agree to see me the night preceding the electrocution I'll give him final instructions as to the exchange of bodies then my life spirit or ego is confined in your son's body in the death house Alan will be able to perform the feat of change in the bodies your son's flesh will join his soul which will have been temporarily inhabiting my own show do you see When they find me in the cell where they suppose your son to be, they'll be unable to explain the phenomenon. They can do nothing but release me.

Your son will go here and can be whisked away to a safe place of concealment. Yes, yes, what am I supposed to do besides this? Professor Burr opened a drawer nearby and from it extracted a folded garment of thin, shiny material. This is metal cloth coated with the new anil, he said. He rummaged further, saying as he did so, I expected you be here to see me, and I've been getting ready for your visit. All is prepared, save a few odds and ends which I can easily clean up in the next two days. Here are four cups which Alan must place under each leg of his bed,

and this delicate little director-coil you must be especially careful with. It is to be slipped under your song's ton at the time appointed. She was staring at him still half in fear, half in wonder, yet she couldn't feel any doubt of the man's miraculous powers. Somehow, while he talked to her and rested those cold eyes upon her, she was under the spell of the great scientists. Her son, before the trouble into which she had been dragged by the professor, but often hinted at the abilities of Ramsey Burr, giving her the idea that his employer was practically a necromancer, yet, a magician whose advanced scientific knowledge was correct and explainable in the light of reason. Yes, Alan had talked to her often when he was at home, resting from his labours with Professor Burr. He'd spoken of the new electricity discovered by the famous man, and also told his mother

that Burr had found a method of separating atoms and then transforming them into a form of radio electricity so they could be sent in radio waves to designated points. and she now remembered the swift trial and conviction of Alan on the charge of murder had occupied her so deeply that she'd forgotten all else for the time being that her son had informed her quite seriously that Professor Ramsey Burr would soon be able to transport human beings by radio neither of us will be injured in any way by the change said Burr calmly it is possible for me now to break up human flesh send the atoms by radio electricity

and reassemble them in their proper form by these special transformers and atom filters. Mrs. Baker took all the apparatus presented to her by the professor. She ventured the thought that it might be better to perform the experiment at once, instead of waiting until the last minutes. But this, Professor Burr waved aside as impossible. He needed the extra time, he said, and there was no hurry. She glanced around the room, and her eyes took in the giant sweep. switches of copper with their black handles. There were others of a grey-green metal she didn't

recognise. Many dials and metres strange to her, all confronting the little woman. These things, she felt with a rush of gratitude for the inanimate objects, were those that would help to save her son. So they interested her, and she began to feel kindly towards these great machines. Would Professor Byr really be able to save Alan, as he claimed? Yes, she thought he could. She would make Alan consent to the trial of it, even though her son had cursed a scientist and cried he would never speak to Ramsey Burr again. She was escorted from the home of the professor by Jared, and, going out into the bright, sunlit streets, she blinked her eyes as they adjusted themselves to the daylight after the strange light of the laboratory. In a bundle she had a strange suit in the cups. Her purse held the tiny coil, wrapped in cotton for safety.

She'd get the authorities to consent to her son having the suit. The cups and the coil she might slip to him herself. Well, she decided that a mother would be allowed to give her son new underwear. Yes, she would say it was that. And so she started at once for the prisoner. Professor Burr's laboratory was about 20 miles from the cell where her son was incarcerated. As she rode on the train, seeing people in everyday clothing, a commonplace of currencies going on about her.

A spell of Professor Burr faded. A cold reason stared her in the face. Was it nonsense? This idea of transporting bodies through the air in invisible waves. Yet she was old-fashioned. The age of miracles had not passed for her. Radio in which pictures and voices could be sent on wireless waves was unexplainable to her.

Perhaps. She sighed. and shook her head. It was hard to believe. It was also hard to believe that her son was in deadly peril, condemned to death as some scientific fiend. Here was her station. The taxi took her to the prison,

and after a talk with the warden, finally she stood there, before the screen through which she could talk to Alan, her son. Mom! Her heart lifted, melted within her. It was always thus when he spoke. Alan, she whispered softly. They were allowed to talk undisturbed.

Professor Burr wishes to help you, she said in a low voice. Her son, Alan Baker, MD, turned eyes of misery upon her. His hair was awry. This young man was imaginative and could therefore suffer deeply. He had the gift of turning platitudes into puzzles, and his hazel eyes were lit with an elfin quality wish. if possible, endeared him even more to his mother. All his life he'd been the greatest thing in the world to this woman,

and to see him in such dire straits tore her very heart. When he'd been a little boy, she'd been able to make joy appear in those eyes by a word and a pat on the head. Now that he was a man, the matter was more difficult. But she'd always done her best. I cannot allow Professor Burr to do anything for me, he said Dolby. It's his fault. fault that I'm here. But, Alan, you must listen, listen carefully. Professor Burke can save you.

He said it was all a mistake. The ally was wrong. He's not come forward before because he knew he'd be able to iron out the trouble if he had time and thus snatch you from this terrible place. She put as much confidence into her voice as she could. She must to enhearten her son. anything to replace that look of suffering with one of hope she would believe she did believe the bars that break masses of stone which enclosed her son would be as nothing he would pass through them unseen and unheard for a time Alan spoke bitterly of Ramsey burr but his mother pleaded with him telling him it was his only chance and that the devoury that Alan suspected was in his imagination He killed Smith in such an experiment, said Alan. I took the blame, as you know, though I only followed his instructions. But, well, you say he claims to have found the correct allies? Yes, and this suit, you must put it on.

Professor Burr himself will be here to see you the day after tomorrow, the day preceding the... She bit her lip and got out the dreaded word. The electrocution. But there won't be any electrocution, Alan. No, there can be. You'll be safe. You'll be safe in my arms.

She had to fight now to hold her belief in the miracle which Burrow had promised. The solid steel and stone of this room dismayed her brain. The new alloy seemed to interest Alan Baker. His mother told him of the exchange of the monkey and the cat. He nodded excitedly, growing more and more restive, And his eyes began to shine with hope and curiosity. I've told the warden about the suit, saying it was something I made for you myself,

she said in a low voice. You must pretend the coil and the cups are things you desire for your own amusement. You know, they've allowed you a great deal of latitude since you are educated and need diversion. Yeah, yeah, well, maybe some difficulty, but I'll overcome that. Okay, tell Berda come. I'll talk with him and he can instruct me in the final details.

He's better than waiting in here like a rat in the trap. I've been afraid of going mad, Mom. And this, well, this boys me up. He smiled at her then, and her heart sang in the joy of relief. Well, how did the intervening days pass? Mrs. Baker couldn't sleep, could scarcely eat. She could do nothing but wait, wait, and wait some more. She watched the meeting of her son at Ramsey Burr on the day preceding the date set for the execution.

Well, Baker, said Burr nonchalantly, nodding to his former assistant. How are you? You see how I am, said Alan coldly. Yes, yes, well, listen to what I have to say, you note it carefully. There must be no mistakes. You have the suit, the cups, and the director coil? You must keep it. the suit on. The cups go under the legs of the cot you lie on, and the director under your

tongue. The professor then spoke it further with Alan, instructing him in scientific terms which the woman could scarcely comprehend. Okay, tonight, then at 11.30, said Burr finally. Be ready. Alan nodded. Mrs. Baker accompanied Burr from the prison. You, you will let me be with you she begged oh it's hardly necessary replied the professor but i must i must see allan the moment he's free to make sure he's all right then i want to be able to take him away i have a place in which he can hide and as soon as he's rescued he must be taken out of sight very well said burr shrugging it's immaterial to me so long as you do not interfere with the course of the experiment he must sit perfectly still, and he must not speak until Alan stands before you and addresses you. Yes, I'll obey you, she promised. Mrs. Baker then watched Professor Ramsey Burr eat his supper.

Burr himself was not in the least perturbed. It was wonderful, she thought, that he could be so calm. To her it was the great moment, the moment when her son would be saved from the jaws of death. Jared carried a comfortable chair into the laboratory. and she sat in it, quiet as a mouse in one corner of the room. It was nine o'clock, and Professor Burr was busy with his preparations. She knew he'd been working steadily for the past few days. She gripped the arms of her chair, and her heart burned within her. The professor was making sure of his apparatus.

He tested this, bulb, and that, and carefully inspected the curious oscillating platform over which was suspended a thickly bunched group of grey-green wire, which was seemingly an antenna. The numerous indicators and implements seemed to be satisfactory, for, at a quarter after eleven, Burr gave an exclamation of pleasure and nodded to himself. Burr seemed to have completely forgotten about the woman. He spoke aloud occasionally, but not to her,

as he brought forth a suit made of the same metal cloth as Alan must have on at this moment. The tension was terrific, terrific for the mother, who was awaiting the culmination of the experiment which would rescue her son from the electric chair what might it fail she shuddered what if burr was mad and then she looked at him she was sure he was sane as she was sane as she was he will succeed she murmured digging her nails into the palms of her hands i know he will she pushed out of her mind the picture of what was going to happen tomorrow Only a few hours from now when Alan her son was due to be led to a legal death in the electric chair.

Professor Burr placed the shiny suit upon his lank form. She saw him put a duplicate coil, the same sort of machine which Alan possessed, under his tongue. The Mephistophelian figure then consulted a matter-of-fact watch. At that moment, Mrs. Baker heard above the hum of the myriad machines in the laboratory, the slow chiling of the clock. Now was the moment for the deed. And then she feared the professor was indeed insane, for he suddenly leaped to the high bench of the table on which stood one of the oscillating platforms. Wires led out from this, and Burr sat gently upon it. A strange figure now in the subdued light. Professor Burr, however, she soon came to realize, was not insane. No, this was

all part of it. He was reaching for switches near at hand. and bowls began to glow with unpleasant light needle as on indicators swung madly and then at last Professor Berg kicked over a giant switch which seemed to be the final movement for several seconds the professor did not move and then his body grew rigid and he twisted a few times his face though not drawn in pain did switch galvanically as though actuated by slight jabs of electricity. The many tubes for the rest flared up in pulsing waves of violet and pink. There were grey bars of invisibility or areas of air in which nothing visible showed. Then there came the faint, crackling hum of machinery rather like a swarm of wasps in Angling.

Blue and grey threads of fire spat across the antenna. The odour of ozone came to Mrs. Baker's nostrils and the acrid odours burned her lungs she was staring at him now staring at the professor's face she half rose from a chair and then uttered a little cry the eyes had changed no longer were they cold impersonal the eyes of a man who prided himself on the fact that he kept his arteries soft and his heart heart they were loving soft eyes "'Allen?' she cried. "'Yes, without doubt the eyes of her son were looking at her out of the body of Professor Ramsey Burr. "'Mam?' he said gently. "'Don't be alarmed. It worked. I'm here. I'm in Professor Burr's body.' "'Yes,' she cried hysterically. "'Well, it was too weird to believe. It seemed, strangely, to her to be...

utterly unearthly. Oh, are you all right, darling? She asked, timidly. Yeah. I felt nothing beyond a momentary giddy-spow, a bit of nausea and some mental stiffness. Well, it was strange and I have a slight headache, however, all is well. He grinned at her, laughed with the voice which was not quite his, yet which she recognized as coming from her son's spirit. The laugh was cracked and, unlike Alan's heart,

unlike Alan's whole-hearted mirth, yet she smiled in sympathy. Yes, the first part is a success, said the man. Our egos have interchanged, and soon our bodies will undergo the transformation, and then I must keep under cover. Well, I dislike Burr, yet he is a great man, and he saved me. I suppose the slight headache which I feel is the one bequeath me by Burr. I hope he inherits my shivers and terrors and the neuralgia for the time being, so you'll get some idea of what I've undergone. He got down now from the oscillating platform, the spirit of her son was in Ramsey's body. What?

What are you doing now? she asked. I must carry out the rest of it myself, he said. Burr directed me when we taught yesterday. it's more difficult when one subject is out of the laboratory tubes have to be checked went carefully about his work and she saw him replacing four of the tubes with others new ones which were ready at hand though it was the body of ramsie burr the movements were different from the slow precise work of the professor and more and more she realized that her son now inhabited the shell before her for a momently my thought of attempting to dissuading to dissuading him to dissuading him to dissuade

her son from making the final change. Was it not better like this than to chance the disintegration of the bodies? Suppose something went wrong, and the exchange didn't take place, and her son, that is, his spirit, just went back to the death house. Midnight struck as he worked feverishly at the apparatus. The long face corrugated as he checked the dials and tubes. He worked swiftly, but evidently was following a procedure which he committed to memory. but he was forced to pause often to make sure of himself. Everything's okay, said the strange voice at last. He then consulted his watch.

Twelve-thirty, he said. She bit her lip in terror as he cried. Now, and sprang to the table to take his place on the metallic platform, which oscillated to and fro under his weight. The delicate greyish metal antenna, which she knew would form a glit, glittering halo of blue and grey threads of fire, rested now above his head. This is the last thing, he said calmly, as he reached for the big ebony-handled switch.

I'll be myself in a few minutes, Mom. Yes, son. Yes. The switch connected, and Alan Barker and the former of Ramsey Burr suddenly cried out in great pain. His mother leaped up to run to his side, but he, waved her away. She stood, wringing her hands, as he began to twist and turn as though torn apart by some invisible force. Eerie screams came from the throat of the man on the platform, and Mrs. Baker's cries of sympathy mingled in with them. The mighty motors hummed in a high-pitched unnatural wine, and suddenly Mrs. Baker saw the tortured face before her grow dim. The countenance of the professor

seemed to mount and then there came a dull muffled thud burst of white blue flame the odor of burning rubber and the tinkle of broken glass then back to the face came the clarity of outline and it was still professor ramsie burr's body that she was staring at her son in the professor's shape climbed from the platform and looked about him as so dazed an acrid smoke filled the room and and burning insulation assailed the nostrils. Desperately, without looking at her, his lips set in a determined line. The man went hurriedly over to the apparatus again. Have I forgotten them? Did I do something wrong? She heard his anguish cry. Two tubes were burned out, and these he replaced as swiftly as possible.

But he was forced to go over all the wiring again and cut out whatever had been short-circuited so that it could be hooked up anew with uninjured one. wire. Before he was ready to resume his seat on the platform, after half an hour of feverish haste, a knock came on the door. The person outside was impatient, and Mrs. Baker ran over and opened the portal. Jared, the whites of his eyes shining in the dim light, stood there. The professor, tell him that the warden wishes to speak with him. It's very important, ma'am. The body of Burr, inhabited by Alan's soul, pushed by her, and she followed faltering, wringing her hands.

She saw the tall figure snatch at the receiver and listened. Oh, God, he cried. And then, at last, he put the receiver back on the hook and sank down in a chair, his face in his hands. Mrs. Baker went to him quickly. What is it, Alan? she cried. "'Mom,' he said hoarsely, "'was the warden of the prison. "'He told me that Alan Bach

"'were temporarily gone insane "'and claimed to be Professor Ramsey Burr in my body.' "'But what's the matter?' she asked. "'Can't you finish the experiment, Alan? "'Can't you change the two bodies now?' "'He shook his head. "'Mom,' they electrocuted Ramsey Burr in my body at 12.45 to night. She screamed. She was faint, but she controlled herself with a great effort.

Yeah, but the electrocution wasn't to be until tomorrow morning, she said. Alan shook his head. They're allowed a certain latitude, about 12 hours, he said. Burr protested up to the last moment, begged for more time. Oh, God, they must have come and dragged him from his bed to die in that electric chair while you were attempting the second part of the change, she said. Yeah, that's why it failed. That's why the tubes and wires burned out and why we couldn't exchange bodies. It had begun to work. Then I could feel something terrible that had happened.

It was impossible to complete the beta circuit, which short-circuited. Well, they took him from the cell, you see. while I was starting the exchange of the Adams. For a time the mother and her boy sat staring at one another. She saw the tall, eccentric figure of Ramsey Burr before her, and she also saw the soul of her son within that form. The eyes were Alan's. The voice was soft and loving, and his spirit was with her.

Come, Alan, my son, she said softly. Burr, paid the price, said Alan, shaking his head. He became a man. martyr to science. The world has often wondered why Professor Ramsey Burr, so much in the headlines as a great scientist, suddenly gave up all his experiments and took up the practice of medicine. Well, now that the public furor and indignation over the death of the man Smith has died down, sentimentalists believe that Ramsey Burr has reformed and changed his icy nature, but he manifests great affection and care for Mrs. Mary Baker, the mother.

of the electrocuted man who had been his assistant. Four lives lay helpless before, the murder machine, the uncanny device by which hypnotic thought waves are filtered through men's minds to mould them into murdering tools. The murder machine by Hugh B.K. It was dusk on the evening of December 7th when I first encountered Sir John Harmon.

At the moment of his entrance, I was standing over the table in my study, a lighted match in my cupped hand, hands and a pipe beneath my teeth. That pipe was never lit. I heard the lower door slam shut with a violent clatter. The stairs resounded to a series of unsteady footsteps, and the door of my study was flung back. In the opening, staring at me with quiet dignity stood a young careless fellow, about five feet ten in height and decidedly dark of complexion. The swagger of his entrance branded him as an adventurer.

The ghastly pallor of his face, which was almost colourless, branded him as a man who was found something more than mere adventure. Dr. Dale, he demanded. I am Dr. Dale. Close the door of the room deliberately, advancing toward me with slow stands. My name is John Harmon. Sir John Harmon. It is unusual, I suppose, he said quietly with a slight shrug.

coming at this late hour I won't keep you long he faced me silently a single glance at those strange features convinced me of the reason for his coming only one thing can bring such a furtive restless stare to a man's eyes only one thing fear I've come to you Dale because Sir John's fingers closed heavily over the edge of the table I'm on the verge of going mad. From fear? From fear, yes. I suppose it's easy to discover.

I mean, a single look at... A single look at you, I said simply. We'll convince any man that you are deadly afraid of something. Do you mind telling me what it is? He shook his head slowly. The swagger of the poise was gone. He stood upright. now with a positive effort, as if the realization of his position had suddenly surged over him.

I do not know, he said quietly. It's a childish fear, the fear of the dark you may call it. Well, the cause does not matter, but if something doesn't take this unholy terror away, the effect will be madness. I watched him in silence for a moment, studying the shrunken outline of his face and the unsteady gleam of his narrowed eyes. I'd seen this man before, All of London had seen him. His face was constantly appearing in the sporting pages, a swaggering member of the upper set, a man who had been engaged to nearly every beautiful woman in the country.

He sought adventure in sport and in nightlife, merely for the sake of living at top speed. And here he stood before me, whitened by fear, the very thing he had so deliberately laughed at. Dale, he sets low. For the past week, I've been thinking things that I don't want to think and doing things completely against my will.

Some outside power, God knows what it is, is controlling my very existence. He stared at me then, and leaned closer across the table. Last night, sometime before midnight, he told me, I was sitting alone 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 stood in the room and commanded me. I was forced to put the book down. I fought against it, fought to remain in that room and go on reading. But, well, I failed.

Failed. My reply was a single word of wonder. I left my home, because I couldn't help myself. Have you ever been under hypnotism, Dale? Yeah, well, the thing that gripped me was something similar, except that no living person came near me in order to work as if not expelled. I went along the whole way. Through backstreet, alleys, filthy dooryards, never once striking a main thoroughfare

until I crossed the entire city and reached the west side of the square. And there, before a big grey townhouse, I was allowed to start. Stop my mad wandering. The power, whatever it was, had broken. And, well, I went home. Sir John got to his feet then, 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're sure it was not. just some fantastic dream. Is it a dream to have some damnable force, move me about like a mechanical robot? But you can think of no explanation? I was a bit skeptical of his story. Well, he turned on me savagely. "'Have no explanation, doctor,' he said Curly. "'I came to you for an explanation. "'And while you're thinking over my case during the next few hours, perhaps you can explain this.' When I stood before that grey mansion on Afterstreet, alone in the dark, there was murder

in my heart. I should have killed the man who lived in that house, had it not been suddenly released from the force that was driving me forth. Sir John then turned from me in bitterness. Without offering any word of departure, he pulled open the door and stepped across the sill. The door closed, and I was left alone. And that was my introduction to Sir John Harmon. I offer it in detail because it was the first of a startling series of events that led me to

the most terrible case of my career. In my records I have labelled the entire case, the affair of the death machine. Twelve hours after Sir John's departure, which will bring the time to the morning of December 8th, the headlines of the Daily Mail stared up at me from the table. They were black and heavy. They were black and heavy, those headlines, and horribly significant. They were as follows. Franklin White Jr. found murders.

Midnight Marauder strangles young society man in West End Mansion. I turned the paper hurriedly and read, between the hours of one and two a glove this morning, and a known murderer entered the home of Franklin White Jr., well-known West End sportsman, and escaped leaving behind his strangle victim. Young White, who is a favourite 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-Vernay,

young and exceedingly pretty French debutante. 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. Much more. Young White had evidently been a decided favourite, and the murder had been so unexpected, so deliberate that the male reporter had made the most of his opportunity for a story. But aside from what I've explained here,

there was only a single short paragraph which claimed my attention, and it was this. The White Home is not a difficult one to enter. It is a huge grey townhouse, situated just off the square in Afterstreet. The murderer entered by a low French window, leaving it open. Well, I have said here the words exactly as they were printing. The item does not call for any comment. But I'd hardly dropped the paper before she stood before me.

If I say she, it was Margot Vernet, of course, because for some particular reason I had expected her. She stood quietly before me, her cameo face set in the black of morning, 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 eyes followed my glance. That is only part of it, Doctor, she said. I was in love with Franklin very much, but I have come to you for something more,

because you are a famous psychologist and you can help me. She then sat down quietly, leaning forward so that her arms rested on the table. Her face was white, almost as white as the face of that young adventurer who had come to me on the previous evening. When she spoke, the 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 a week now I have been commanded, commanded by some awful force to return to a man who knew me more than two years ago. I can't explain it. I did not love this man. I hated him bitterly. And now comes this mad desire, this hungering to go to him. And last night, Margot Verne, hesitated suddenly. She stared at me searchingly, and then, with renewed courage, she continued. Last night, Doctor, I was alone.

I'd retired for the night, and it was late, nearly three o'clock. And then I was strangely commanded by this awful power that has suddenly taken possession of my soul to go out. I tried to restrain myself, and in the end I found myself walking through the square. I went straight to Franklin White's home, and when I reached there it was half-past three, I could hear Big Ben. I went in, through the wide French window at the side of the house. I went straight to Franklin's room, because I could not prevent myself from going.

A sob came from Margot's lips. She had half-risen from her chair and was holding herself together with a brave effort. I went to her side and stood over her, and she, had a little bit of her. half-craze laugh, stared up at me. He was dead when I saw him, she cried, dead, murdered. That infernal force, whatever it was, it made me go straight to my lover's side to see him lying there with those cruel finger-marks on his throat. Dead, I tell you, oh, it's horrible. She then turned suddenly. When I saw him, she said bitterly, the sight of him and the sight of those marks. It broke the spell that had helped me.

I crept from the house as if I had killed him. Well, they will probably find out I was there. They'll accuse me of the murder. It doesn't matter, but, well, is power this awful thing that has been controlling me? Is there no way to fight it? I nodded heavily. The memory of that unfortunate fellow who had come to me with the same complaint was still holding me. I was prepared to wash my hands of the whole horrible affair.

It was clearly not a medical case, and clearly out of my realm. There is a way to fight it, I said quietly. I am a doctor, not a master of hypnotism, or a man who can discover the reasons behind that hypnotism. But London has its Scotland Yard, and Scotland Yard has a man who is one of my greatest comrade. She nodded her surrender. As I stepped to the phone, I heard her murmur in a weary, troubled voice.

Hypnotism, it is not that. God knows what it is, but it has always happened when I've been alone. One cannot hypnotize through distance, and yet, with Margot Verena's consent, I sought the aid of Inspector Thomas Drake of Scotland Yard. In half an hour Drake stood beside me, in the quiet of my study. When it heard Margot's story, he asked a single, significant question. It was this. You say you have a desire to go back to a man who was once intimate with you.

Who is he? Margot looked at him, dolly. It is Michael Strange, she said slowly. Michael Strange, of Paris, a student of science. Drake nodded. Without further questioning, he dismissed me. my patient and when she'd 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 said john harmon

would come to me the night before when i'd finished drake stared at me stared through me and suddenly turned on his heel i should 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 of danger, he became a cold, indifferent officer of Scotland Yard. And so I waited. During the 24 hours that elapsed before Drake returned 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. and then the deliberate murder, and finally young Margot Vernet and her confession.

It was like the revolving world of a pinwheel, this series of events, continuous and mystifying, but without beginning or end. Surely somewhere in the procession of horrors, there would be a loose end to cling to, some loose end that would eventually unravel the pinwheel. Well, it was plainly not a medical affair, or at least a heart. remotely so the thing was in proper hands then with Drake following it through and i had only to wait for his return and he came at last and closed the door of the room behind him he stood over me with something of a swagger dale i've been looking into the records of this michael strange he said quietly they are interesting these records they go back some ten years when this fellow strange

was beginning his study of science and now my Michael Strange is one of the greatest authorities in Paris on the subject of mental telegraphy. He's gone into the study of human thought with the same thoroughness that other scientists go into the subject of radio telegraphy. He's written several books on the subject. Drake pulled a tiny black volume from the pocket of his coat and dropped it on the table before me. With one hand he opened it to a place which he previously marked in pencil. Read it, he said, significantly. I looked at him in wonder, and then did as he ordered.

What I read was this. Mental telegraphy is a science, not a myth. It's a very real fact, a very real power which can be developed only by careful research. To most people it is merely a curiosity. They sit, for instance, in a crowded room at some uninteresting lecture, and stare continually at the back of some unsuspecting companion. that companion by the power of suggestion turns suddenly around or they think heavily of a certain person nearby perhaps commanding him mentally to hum a certain popular tune until the victim by the power of their will suddenly fulfills the order to such persons the science of mental telegraphy

is merely in a movement and so it will be until science has brought it to such a perfection that these waves of thought can be broadcast, that they can be transmitted through the ether precisely as radio waves are transmitted. In other words, mental telegraphy is at present merely a mild form of hypnotism, until it has been developed so that these hypnotic powers can be directed through space and directed accurately to those individuals to whom they are intended. This science will have no significance. It remains for the scientists of today to bring about that development. I closed the book. When I looked up, Drake was watching me intently, as if expecting me to say something. Drake, I said slowly, more to myself than to him. The pinwheel

is beginning to unravel. We found the beginning of the thread. Perhaps if we follow that thread. Drake smiled. If you pick up your hat and coat-dale, he interrupted. I think we have an appointment. This Michael Strange, whose book you have just enjoyed so immensely, is now residing on a certain quiet little side street about three miles from the square in London. I followed Drake in silence until we'd left Cheney Lane in the gloom behind us. At the entrance to the square my companion called a cab, and from there on we rode slowly through a heavy darkness which was blanketed by a wet, penetrating fall. The cabby, evidently one who knew my companion by sight,

and what London cabby does not know his Scotland yard-man, chose a route that twisted through gloomy, uninhabited side streets, sold and winding into the main route of travel. As for Drake, he sank back into the uncomfortable seat and made no attempt at conversation. For the entire first part of our journey, he said nothing. not until we'd reached a black, unlit section of the city did he turn to me. Dale, he said at length, have you ever hunted a tiger?

I looked at him and laughed. Why? I replied. Do you expect this hunt of ours will be something of a blind chase? Oh, it will be a blind chase, no doubt of it, he said. And when we've followed the trail to its end, I imagine we'll find something very like a tiger to deal with. I've looked rather deeply into Michael Strange's life, and unearthed a bit of the man's character. He's twice been accused of murder, murder by hypnotism, and has twice cleared himself by throwing scientific explanations at the police.

That is the nature of his entire history for the past ten years. I nodded without replying. As Drake turned away from me again, our cab poked his laboring nose into a narrow and gloomy street. I had a glimpse of a single unsteady street lamp on the corner, in a dim side, mate to lay. And then we were dragging along the curb. The cab stopped with a grove. I stepped down and was standing by the cab door when suddenly, from the darkness in front of me, a strange figure advanced to my side. He glanced at me intently, then, seeing that I was evidently not the man he saw, he turned to drae.

I heard a whispered greeting in an undertone of conversation. And then, quietly, Drake stepped toward me. Dale, he said, I thought it best that I should not show myself here tonight. No, there's no time for explanation now. You will understand later, perhaps. And, significantly, sooner than you anticipate, Inspector Hartnett will go through the rest of this pantomime with you. I shook hands with Drake's man, still rather bewildered at this sudden substitution.

Then, before I was aware of it, Drake had vanished and the cab was gone. We were alone, Hartnett and I, in Mate Lane. The home of Michael Strange, number seven, was hardly inviting. No light was in evidence. The big house stood like a huge, unadorned vault set back from the street, some distance from its adjoining buildings. The heavy steps echoed to our feet as we mounted them in the darkness.

And the sound of the bell, as Hartlett pressed it, came sharply to us from the silence of the interior. He stood there, waiting. In the short interval before the door opened, Hartnick glanced at his watch to nearly ten o'clock,

and then said to me, I imagine, Doctor, we shall meet a black wall. Oh, let me do the talking, please. And that was all. In another moment, the big door was pulled slowly open from the inside, and in the entrance, glaring out at us, stood the man we'd come to see. It was not hard to remember that first impression of Michael Strong.

He was a huge man, gaunt and haggard, moulded with the hunched shoulders and heavy arms of a gorilla. His face seemed to be unconsciously twisted into a snarl. His greeting, which came only after he'd stared at us intently for nearly a minute, was Kurt and rasping. Well, gentlemen, what is it? I should like a word with Dr. Michael Strange, said my companion, quietly. I am Michael Strong. And I, replied Hartnett, with a suggestion of a smile.

I'm Raoul Hartnett from Scotland Yard. I didn't see any sign of emotional Strange's face. He stepped back in silence to allow us to enter. Then closing the big door after us, he led the way along a carpeted hall to a small, poorly lit room just inside. He re-motioned to us to be seated. He himself standing upright beside the table facing. From Scotland Yard, he said, and the tone was heavy with a dull sarcasm. Well, I am at your service, Mr. Hartman.

And now for the first time. I wondered just why Drake had insisted on my coming here to his gloomy house in Mait Lane. Why had he so deliberately arranged a substitute so that Michael Strong should not come face to face with him directly? Well, evidently Hartnett had been carefully instructed as to his course of action, but why this seemingly unnecessary caution on Drake's part? And now, after we gained admission, what its use would Hartnett offer for the intrusion? Sure, you would not follow the bull-headed road. of a common policeman.

There was no anger, no attempt at dramatics in heart and its voice. He looked quietly up at our host. Got to strange, he said at length. I have come to you for your assistance. Last night, sometime after midnight, Franklin White was trailed to death. He was murdered, according to substantial evidence, by the girl he was going to marry, Margot Vannege. I come to you because you know the girl were rather well.

and perhaps you can help Scotland Yard in finding her motive for killing White. Michael Strange said nothing. He stood there scouting down at my companion in silence, and I too, I must admit, turned upon Hartnett with a stare of bewilderment. His accusation of Margot had brought a sense of horror to me. I'd expected almost anything from him, even to a mad accusation of Strange himself. I'd hardly foreseen this cold-blooded death. declaration. You understand, Doctor, Hartnett went on in that same ironical draw.

That we do not believe Margot Veney did this thing herself. She had a companion, undoubtedly, one who accompanied her to the house on Afterstreet, and assisted her in the crime. Who that companion was, we're not sure. But there's decidedly a case of suspicion against a certain young London sportsman. Now this fellow is known to have proud about the White Mansion both on the night of the murder and the night before. Hartnick glanced up casually. Strange's face was a total mask. When he nodded, the nod was the most even a mechanical thing I'd ever seen. Certainly this man could control his emotions. Air naturally, Doctor, Hartnett said. We've gone rather deeply into the past life of the

lady in question. Well, your name appears, of course, in a rather unimportant interval when Margo Verne resided in Paris, so we come to you in the hope that you can perhaps give us some slight bit of information, or something that seems insignificant perhaps to you, but which may put us on the right track. It was a careful speech, even as Hartnett spoke it. I could have sworn that the words were drakes, and had been memorized. But Michael Strange merely stepped back to the table and faced us without a word. He was probably, during that brief interlude, attempting to real his position to discover just how much Raoul Hartnett actually knew and then after his interim of silence came forward sullenly and spoke over my comrades I'll tell you this much

mr Hartnett of Scotland Yard he said bitterly my relations with Margot Verne are not an open book to be passed through the clumsy fingers of ignorant police officers as to this murder I know nothing At the time of it, I was seated in this room in a company with a distinguished group of scientific friends. I will tell you, on authority, that Margot did not murder her lover. Why? Well, because she loved him. The last words were heavy with bitterness. Before they died into silence, Michael Strang should open the door of his study.

Now, if you please, gentlemen, he said quietly. Hartnick got to his feet. For an instant he stood facing the guerrilla-like form of our host. Then he stepped over the sill without a word. We passed down the unlit corridor in silence, while Strange stood in the door of his study, watching us. I couldn't help but feel, as we left that gloomy house, that Strange had suddenly focused his entire attention upon me

and had ignored my companion. Oh, I could fill those eyes upon me, and feel the force of the will behind them. He decided feeling of uneasiness crept over me, and I shuddered. A moment later the big outer door closed shut after us, and we were alone in Mait Lane, alone that is, until a third figure joined us in the shadows, and Drake's hand closed over my arm.

Captain Dale, he said triumphantly, for half an hour you entertained him, you and heartened it, and for half an hour I've had the unlimited to free you. of his inner rooms with the aid of an unlocked window on the lower floor those inner rooms gentlemen are significant very as we walked the length of mate lane the gaunt sinister home of Michael Strange became an indistinct outline in the pitch behind us Drake said nothing more on the return trip until we'd nearly reach my rooms they turned to me with a smile we are one up on our friend there he said he does not know just now which is the bigger fool you or hartnett here however i imagine hartnett will be the victim of some very unusual events before many hours of burst that was all at least all of significance i left the two scotland yard men at the opening of chaney lane and continued alone to my rooms i opened the door and let myself in quietly

and there, some few hours later, became the last and most horrible phase of the case of the murder machine. It began, or to be more accurate, I began to react to it at 3 o'clock in the morning. I was alone and the rooms were dark. For hours I'd sat quietly by the table, considering the significant events of the past few days. Well, sleep was impossible with so many unanswered questions staring into me, and so I sat there wondering.

Did Drake actually believe that Margot Vene's simple story had been a ruse, that she had, in truth killed her lover on that midnight intrusion of his home? Did he believe that Michael Strange knew of that intrusion, that he had possibly planned it himself and aided her, in order that Margot be free to return to him? And did Strange know of that other intrusion, and of the uncanny power which had driven Sir John Harmon and supposedly driven Margot to that house or after-street? And those were the questions that still remained without answers. It was over those questions that I ponded.

While my surroundings became darker and more silent as the hour became more advanced. I heard the clock strike three, and heard the answering draw of a big band from the square. And then it began. Well, at first it was little more than a sense of nervousness. Before I'd been content to sit in my chair and doves, but now, in spite of myself, I found myself pacing the floor back and forth like a caged animal. I could have sworn at the time that some sinister presence had found entrance to my room, and yet the room was empty.

And I could have sworn, too, that some silent power of will was commanding me, an undeniable force, to go out, out into the darkness of Cheney Lane. I fought it bitterly. I laughed at it. It even through my laugh came the memory of Sir John Harmon and Margot and what they had told me. And then, unable to resist that unspoken demand, I seized my hat and coat and went out. Cheney Lane was deserted, utterly still. At the end of it, the street lamp glowed dull, throwing a patch of ghastly light over the side of the adjoining building. I hurried through the shadows, and as I walked, a single idea had possession of me.

I must hurry, I thought, with all possible speed to that grim house in Mait Lane. Number seven. Where that deliberate desire came from, I did not know. I didn't stop to reason. Something had commanded me to go at once to Michael Strange's home. And though I stopped more than once, deliberately turning in my tracks, inevitably I was forced to retrace my steps and continue. I remember passing through the square and prowling through unlawful. unlit side streets that lay beyond. Three miles separated Cheney Lane from Mait Lane,

and I'd been over the route only once before in a cab. Yet I followed that route without a single false turn, followed it instinctively. At every intersecting street I was dragged in a certain direction, and not once was I allowed to hesitate. It was as though some unseen demon perched on my shoulders, as the demon of the sea rode to Sinbad and pointed out the way. way only one disturbing thing occurred on that night journey through london i turned into a narrow street hardly more than a quarter mile from my destination and before me in the shadows i made up the fall of a shuffling 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 were outstretched clutching through his throat

At the moment, I could have killed him. I can't explain it. During that brief interval, I was a murderer at heart. I wanted to kill. Now that I remember it, the desire had been pregnant in me ever since the lights of Cheney Lane had died behind me. All the time that I prowled through those black streets, murder lurked in my heart.

I could have killed the first man who crossed my palm. But I didn't kill him. Thank God, as my fingers twisted toward the back of his throat, that mad desire suddenly left me. I stood still, while the old fellow, still unsuspecting, shuffled away into the darkness. Then dropping my hands, with a sob of helplessness, I went forward again. And so I reached Mate Lane and the huge grey house that awaited me. Well, this time, as I mounted the stone steps, the old house seemed even more repulsive and horrible. I dreaded to see that door open, but I could not retreat.

I dropped the knocker heavily. A moment passed, and then, precisely as before, the huge door swung inward. And Michael Strange stood before me. He didn't speak. Perhaps if he had spoken, that fiendish spell would have been broken, and I should have returned even then to my own peaceful little rooms in Cheney Lane. No, he merely held the door for me to enter. As I passed him, he stood there, watching me with a significant smile.

Straight to that familiar room at the end of the hall I went, with Strange behind me. When we'd 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 you not, Dale. I stared at him. How in God's name could this man read my thought so completely? You would have completed the murder, he said softly, had I wished it. I did not wish it.

I didn't answer. There was no way to reply to such a mad declaration. As for my companion, he watched me for an instant, and then laughed. He wasn't mad. Well, I'm doctor enough to know that. But the laugh was not long in duration. He stepped forward suddenly and took my arm in a steel grip, dragging me toward that half-hidden door at the farther end of the room.

I shall not keep you long day out, he said harshly. I could have killed you, could have made you kill yourself, and in fact I intended to do so, but, after all, you are merely a poor, stumbling fool who has meddled in things too deep for you. He pulled open the door and pushed me forth. The room was dark, and not until he was. 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 an unscientific mind. There was a low table against the wall, with a profusion of tiny wires emanating from it. I was aware that a cup-shaped microphone

or something very similar hung over the table, about on a level with my eyes had I been sitting in a chair. Beyond that, I saw nothing, until strong should move forward. and drawn aside a curtain that hung beside the table. I made you come here tonight, Dale, he murmured, because I was a bit afraid of you. Your comrade Hartnitz was an ignorant police officer. He has not the intellect to connect the series of events to the past they are too, and so I did not trouble myself with him. But you, you're an educated man.

You've made no demonstrations of your ability in the field of science, but he stopped speaking abruptly from the room behind us came the sound of a warning bell strange turned quickly and went to the door you all wait here doctor man he said i have another caller tonight another one who came the same way as you and then he vanished for a short interlude i was alone with that peculiar radio-like apparatus before me it was for all the well like a miniature control room in some small broadcasting station, except for the odd shape of the microphone, if it was such, I could detect no radical difference in the equipment. However, I had little time for conjecture. A patter of footsteps interrupted me from the next room,

and a frightened, feminine voice broke the stillness of the outer study. Even before the owner of that voice stepped into my presence, I knew who it was. And when she came, With her white, fearful face and trembling body, I couldn't withhold a shudder of apprehension. It was the young woman who'd come to my office, Margot Vernet. Evidently at last, she had yielded to the horrible impulse that had drawn her back to Michael Strange, an impulse which, I now understood, had originated from the man himself. He pressed her forward. There was nothing tender in his touch. It was cruel and triumphant. So, you 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. You will perhaps give her a respect for me, and this time she will not have the power to turn me away. He pointed at the table to the apparatus that lay there. I'm telling you this, Dale, he said. as it gives me pleasure to do so.

You are enough of a scientist to appreciate and understand it. And if, when I've finished, I've told you too much, there's a very easy way to keep your tongue silent. You have heard of hypnotism then. You've also heard of radio. Have you ever thought of combining the two? You face me directly, then. I made no effort to reply.

Radio, he said quietly. is broadcast by means of sound waves. That much you know. But hypnotism, too, can be transmitted through distance, if an instrument delicate enough to transmit thought waves can be invented. For 25 years, I've worked on that instrument, and for 20 years I have studied hypnotism. You understand, of course, that this instrument is worthless

unless it's operated by a mastermind. Thought waves are useless. I cannot control the actions of even a cat. but hypnotic waves of concentrated thoughts they will control the world there was no denying him face me with the savage triumph of the wild beasts he was glorying in his power and in my amazement well i wanted franklin white to die he cried it was i who murdered him why because he was about to take the girl i desire is i not reason enough for murder and so i killed him was not margot veney who strangled her lover no which was a complete stranger the london sportsman had no reason for committing the murder except that i wished him to so he died on the night of december 7th murdered by sir john harmon the

sportsman why because of all london sir john would be the last man to be suspected I have a keen appreciation for the irony of fate. White would have died the night before, except that I lacked the courage to kill him. His murderer was standing, under my power, outside his very house, and then I suddenly thought it best that I should have an alibi. Oh, your Scotland yard is clever,

and it was best that I have protection. And so on the following night I sent Sir John to the house once again. This time, while I sat here, and controlled the actions of my puppets, a group of men sitting here with me. They believed that I was experimenting with a new type of radio receipt. Michael Strange laughed. He laughed harshly in utter triumph, like a cat laughs at the antics of his mouth's victims. When the murder was done, he said,

I set Margot to the scene so that she might see her lover strangled, dead. Oh, I repeat, Dale, that I enjoy the irony of faith. especially when I can control it as for you I brought you here tonight merely so you would realize the intensity of the powers that control you when you leave here you will be unharmed but after the exhibition I shall give you I'm sure that you will make no further attempt to interfere with things out of your realm of understanding and heard a sob from Margot she'd retreated to the door and clung there as for myself I didn't move Strange's recital had revealed to me the horrible lust that gripped him, and now I watched him in fascination.

He wouldn't harm the girl that much I was sure of. In his distorted fashion, he really did love her. In his crazed murderous way, he would attempt 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 microphone thing that hung before his eye. As he stared, he spoke to me. Science in its intricate forms is probably above the mind of a common medical man, Jane. He said, it'll be useless to explain to you how my thoughts and my will can be transmitted through space.

Perhaps you sat in a theatre instead of a certain person until that person turned to face you. You have? Well, then, you will perhaps understand how I can control the minds of any human creature within the radius of my power. Ah, you see, Dale, this intricate little machine gives me the power to transform London into a city of stark murder. I could bring about such a horrible wave of crime that Scotland Yard would be scorn from one end of the world to the other. I could make every man murder his neighbour until the streets of the city were running with blood. Strange turned then, quietly, to look at me, and spoke deliberately. And now for the little exhibition of which I spoke there.

He murmured. Your detective friend, heartening, has been under my power for the past three hours. You see, it was safer to control his movements and be sure of him, and now, to be doubly sure of him, perhaps you'd like to see him kill himself. Why, I stepped forward with a sudden cry. Strange said nothing. His eyes merely burned into mine. Once again, I felt that strange all powerful control forcing me back.

I retreated step by step until the wall stopped. But even as I retreated, a childish hope filled me. How could Strange, working his terrible murder machine, concentrate his power on any individual when the whole of London lay before him? Well, 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 individual intently. until that particular individual turned to look at you. The rest of the crowd pays no attention, of course. Just that one man. Now we shall make that one man murder himself. Strange turned slowly. I saw his fingers creep along the rim of the table, touching certain wires that came together.

They had a dull droning home fill the room, and over it, Strage is penetrating voice. When I am finished Dale, I shall probably kill you. I brought you here merely to frighten you, but I believe I may 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 a low, unemotional voice. Before you begin, Strange, or Michael Strange whipped about in his chair like a tiger. His hand dropped to his pocket so swiftly that my eyes did not follow it, and as it dropped, a single staccato shot split the darkness of the room, and the scientist slumped forward in his chair. The dull whirring sound of that hellish machine then stopped abruptly, cut short by the sudden

weight of Stranger's lunging body as he fell upon him. I saw the livid, fiery snake of white light twist suddenly upward through that coil of wires, in another moment the entire apparatus shattered by a blinding crash of flame. After that I turned away. Whether the bullet had killed Strange or not, I don't know. But the sight of his charred face hanging over that table of destruction told its own story. It was Inspector Drake who came across the room toward me and took my arm. The smoking revolver still in his hand as he led me to the adjoining room, where I saw Margot who had all

already found refuge. You see now, Dale, Drake said quietly, why I let Hartnick go with you before. If Strange had suspected me, I would merely be another victim. As for Hartnett, he has been under constant guard down at the headquarters. He's safe. They've kept him there with my instructions, in spite of all his terrific efforts to leave him. I was listening to my companion in admiration, even though I didn't quite understand. I was wrong in just one thing, Dale. I left you alone without protection. I believe Strange would ignore you because, after all, you're not a Scotland-yard man.

Thank God I had the sense to follow Margot, to trail her here, and get here soon enough. So ended the horrible series of events that began with Sir John Harmon's chance visit to my study. As for Harmon, he was later cleared of all guilt, upon the charred evidence in Michael Stranger's house in May Lane. The girl, I believe, has left London, where she can be as far as possible from the memories that are all too terrible. As for me, I'm back once again in my quiet rooms in Cheney Lane, where the routine of common medical practice has wiped out many of those vivid horrors.

In time I believe I shall forget, unless Inspector Drake of Scotland Yards insists upon bringing the effect. up again when the moon turned green it was nearly midnight when Bruce Dixon finished his work and wearily rose from before the workbench of his lonely mountain laboratory located in an abandoned mine working in southern Arizona you look like some weirdly garb monk of the middle ages as he stretched his tall live figure his head was completely swathed in a hood of lead cloth broken only by twin eye-hawls of green glass the hood merged into a long-sleeved sleeve tunic of the same fabric, while legcloth gauntlets covered his hands. The legcloth costume

was demanded by Dixon's work with radium compounds. The result of that work lay before him on the bench, a tiny leg capsule containing a pinhead lump of a substance which Dixon believed would utterly dwarf Earth's most powerful explosives in its cataclysmic power. So engrossed Dixon being in the final stages of his work, but for the last 72 hours he'd literally lived there in his laboratory. It remained now only for him to step outside and test the effect of the little contact grenade, and at the same time get a badly needed taste of fresh air. He set the safety catch on the little bomb and slipped it into his pocket.

As he started for the door, he threw back his hood, revealing the ruggedly good-looking face of a young man in his early thirties, with lines of weariness now etched deeply to the clean-cut future. The moment that Dixon entered the short winding tunnel that led to the end of the outer air, he was vaguely aware that something was wrong. There was a strange and intangibly sinister quality in the moonlight that streamed dimly into the winding passage. Even the Cornite air itself seemed charged with a subtle aura of brooding evil. Dixon reached the entrance and stepped out into the full radiance of the moonlight. He stopped abruptly and stared around

him in utter amazement. High in the eastern sky, they rode the disc of the full moon. over, but it was a moon weirdly different from any that Dixon had ever seen before. This moon was a deep and baleful green, was glowing with a stark malignant fire like that which lurks in the blazing heart of a giant emerald. Bathed in the glow of the intense green rays, the desolate mountain landscape shone with a new and eerie beauty. Dixon took a day's step forward, his foot thudded softly into a small feathered body there and the sparse grass. He stooped to pick it up. It was a crested quail with every muscle as stonily

rigid as though the bird had been dead for hours. He had Dixon, to his surprise, felt the slow, faint beat of a pulse still in this tiny body. Then a dim group of unfamiliar objects down in the shadows of a small gully in front of him caught Dixon's eye. Tucking the body of the quail inside his tunic for later examination, he hurried down into the gull A moment later he was standing by what had been the night camp of a prospector. The prospector was still there. His rigid figure wrapped in a blanket, and his wide-open eyes staring sightlessly at the malignant green moon in the sky above. Dixon knelt to examine the stricken man's body.

He showed the same mysterious condition as that of the quail, rigidly stiff in every muscle, yet with a slow pulse and respiration of life still faintly present. faintly present. Dixon found the prospector's horse and burrow sprawled on the ground a dozen yards away, both animals frozen in the same baffling condition of living death. Dixon's brain reeled as he tried to fathom the incredible calamity that had apparently overwhelmed the world while he had been hidden away in his subterranean laboratory, then a new and terrible thought assailed him. If the grim effect of the baleful green rays was universal in its extent, what Then of old Emil Crawford and his niece, Ruth Lawton. Crawford, an inventor like Dixon, had his laboratory in a valley some five miles away.

An abrupt chill went over Dixon's heart, a thought of Ruth Lorton's beauty being forever stilled in the grip of that eerie living death. He and Ruth had loved each other ever since they'd first met. And so Dixon broke into a run as he headed for a nearby ridge that looked out over the valley. His pulse hammered with unusual voids. violence as he scrambled up the steep incline, and his muscles seemed to be tiring with strange rapidity. He had a vague feeling that the rays of that malignant green moon were beating directly into his brain, clouding his thoughts and draining his physical strength. Again in the crest of the ridge,

he stopped aghast as he looked down the valley toward Emil Crawford's place. Near the site of Crawford's laboratory home was an unearthly pyrotechnic display such as Dixon had never seen before, An area several hundred yards in diameter seemed one vivid welter of pulsing colors, with flashing lances of every hue, criss-crossing in and threw a great central cloud of ever-changing opalescence, like a fiery aura borealis gone mad. Dixon fought back the ever-increasing lethargy that was benumbing his brain, and groped dazardly for a key to his new riddle. Was it some weird and colossal experiment to Vimeo Crawford's that was causing the green rays of death

from a transformed moon, an experiment in the earthly base of which was amid the seething play of blazing colours down there in the valley. The theory seemed hardly a plausible one. As far as Dixon knew, Crawford's work had been confined almost entirely to a form of radio-propelled projectile for use in wartime against marauding planes. Dixon shook his head forcibly in a vain effort to clear the stupor that was sweeping over him. It was strange how the vivid rays of that a melevelin green mood seemed to sear insidiously into one's brain, stifling thought as a swamp fog stifles the sunlight. Then Dixon suddenly froze in stark immobility, staring with startled eyes at the base of a rocky crag thirty yards away. Something was lurking there in the green

black shadows, a great sprawling black shape of abysmal horror, with a single flaming opalescent eye fixed unwinkingly upon Dixon. The next moment the vividly moon was suddenly obscured by drifting wisps of cloud. As the green light blurred to an emerald haze, the creature under the crag came slithering out toward Dixon. He had a vague glimpse of a monster such as one should see only in nightmares. A huge, loathsome spider form with a bloated body as long as that of a man, and great sprawling legs that sent it half a dozen yards near a Dixon in one effortlessly. The onslaught proved. too much for Dixon's morale, half dazed as he was by the green moon's paralyzing

rays. With a low, inarticulate cry of terror, he turned and ran, straining every muscle in a futile effort to distance the frightful thing that inexorably kept pace in this shadowy emerald gloom behind him. Dixon's strength faded rapidly after his first wild sprint. Fifty yards more in his faltering muscles failed him utterly. The dread rays of that grim green moon sapped his last faint powers of resistance. He staggered on for a few more painful steps and sprawled helplessly to the ground. His brain hovered momentarily upon the verge of complete unconsciousness. Then he was suddenly aware of a fluttering struggle inside his tunic where he placed the body of the quaker. A moment later and the bird wriggled free. It promptly spread

its wings and flew away. Apparently as vibrantly alive. of as before the mysterious paralysis had stricken the incident brought a faint surge of hope to Dixon as he dimly realized the answer to at least part of the green moon's riddle the bird had recovered after being shielded in the leg cloth of his tunic that could mean only one thing the menace of those green moon rays must in some unknown way be radioactive if Dixon could only get the legcloth hood over his own head again so might cheat the green do He fumbled at the garment with fingers that seemed as stiff as wooden blocks. It was a long moment of agony when he feared that his effort had come too late.

Then the hood finally slipped over his head just as utter oblivion claimed him. Dixon came abruptly back to life with a dimly remembered echo of a woman's scream still ringing his ears. For a moment he thought that he was awakening on his cot back in the laboratory after an unusually vivid and weird nightmare. Then the garish green moonlight around him for swift realization that the incredible happenings of the night were a grim reality. The clouds were gone from the moon, leaving his surroundings again clearly outlined in the flood of green light. Dixon lifted his head and cautiously searched the scene, but he could see no trace of the great spider form that had pursued him. Wandering curiously why the creature had abandoned the chase at the moment when victory was within its grasp, Dixon rose lively to his feet.

The protecting hood had brought a quick and complete recovery from the devastating effects of the green moon's rays. His muscles were again supple, and his brain once more functioned with clearness. Then, abruptly, Dixon's blood froze as the sound of a woman's scream came again. The cry was that of a woman in the last extremity of terror, and Dixon knew with a terrible certainty that that woman was Ruth Lawton. He raced toward the small ridge of rocks from behind which the sound had apparently come. A moment later he'd reached the scene and stopped, horror-stricken. Three figures were there in a small rock-walled clearing.

One was old Emil Crawford, sprawled unconscious on his side, the soft glow of a small white globe in a strange headpiece atop his grey hair, shining eerily in the green moonland. Near Crawford's body loomed with a giant spider creature, and clutched firmly in the small. great claspers just under the monster's terrible fang mouth as the slender body of Ruth Lorden. Merciful unconsciousness had apparently overwhelmed the girl now, for she lay supinely in the dread embrace, with eyes closed and lips silent. As the monster dropped the girl's body to the ground

and whirled to confront Dixon for the first time he had a clear view of the thing in all its horror, he shuddered in uncontrollable nausea. The incredible sight of the same. The incredible sight of the thing, of the creature was repellent enough but it was the grisly head of the monstrosity that struck the final note of horror that head was more than half human the fangs and other mouth parts were those of a giant tarantula these merged directly into the mutilated but unmistakable head of a man with an aquiline nose staring eyes and a tussled mop of dirty brown hair resting on top of the head was a metallic headpiece similar to the one worn by emil crawford But the small globe in this one blazed with a fiery opalescence.

The creature crouched lower, with his legs twitching in obvious preparation for a spring. Dixon looked wildly about him for a possible weapon, but saw nothing. Then he suddenly remembered the little leg grenade in his pocket. The cataclysmic power of that little bomb should be more than a match for even this monster. His fingers closed over the grenade just as the great spider's twitching leg straight. in the mighty effort that sent it hurtling through the air straight toward him dixon dodged to one side with a swiftness that caused the monster to miss by a good yard Dixon raced a dozen paces further away then whirled to face this great spider

the creature's legs began scuttling warily forward it was to be no wild leap through the air this time but rather a swift rush over the ground that Dixon would be powerless to evade releasing the safety can of the grenade, Dixon hurled the tiny missile straight at the rock floor just under the feet of that vast misshapen creature. There was a vivid flash of blinding blue flame, then a terrific noise. Days by the concussion, but unhurted, Dixon cautiously went over to investigate the result of the explosion. One brief glance was enough. The hideous mass of shattered flesh sprawling there in the rocks would never again be a menace. The only one of the only

The only thing that had escaped destruction in that shattering blast was a strange headpiece the thing had worn. Either the small shunning globe was practically indestructible, or else it had been spared by some odd freak of the explosive, for it still blazed in baleful light atop the shattered head. Dixon hurried back to where Emil Crawford and Ruth Lawton lay. The girl's body was so rigidly inert that Dixon threw back his encumbering hood and knelt over her for a swift examination. his fears were quickly realized ruth was already a victim of the green moon's dread paralysis dixon bruce dixon dixon turned at the call emil crawford his face drawn with pain had struggled up on one elbow the old man was obviously fighting off complete collapse by sheer willpower dixon

a place for his shining headpiece at once crawford gasped That'll make her immune from the green death. And then... Then we can... The old man's voice swiftly faded away into silence, as he again fainted. Dixon hurriedly searched the scene and found Ruth's headpiece on the ground, where it apparently fallen in her first struggle with the giant spider,

but the tiny white globe in the device was shattered and dark. Despair gripped Dixon for a moment. Then he remembered the unbroken headpiece of the slain monster. Not true, the glow of its globe was opalescent instead of white, but it seemed to offer its wearer the immunity to the green moon's rays. He swiftly retrieved the headpiece from the spider creature's body and set the light metal framework in place on Ruth's open curls. Results came with incredible quickness.

The rigidity left Ruth's body immediately. Her breath came in fast quickening gasps, and her eyes fluttered open as Dixon knelt before her is bruce ruf bruce dixon he said tenderly do you know who i am dear but there was no trace of recognition in those wide open blue eyes staring fixedly up at him for a moment ruth lay there with muscles strangely tense then with a lithe strength it was amazing she suddenly twisted free of the clasp of dixon's arms and sprang to her feet the next minute dixon gave ground and he found himself battling for his very life. This was not the Ruth Lawton whom he had known and loved.

This was a madwoman of savage menace, with soft lips writhing over white teeth in a jungle snarl, and blue eyes that fairly glittered with unrestrained intense hate. He tried to close in on the madden girl, but instantly regretted his rashness. A slender body seemed imbued with the strength of a tigress, as she sent slim fingers clawing at his throat. He tore himself free just in time.

Dazed and shaken, he again gave ground before the fury of the girl's attempt. He couldn't bring himself to the point of actually fighting back, yet he knew that in another moment he would either have to mercilessly batter his beautiful adversary into helplessness or else be himself overcome. There was no middle course.

Then old Emil Crawford's, voice came again as the old man rallied to consciousness for another brief moment Bruce the opal globe is a direct length of those devils themselves break it Bruce break it for Ruth's sake as well as your own Crawford had barely finished his agarfs warning when Ruth again hurled herself forward upon Dixon with tapering fingers curved like talons as they sought his throat Dixon swept her clutching hands aside with a dead desperate left-handed parry, then snatched wildly at the gleaming headpiece with his right hand. The thing came away in his grasp, and in the same swift movement he savagely smashed

it against the rocky wall beside it. Whatever the opalescent globe's eerie powers might be, it was not indestructible. It shattered like a bursting bubble, its fire dying in a tiny cloud of particles that shimmered faintly for a moment, and then was gone. And once again the effect upon Ruth was almost instantaneous. Every trace of her insane fury had vanished. She swayed dizzily and would have fallen had not Dixon caught her in his arms. For a moment she looked up into his face with eyes in which recognition now shone unmistakably. When her eyelids slowly closed and she again lapsed into unconsciousness.

Dixon looked over at Emil Crawford and found that the old man had again clapped. Dixon knew of but one thing to do with the stricken man and girl, and I was to take them to his laboratory. The laboratory, apparently insulated by veins of lead ore in the mountain surrounding it, was the one sure spot of refuge in this weird nightmare world of paralyzing lunar rays and prowling monster. Bart two. Flinging his tunic over Ruth's head to shield her as much as possible from the moonlight,

carried her to the laboratory and returned for Emil Crawford safe within the subterranean retreat with the old scientist dixon removed his encumbering leg costume and began doing what he could for the stricken pair Ruth was still unconscious but the cataleptic rigidity was already nearly gone from her body and her breathing was now the deep respiration of normal sleep but Emil Crawford's condition was more serious not only was the old man's frail strength nearly exhausted, but he was also badly wounded. His thin chest was seared by two great livid areas of burn flesh, the nature of which puzzled Dixon as he began to address the injuries.

They seemed to be of radioactive origin, yet in many ways they were unlike any radium burns Dixon had ever seen. While Dixon was working over them, Crawford stirred weakly in open his eyes. He sighed in relief as he recognized his surroundings. Oh, good boy, Bruce, he commended, warmly. We're safe here among the insulating veins of lead or in the mountain. This is where Ruth and I were trying to come after we escape from those devils tonight. But, oh, Bruce, how did you guess the radioactive nature of the green sickness in time to avoid falling a victim to it as soon as you left the shelter of your laboratory? My escape was entirely luck.

Dixon admitted grimly. Tonight, I left my laboratory for the first time in three days. I found a whirl gone mad, with a strange green moon blazing down upon a land of living dead men, and with marauding monsters hideous enough to have been spawned in the pit itself. What in heaven's name does it all mean? I'm afraid that it means the end of the world, Bruce. Crawford answered quietly.

It's a little over 48 hours ago that the incredible event, first happened. Without a moment's warning, the moon turned green. Hardly of the world's astronomers had time to speculate upon this amazing phenomenon before the green sickness struck. Pestilence of appalling deadliness that swept resistlessly in the path of those weird green rays. Wherever the green moon shone, every living creature succumbed with ghastly swiftness to the condition of living death that you've seen. Restored with a racing moon sped the green sickness, and nothing stopped its attack. The green rays pierced through buildings of wood, stone and iron, as though they didn't

even exist. A doomed world had neither of the time nor opportunity to guess that lead was the one armor against those dread rays. Tonight, Bruce, we are, in all probability, the only three human beings on this planet who are not slumbering in the paralytic stupor of the green signers. Ruth and I were stricken with the rest of this world. Crawford continued. We recovered consciousness hours later to find ourselves captives in the Earth camp of the invaders themselves.

You probably saw the display of lights that marks their camp down in the valley a mile beyond my place. We've learned since that the ship of the invaders dropped silently down into the valley the night before the moon turned green, established a camp as a sort of outpost and observatory. They left two of their number there as pioneers. years, and the rest of them departed in the spaceship for their present post up near the moon. Ruth and I were revived, only saw the two invaders in the camp might question us regarding life on this planet. They have a science that's based upon principles as utterly strange and incomprehensible to us

as probably is to them. They probe my brain with a thought machine. It was an apparatus that worked both ways. What knowledge they got from me, I don't know. But I do know that they unwittingly told me much in the bizarre and incredible mental pictures that the machine carried from their brains to mind. Ah, they're refugees, Bruce, from a planet that circled about the star we know is Alpha Centauri. A star that's the nearest of all of our stellar neighbors, being only four and a third

light years distant. Their home planet was disrupted by a colossal engineering experiment of the Centaurians themselves. The only survivor has been a group of fifty escaped in a spaceship just before the catastrophe. Well, there were no other habitable planets in their own system, so in desperation these refugees sped out across the void to our solar system, in the hope of finding a new home here. They did reconnaissance on our earth secretly, and found it ideal. But first they believed that they must conquer the life that already held this Earth, and to do this, they struck with the green sickness.

The rays of the turning the moon green emanate from the spaceship hovering up there some 50,000 miles from the moon itself. The Centaurian's rays, blending with the sunlight striking the disc of the full moon, are intensified in some unknown way, and reflected across the quarter of a million miles to the earth to flood this planet with vilrant radiance. The green moonlight is radioactive in nature and overcomes animal life within a matter of 15 minutes or less. The rays are the most powerful when the moon is in the sky, but their effect continues even after it is set, because, well, as long as the green moonlight strikes any part of the Earth's atmosphere, the entire atmospheric envelope with the planet remains charged

with the paralyzing radioactive influence. Well, Earth's inhabitants are not dead. They're merely stupefied. If the green rays were to cease now, most of the victims of the green sickness would quickly recover with little permanent injury. But Bruce, if that evil green moon blazes on for 24 hours more, the brain powers of Earth's millions will be forever shattered. So weak and will they be by then that recover will be impossible, even with the race shut off. And the entire planet will be populated by only mindless imbeciles, readily available material for the myriads of monstrous

hybrids that the invaders will create to serve them. Well, tonight, you saw the hybrid that the invaders sent to recapture Ruth and it was a fit specimen of the grisly magic which those devils from outer space work with their uncanny surgery and their growth stimulating radioactive rates. The basic element of that master was an ordinary tarantula spider, with its growth incredibly increased in a few short hours of intensive ray treatment in the Centaurians camp. The half-hair grafted to it was that of a human being. They always graft the brain cavity of a mammal to a hybrid, half-heads of burros, horses, or even dogs, but preferably those of human beings. I think that they prefer to use as greater brain power as possible. The hybrids are controlled through the small opalescent globes on their heads, globes that

are in direct tune with a huge master globe of green fire in the invaders' camp. And Ruth attached you after you placed the opal headpiece upon her head, she was, for the moment, merely another of the invaders' servants blindly obeying the broadcast command to kill. The white gloves that Ruth and I wore, when we escaped from the camp, were identical with those worn by the invaders themselves, being nothing more than harmless insulators against the effect of the green moonlight. A sudden spasm of pain convulsed Crawford's face. Dixon sprang forward to aid him, but the old man rallied with an effort.

that's a weakly wave, Dixon back. I'm all right, Bruce, he gasped. My strength is nearly exhausted, that's all. Like a garrulous old fool, I've worn myself out talking about everything, apart from the one important subject. Bruce, Bruce, if you developed that new and infinitely powerful explosive you were working on? Yes, Dixon answered grimly. I have an explosive right here.

in the laboratory that can easily blow the Centaurians camp completely off the map. Crawford shook his head impatiently. Destroying the camp would do no good. We must shatter the spaceship itself if we are to extinguish those green rays in time to save our world. That's impossible if the spaceship is hovering up there by the move. Dixon protested. No, it's not impossible.

Crawford answered confidently. I have a projectile in my laboratory that will will not only hurtle across that great gap with incredible speed, but will also infallibly strike its target when it gets it. It's a jetta that is irresistibly drawn by radio waves as steel as biomagnans, and it will speed as straight to the source of those waves as a bit of steel will to the magnet. Oh, Centaurians in the spaceship, Crawford continued, are in constant communication with their cam through radio apparatus, much like our own.

If you can pack a powerful contact charge of your explosive in my projectile, and I can guarantee that when the projectile is released, it'll flash out into space and score a direct hit against the walls of their spaceship. Though I can pack the explosive in the projectile all right, Dixon answered grimly, we'll need only a lump the size of an egg and a small container of the heavy gas that activates it. The explosive itself is a radium compound that, when allowed to come into a gun. contact with the activating gas becomes so unstable that any sharp blow will set it off in an explosion that, in a matter of seconds, releases the infinite quantities of energy,

usually released by radium over a period of at least 1,200 years. The cataclysmic force of that explosion should be enough to wreck a small planet. Good, Crawford commended weekly. If you can only strike your blow to night, Bruce, our world still has a chance. If only you... The old man's voice suddenly failed. He sank back in utter collapse. His eyes closed and his last vestige of strength spent.

Knowing that the old man would probably remain in his sleep of complete exhaustion for hours, Dixon turned his attention to Root. Or to his surprise, he found her sitting up, apparently completely recovered. I'm quite all right again, she said reassuring me. I've been listening to what Uncle told you. And you go ahead and prepare your explosive, Bruce. I'll do what I can for Uncle while you're working. Dixon donned his leg cloth, hood and tunic again and set to work.

Ten minutes later, he turned to Ruth, the slender, footlong cylinder of lead in his hand. Ruth, will this fit your uncle's projector? He asked. Easily, she assured him. But isn't it frightfully dangerous to carry it in that form? No, it's completely safe now. It'll be safe until this stud is turned,

releasing the activating gas from one compartment to mingle with the radium compound in the other section. Then the cylinder will become a bomb that any sharp jar will detonate. All right, let's go then, Ruth answered. Have you any more of those leg clothes I can wear? I could wear the globe headpiece at Uncle War, but it would loom up in the dark like a searchlight. Dixon didn't protest Ruth's going with him.

There was nothing further that could be done for Emil Crawford for hours, and in the hazardous journey to Crawford's laboratory, he knew that Ruth's cool, courage and quick wits would at least double their chances of success in their desperate mission. He provided her with a reserved hood and tunic of lead cloth, then handed her a tiny leaden pellet. Keep this for a last resort, he told her. It's a contact bomb that becomes ready to throw

when this safety catch is snapped over. I wish we had a dozen of them, but that's the last capsule I had and there's no time to prepare them all. He fished a rusty old revolver out of a drawer and placed it in his pocket. I'll use this gun for a last resort weapon myself, he said. The action only works about half the time,

but it's the only firearm I had in the place. The green moon was still high in the sky as Ruth and Dixon emerged from the tunnel. But it was all of the same. beginning to drop gradually down toward the west. Dixon wheeled his disreputable fliver out of his nearby shed. With engine silent they started coasting down the rough winding road into the valley. For nearly two miles they wound down the long grave. Then, just as they reached the valley floor they saw, far up among the rocks to the left of the road, the thing that they'd been dreading.

The bobbing, green globe that marked the presence of one of the centaurians here. hideous hybrids. The shimmering glowed pause for a moment, then came racing down toward them. The need for secrecy was passed. Dixon threw the car in gear and savagely pulled down the gas lever. With throttle wide open they hurtled around the perilous curves of the narrow road, but always in the rocks beside and above them they had the scuttling progress of some huge, many-legged creature that constantly kept pace with them.

They had occasional glimpses of the thing. Its pale, jointed body was some twenty feet in length, and had apparently been developed from that of a centipede the scores of racing legs that carried it with a startling speed over the rocky terrain. The fliver raced madly on toward the blaze of kaleidoscopic colours that marked the Centaurians' camp. Crawford's home loomed up now barely a hundred yards ahead, as though sensing that its quarry was about to escape

the hybrid flashed a burst of speed that sent it on by the car for a full 50 yards and then down into the road directly in front were it whirled to confront them dixon knew that he could never stop the car in the short gap separating them from that huge upreared figure and to attempt swerving from the road upon either side was certain disaster He took the only remaining chance. The throttle wide open, he sent the little car hurtling straight for the giant centipede. He threw his body in front of Ruth to shield her as much as possible, just as they smashed squarely into this hybrid.

The impact was too much for even that monstrous figure. It was hurled bodily from the road to crash upon the jagged rocks at the bottom of the 30-foot guling. And there it sprawled in a broad. broken mass, too hopelessly shattered to ever rise again. The fliver skidded momentarily, then crumpled to a full stop against the rocks at the side of the road. Dixon and Ruth scrabble from the wreckage and raced for Crawford's home, scarcely 50 yards ahead. They entered the laboratory and Ruth went directly over to where the radio projectile rested in a war

rack. Dixon took the gleaming cylinder down to examine it, tapering, to a rounded point at the front end. It was nearly a yard long and about five inches in diameter. The mechanism inside the projectiles turned off now, of course, Ruth said. If it were turned on, the projectile would have been on its way to the spaceship long ago, for the radio waves were as strong hear as that the Stringtorians can. The woman pointed to a small metal starred in the nose of the projector. When that snapped over, it makes the contact that sets the magnetizing, mechanism into action, she explained.

Then the projectile will go hurtling directly for the source of any radio waves within rage. I don't know the nature of its mechanism. Uncle merely told me that it's the application of an entirely new principle of electricity. Dixon laid the long projectile down on the workbench and began packing his lead cylinder of explosive inside it. He had to release the lead cylinder's safety catch before closing the projectile, which made his work a thrillingly precarious one, but any sharp blow now would detonate the unstable mixture of gas and radium compound in one cataclysmic explosion.

He sighed in relief as he finally straightened up with the completed projectile held carefully in both hands. All we have to do now, Ruth, he said. If you step out from under this roof and snap that energizing start, then this little package of destruction will be on its way to our centaurian friends up there by that pestilential green moon. Ruth stepped ahead to open the door for him. With the end of their task so near at hand, both forgot to be cautious. Ruth threw the door open and took one step outside, and suddenly screamed in terror as her shoulders were encircled by a long snake-like object

came whipping down from some vast something that had been lurking just outside. Dixon tried to dodge back, but too late. another great hairy tentacle came lashing around his shoulders pinning his arms tightly and jerking him out of the doorway he got a swift vague glimpse of the hybrid looming there in the green moonlight a tarantula hybrid that incis and horror dwarfed any of the frightful products of centaurian science that you'd yet seen before dixon had any time to note the details of his assailant another tentacle curled around him tearing the projectile from his grass then he was irresistibly drawn up toward that grizzly head where roost body was also suspended in one of those powerful tentacles the next moment bearing its burdens with amazing ease the giant hybrid set off dixon tried with all his strength to squirm free enough to get a hand upon the revolver in his pocket but the constricting tentacle did not give for even an inch the only result of his effort was to twist his hood to one side leaving him as effectually blindfolded as though his head were in a set long minutes of swaying pinching motion followed as the high bridge spared over the rocky ridges and gullies finally came to a halt and for another minute or so dixon was held there motionless in mid-air dimly conscious of a subdued harm of activity all about him and then he was gently lowered to the ground again while one tentacles still held him securely another torral away his hood and tunic. Almost immediately the hood was replaced by one of the protective

white globe devices. Dixon then blink for a moment in half-blinded bewilderment as he got his first glimpse of the earth camp of the Centurion. Part three, the place located on the smooth rock floor of a large natural basin, seemed a veritable cauldron of seething colors which rippled and blended in a dazzling maze of an earthly splendor. But Dixon forgot everything else in that weird camp, as his startled gaze fell upon the creature standing directly in front of him. He instinctively knew that the thing must be one of the Alpha Centaurians, for in its alien groteseness,

the figure was utterly dissimilar to anything ever seen upon Earth before. Life upon the shattered planet of that far distant sun had apparently sprung from sources both crustacean and reptilian. The Centaurian stood barely five feet in height. Its bulky, box-like body was completely covered with a chittinous armor that gleamed pale yellowish-green. Two short, powerful legs, scaled like those of a lizard, ended in feet that resembled degenerated talons. Two pairs of slender arms emanated from the creature's shoulders, with their many-jointed flexible length, ending in delicate three-pronged hands. the scaly, hairless head beneath the Centaurian's white globe device, wore a face that was blankly hideous.

Two great lidless eyes devoid of both pupils and whites, stared unblinkingly at Dixon like twing globs of red-black jelly. A toothless, loose-lipped mouth slathered beneath. Dixon averted his gaze from the horror of that fearful alien face and looked anxiously around for root. He saw her almost at once over at his right. She was tethered by a light metallic rope that ran from her waist one of the metal beams supporting the great shimmering ball of opalescent fire which formed the central control of a hybrid. One of the white globe devices had been placed upon Ruth's head, and she was apparently unhurt, as she pluckily flashed a reassuring smile at Dixon.

Directly in front of Dixon, some forty yards away, there was a large pen-like enclosure. with very coloured shafts of radiance from banks of projectors constantly sweeping through it. Dixon drew in his breath sharply as he saw the frightful life lying dormant in that pane. It was a solid mass of hybrids, great, loathsome creatures, fashioned from a scholar of different worms, insects and spiders. The globes upon the gruesome mammalian half-heads were still dark and unfired with Opalesson. The invaders had apparently raided most of the surrounding gregers. country in obtaining those grafted half-heads near where dixon stood there was a tragic little pile of articles taken from the centaurian's victims prospectus picks shovels axes and other tools

over to the left the dormant hybrid stood the second alpha centaurian curiously examined dixon's projector the creature apparently suspected the deadly nature of the gleaming cylinder for it soon laid it carefully down and packed cushions of soft fabric around it to shield it away from any possible shop. Then, at an unspoken command from the first Centaurian, the great hybrid whirled Dixon around to face a small enclosure just behind him, in which were located banks of control panels and other apparatus. One of the pieces of mechanism, with a regularly spaced stream of sparks snapping between two terminals, was apparently a radio receiver automatically recording the broadcast from the spaceship.

Dixon was unable to even guess the nature of the remaining apparatus. Bruce, be careful, Ruth called in despairing warning. He's going to put the thought-reading machine on your brain. Then he'll learn what the projectiles for and everything will be lost. Dixon's mind raced with lightning speed in the face of this new danger. He stealthily slipped a hand over the revolver in his pocket. There was one vulnerable spot in the great hybrid holding him, and that was the opalescent globe on the creature's head.

If he could only smash that globe with one well-directed shot, he might be able to elude the centaurians for the precious minute necessary to send the projectile on its deadly gem. The hybrid began maneuvering Dixon toward the instrument enclosure. For a fleeting second, the grip of the tentacles upon his shoulders loosened slightly, and Dixon took instant advantage of it. Twisting himself free from the loosened tentacle in one mighty effort, he whirled and fired point-blank at the opalescent globe on the head looming above him.

The bullet smashed accurately home, shattering the globe like a bursting bubble. The great hybrid collapsed with startling suddenness, His life force instantly extinguished as the globe burst. Dixon leapt to one side and swung the gun into line with the Centaurian's hideous face. He pulled the trigger, but there was no response. The rusty old firearm had hopelessly jammed. Dixon then savagely flung the revolver at the Centaurian.

The creature tried to dodge, but the heavy gun struck its body, a glancing blow. It was a slight spurt of bodily. fluid as the chittiness armour was partly broken. Dixon's heart leapt exultantly. No wonder these creatures had to create hybrids to fight for them. Their own bodies were as vulnerable as that of a soft-shelled crab. The centaurion quickly drew a slender tube of dark green from a scabbard in its bed. Dixon dodged back, looking wildly about him for a weapon. There was an axe in the pile only a few yards away. Dixon snatched it up, world ready to give battle. The other centurion

would come hurrying over now to aid its mate. Dixon was effectually barred from attempting any progress toward the projectile by the two grotesque creatures as they stood alertly there beside each other with their green tubes menacing him. Dixon waited tensely at bay, remembering those searing radium burns upon Emil Crawford's body. Then the first centaurian abruptly levelled a second and smaller tube upon Dixon A burst of yellow light flashed toward him

Inveoping him in a cloud of pale radiance Before he could dart And there was a faint plop As the protecting white globe upon his head was shattered The yellow radiance swiftly faded Leaving Dixon unhurt But he realised that the first round in the battle Had been won decisively by the centaurians

His only chance now was to end the battle before the paralyzing rays of the green moon sat his strength. He warily advanced upon the centaurians. Their green tubes swung into line and twin bolts of violet flame flashed toward him. He dodged and the bolts missed by inches. Then Dixon nearly fell as his foot struck a bundle of cloth on the ground. The next moment he snatched the bundle up with a cry of triumph. triumph. It was his leg cloth tunic, torn and useless as a garment, but invaluable as a shield against the searing effects of those bolts of radioactive flame. He hurriedly wrapped with a fabric

in a rough bundle around his left forearm. The next time the tubes violet flames flashed toward him, he thrust his rude shield squarely into their puff. There was a light tingling shock, but that was all. The bolts did not sear through. With newfound confidence, Dixon boldly charged the two Centurions. A weird battle ensued in the garishly lighted arena. The effective range of the violet flashes was only about ten feet, and Dixon's muscular agility was far superior to that of his antagonists. By constant whirling and dodging he was able to either catch the violet bolts upon his

shielded arm or else dodged them entirely. Yet in spite of the centaurians' clumsy slowness, they manoeuvred with a cool strategy that constantly kept the Earthman's superior strength at bay. Always as Dixon tried to close with one of them he was forced to retreat when a flanking attack from the other threatened his unprotected back. And always the Centaurians maneuvered the Bar Dixon from attempting any dash toward the projector. Minutes passed, and Dixon felt his strength rapidly ebbing. from his Herculean exertions and from the paralysing rays of the green moon beating down upon

his unprotected head. As his speed of foot lessened, the centaurians began inexorably pressing their advantage. Dixon was no longer escaping unscathed, inspired of his frantic efforts to dodge. Twice the violet bolts grazed his body in searing flashes of exquisite agony. His muscles stiffened still more in the attack of the green sand. sickness. Desperately dodging a centaurian bolt, he stumbled and nearly fell. As he staggered to regain his balance, one of his antagonists scrambled to the coveted position behind him. It was only Ruth's scream of warning that galvanized Dixon's numb brain into action in time to meet the imminent peril. In one mighty effort he flung his axe at the centaurian in front of him. The heavy blade cut deep

into the thinly armored body. Mosterly wounded, the creature collapsed. Dixon then whirled and flung up his shielded left arm just in time to intercept the violet bolt of the other centurion. Where are he backing away, Dixon succeeded in retrieving his axe from beside the twitching body of the fallen invader. Then, with a heavy weapon again in his hand, he remorselessly charged his remaining fell. The Centaurian's tube flashed in a veritable hail of hurtling violet bolts, but Dixon caught the flashes upon his shield and closed in grimly. One final leap brought him to close quarters. The heavy axe whistled through the air in a single mighty stroke that cleft the Centaurian's frail body nearly in two. Then Ruth's excited screen came in.

Bruce, the other one, get it quick. Dixon turned. The wounded invader, taking advantage of their preoccupation in the final struggle with its mate, had dragged its crippled body over to the instrument enclosure. Dixon staggered toward it as fast as his half-paralyzed muscles would permit. He was just too late. The centaurian jerk to leave a home. a fraction of a second before Dixon's smashing axe forever ended his activities.

The lever's action upon the pen of inert hybrids was immediate. The sweeping lances of light vanished in a brief sheet of vivid flame, which kindled the dark globes of the hybrid's gruesome heads to steady opalescence, and the dreaded horde came to life. Sprawling from the pen, they came scuttling toward Dixon in a surging flood, a scene straight out of a nightmare. Dixon faced the oncoming horde in numb despair, knowing that his nearly paralyzed body had no chance in a fight.

Then, just as the hybrids were nearly upon him, he heard Ruth's encouraging voice again. There's still one chance left, Bruce, she cried, and I'll take it. Dixon turned. Ruth had in her hand the tiny contact, grenade he'd given her for a last emergency. She snapped the safety catch on the little bomb, then hurled it squarely at the giant opalescent globe looming close beside her. There was a terrific

explosion and the great globe shattered to atoms. Apparently stunned by the concussion but otherwise unhurt, Ruth was flung clear of the wreckage. With the shattering of the central globe, strange life force of the hybrid horde vanished instantly and completely. Midway in their rush, they sprawled inert and dead, with their outstretched leg so close to Dixon that he had to step over one or two to get clear. Dixon's brain reeled in the reaction of relief from the horde's hideous menace. Then he grimly fought to clear his fast-numbing senses long enough for one final task that he knew must still be done. The projectile, cushioned as it was, had escaped detonation in the blast. He had only to stagger across the twenty yards separating him from it, and then released the

stud that was sent it flashing out into space. But his last shred of reserve strength had nearly been sat now by the insidious rays of that malevolent green moon. Even as he started toward the projectile, he staggered and fell, unable to dress. drag himself to his feet again he began grimly crawling with arms and legs as stiff and dead as that of stone only ten more yards to go now only five grimly doggedly with senses reeling and muscles nearly dead the last survivor of a dying planet fought desperately on under the malignant rays of the vivid green moon one last sprawling convulsive effort and Dixon had the projectile in his hands.

His stiff fingers fumbled agonizingly with the activating start, and then abruptly the start snapped home. With a crescendo whistle of sundered air, the projectile flashed upward into the western skull. Dixon collapsed upon his back, his dimming eyes fixed upon the grim green moon, minutes that seemed like eternity's, dragged slowly back.

That his heart leapt in sudden hope. Had he really seen a glowing small blue spark up there beside the green moon? The spark marking the mighty explosion of the radium bomb against the centaurian spaceship. A fraction of a second later, and that doubt became glorious certainty. The vivid green of the moonlight had vanished. The silvery white sheen of a normal moon again shone a seren. greenly up there in the western sky. With the extinguishing of the dreaded green rays,

new strength surged swiftly through Dixon's tired body. He arose and hurried over to where Ruth lay limp, and still near the wreckage of the great globe. He worked over her for many anxious minutes before the normal flush of health returned to her white cheeks, and her eyes slowly opened. And then he took Ruth into his arms, and for a long minute the two silent,

drank in the beauty of that radiant silver moon above them while their hearts thrilled with the realization of the glorious miracle of awakening life that they knew must already be beginning to rejuvenate and stricken world the moonweed by halve vinson unwittingly the traitor of earth van pits himself against the inexorably tightening web of plant beasts that he is released from the moon how about Madison pursed his lips in a whistle of incredulous surprise as he regarded the object that lay in the palm of his hand. An ordinary pebble, it seemed to be, but a pebble in which a strange fire smouldered and showed itself here and there through the dull circle.

Would you mind repeating what you just said, Van? he asked. You heard me the first time. I say that's a diamond, and it came from the moon. Carl van deventer, glad at his friend in resentment of his doubting tone. You mean to tell me you've been that to the moon? Well, certainly not. I'm not a Jules Verne adventurer, but I'm telling you that stone is a diamond of the first water

and that it came from the moon. Well, he's over a hundred carrots, too. You can have it to praise yourself if you think I'm kidding you. But Madison just laughed. Don't get sore of am, he said. I'm not doubting your word, but Lord, man. The thing's so incredible. It takes a little time to soak in.

You say there are more? Sure. This one's the largest of five I've found so far. There's other stuff, too. I tell you you see fossils, beetles and things. I tell you, but the moon was inhabited at one time. I have the evidence, and I want you to be the first to see it. The eyes of the young scientist shone with excitement,

as he saw that his friend was roused to intense interest. But that's what all your experiment in has been aimed at. No wonder it costs so much. Yeah, and you've been a brick for financing me. Never asked a question either. But, but it'll all come back to you now. You know how much that stones were? Plenty, I guess.

But forget about the financing and all that. Where is this laboratory of yours? Madison had pushed his chair back from his desk and was reaching for his hat. Over in the Ramapo Mountains, not far from Tuxedo. I'll have you there in two hours. Sure, you can spare the time to go out there now. Van de Venter was enthusiastically eager. Spare the time.

Well, you'll just try and keep me from going. Neither of them noticed the sinister figure that lurted outside the door which led into the adjoining office. They chatted excitedly. They chatted excitedly as they passed into the outer hall and made for the elevator. Van de Venter's laboratory was a small dome structure, set in a clearing atop the mountain, and well hidden from the winding road which was the only means of approach. Though Bart Madison, who had inherited his father's prosperous brokerage business, had financed his friend's research work ever since the two had left college, this was his first visit to

the secluded workshop, and its wealth of equipment was revealed to him as a complete surprise. He'd always thought of Vann's experiments as something beyond his can, something uncanny and mysterious. Now he was convinced. The most prominent single piece of apparatus in the laboratory was a 12-inch reflecting telescope which reared its lattice framework to a slit in the dome overhead. Paralleling its axis and secured to the same equatorial mounting was a shining tube of copper which bristled with hand-wheels and levers and was connected by heavy insulated cables to an amazing

array of electrical machinery that occupied an entire side of the single room. A regular young observatory you got here, Van. Bart commented, when he'd taken all of this in one sweeping glance of appraisal. Yeah, and then some. None another like it in the world. Van was busying himself with the controls of his electrical equipment, and a powerful motor generator started up with a click and a whir as he closed a starting switch. Madison watched in silence as a swift-fingered scientist fussed with the complicated adjustments

of the apparatus and then turned to the massive concrete pedestal on which his telescope was mounted. At his touch of a button, the instruments swung over on its polar axis to a new position. The slit in the dome was open to the afternoon sky, revealing the lunar disk in its daytime faintness. You can see it just as well in the daylight. Bart asked as his friend peered through the eyepiece of the telescope and continued his adjustments. Sure, the surface is just as bright as at night. Doesn't seem so to your eye, but it's different through the telescope.

Here, take a look. Bart squinted through the eyepiece and saw a huge crater with a shadowed spire in its center. Like a shellhole in soft earth it appeared, a great splash that had congealed immediately as it was made. The crosshairs of the eyepiece was centred on a small circular shadow near its inner rim. That, Van was saying, is a prominent crater near the Maray Nubium. The spot under the crosshairs is that from which I have obtained the diamonds and other things. Now, watch this, Bart. The young broker straightened up and saw that his friend was removing the cover from a crystal ball

that was attached to the lower end of the copper tube that were pointed to the heavens at the same ascension and declination as a telescope. The air of the room vibrated to a strange energy when he closed a switch that lighted a dozen vacuum tubes in the apparatus that lie in the wall. You say you bring the stuff here with a light ray? he asked. Noah, set with a speed of light. The tube projects a ray of vibrations,

like directional radio, you know. And this ray has a component that disintegrates the object, it strikes and brings it back. Atwurst's dissociated protons and electrons which are reassembled in the original form and structure in this crystal bowl. Here, watch. A misty brilliance filled the bowl's interior. Intangible shadowy form seemed to be taking shape within a swirling maze of ethereal light that hunged and crackled with astounding vigor. Then, abruptly, the apparatus was silent in the light gone,

revealing an odd object that had taken form in the bowl. A starfish, Bart gasped. Yeah, fossilized. Van handed it to him, and he took it in his fingers gingerly, as if expecting it to burn them. The thing was undoubtedly a starfish, and of light spongy stone. His colour was pale blue, and the amylacral suckers were clearly discernible on all five rays. Lord, you're sure this is from the moon. Bart turned the starfish over in his hand and gazed stupidly at his friend.

Certainly it is. You think I had it up my sleep. But here, watch again. There's something else. The crackling misty light again filled the bowl. Suppose, uh, thought ventured. You bring in something large, big as a house, let's say. What would it do to your machine?

I can't. The rail only pick up stuff that'll enter the bowl. Oh, look, here's the next arrival. The mysterious light died down, and the scientist picked up the second object with trembling fingers. It was a knife of beautiful workmanship, fashioned from obsidian, and obviously the work of human hand. There, didn't I tell you? Van gloated. I guess that shows there were living beings on the moon. He made minute changes in the adjustment of his marvellous instrument, and Bart watched in dazed astonishment as

object after object materialized before their eyes. There were fragments of strange minerals, more fossils, marine life mostly, a roughly beaten silver plate, three diamonds, none of which was as large as what Van had taken to New York, but all of considerable value. Well, this will be something for the papers, Van. Bart Madison was visioning the fame that was to come to his friend. Yeah, all but the diamonds. all but the diamonds is right these words were spoken by a sarcastic voice chill as an icicle that came from the open door they wheeled to look into the muzzles of two automatic pistols that were trained on them by a stocky individual who faced them with a twisted knowing grin

damn killy bark gasped raising his hands slowly to the level of his shoulders he knew the ex-army captain who was a dead shot with the service his pistol and a desperate man since his disgrace and forced resignation what's the big idea he demanded you don't need to ask refuse me alone this morning didn't you now i'm getting it this way kelly turned savagely on van prodding his ribs with a pistol hey get him up he he snapped van have been slow in raising his hands gaping in stupefing in stupefied amazement at the intruder. Now he reached for the ceiling without delay. Oh, you all serve time for this, Danny. Bart shouted. Shut up. I know what I'm doing. And back up to where, no, to the other door. Kelly was forcing him toward the door of the cellar at the point of one pistol as he get Van covered with the other.

Bart clenched his fist and brought it down in a sudden sweeping blow that raked Kelly's cheek and ear with stunning force. But the gunman recovered in a flash, dropped the muzzle of his pistol and pulled the trigger. Drilled through the thigh, Bart staggered through the open door and fell the length of the stairs into the darkness of the cellar. Kelly then laughed evilly as he slammed the door and turned the key. Hey, hold it you. He starled as he swung on Van, who dropped his hands and crouched for a spring. If I drill you, he won't be through the leg. Oh, I'll take those diamonds now.

He pocketed one of his pistols, and, keeping the other pressed to the pit of Van's stomach, went through his pockets. Then he added those on the tray by the crystal bowl to his collection, and he transferred the entire lot to his own pocket. Now, you clever engineer, he grinned. We'll just operate this trick machine of yours for a while and collect some more. you get to it you watched narrowly as van stretched his fingers to the controls no monkey business either he grated not change a single adjustment I've been listening to you and I know the clock of the telescope is keeping the ray trained on the same spot you just operate that ray and nothing else understand well Van didn't think it expedient to tell him of

the drift caused by inaccuracies in the clock and perturbate of the moon's motion. He was playing for time, trying to plan a course of action. But, um, they may not meet any more diamonds, he offered as he tripped the release of the way. Oh, there'll be more.

Don't try and kid me. An irregular block of quartz materialized in the bowl, and Kelly tossed it to the floor in savage disgust. Then a small diamond, very small, but he pocketed it nonetheless. The next object was a strange one, a dried seed pod about six inches in length and a brilliant red color. The ray had shifted to a new position on the lunar surface. Another, and another of these strange legumes follows, one of them bursting open and scattering its contents.

Bright red like the enclosing pod to rattle over the floor like tiny glass beads. Kelly just snorted his disgust. Oh, there's still some sort of vegetation out there, Van muttered. The eternal scientist in the man could not be downed by a mere hold-up. Can the chatter? Kelly snarled as the crystal bowl gave up another of these useless pods and yet another. He gathered up the evidence of lunar vegetation, half-dozen of the pods, and threw them through the open doorway with a savage gesture.

Are you trying to put one over on me? He bellowed. "'How can I?' Van retorted mildly. "'I haven't touched a hand with it.' He was wondering vaguely whether this lunar seed would grow in the earthly soil. What sort of a plant it would produce under the new environment? Kelly was becoming nervous now. It seemed that little was to be gained by hanging around this crazy man's laboratory.

He had a sizable fortune in rough stones already. that big one alone, when probably cut into smaller stones, would make him independently wealthy. Maybe there won't anymore anyway, and the longer he stayed the greater chance there was of getting caught. The advent of another of the pods decided it for him. A quick blow with the butt of his pistol stretched Van on the floor, and Kelly fled the scene. Bart was pounding furiously on the cellar door when Van first took hazy note of his surroundings. Several uncertain minutes had passed before he was able to stagger across the room and release his friend.

Where is he? Bart demanded, swaying on his feet and blinking in the sudden light. Gone. Suck me, beat it with the diamonds. Van was mopping the blood from his eyes with a handkerchief. Oh, you hit bad? he inquired. Oh, just a flesh wound. It's like the devil, though.

How about you? Bart limped to his side and sighed with relief when he examined his bleeding scalp. Ah, not so bad yourself, old man. Where's your first aid kit? Van was still somewhat dazed and merely pointed to the cabinet. A fine pair we turned out to be. He grumbled, after his head had cleared a bit under Bart's vigorous cleansing of the cut on his temple. Here we stood, meek as a couple of lambs,

Let that guy get away with murder. Yeah, but those forty-fares made the difference. Oh! Bart winced as his friend poured fresh iodine over the wound in his leg. God, have a heart, will you? I was startled into silence by a horse, strangled scream that came from outside the laboratory. Help! Help!

Someone repeated in a panicky voice, a voice which at once ended on a gurgled note of despair. "'Ah, it's Kelly,' Bart whispered. "'He's come back. "'Something's happened to him.' "'He then started for the open door. "'A yo, wait a minute. "'It might be a trick to get us outside

"'where he can pop us off.' "'Oh, no, that isn't. "'Oh, for God's sake. "'Look at that.' "'Baud had reached the door "'and was pointing at the ground "'with shaking forefinger. "'The entire glaring seemed to be alive

"'with wriggling things. long rubbery tentacles that crawled along the ground reaching curling ends high in the air and had even started climbing the trees at the edge of the clearing blood red they were and partially transparent in the light of the setting sun growing things attached by their thick ends to swelling mounds of red that seemed anchored to the ground translucent stalks rose from the mounds and sprouted huge buds that burst and blottened into flaming flowers a foot in the Then withered and went to seed in a moment of time. But always the weaving tendrils shot forth with lightning speed, reaching and feeling their uncanny way along the ground and over tree stumps into the woods.

One of them emerged from a hollow stump with its slender end coiled around the tiny body of a chattering grey squirrel. God, the moonflowers! Ban cried. Well, what do you mean? Moonflowers? dried seed pods They came over into the bowl Kelly threw them out Oh God, now look at the damn things They're alive

Kelly's voice came to them once more From behind the barrier of rapidly growing vegetation Help He screamed I'll give back the diamonds Anything Just get me away from these things We ought to just let them get him

Van Ground Bart shivered Ah, too horrible, Van. He got an axe or anything. Yeah, there's a hatchet around the back. Maybe we can... But the young broker had already scuttled around the corner of the building, and Van looked after him anxiously.

The vile red tendrils were reaching the east wall of the laboratory, and he saw that their inner surfaces were covered with tiny suckers like those of the arms of a devilfish. plants undoubtedly these awful half-animal half-vegetable things whose seed had been transported across a quarter million miles of space man-eaters deadly and growing with incredible speed and even the short-lived flowers were fearsome as they opened their scarlet pansy-like faces and stared a moment before they folded up and shriveled into the sea cases like those that had materialized in the crystal bottle then he noticed that the pods were opening and spreading more of the terrible seas. Nothing could stop this weird growth now. It would cover the country

like a sea of flaming horror, overcoming and devouring every living thing. Cold fear clutched at Van as he realized the enormity of the calamity that had come to the earth. Bart was skirting the edge of the clearing with a hatchet in his hand, and Van tried to call out to him, to warn him. But his voice caught in his throat, and instead he ran. to his assistants, circling the spreading menace to get around behind where Kelly was still shouting. Oh damn, Kelly anyway, this never would have happened if he hadn't come on the scene. Kelly was in the woods now, wedged into the crotch of a tree, striking wildly at the clutching tendrils with his clubbed pistol. They mashed easily and were dripping red, but were not to be deterred

from their ghastly purpose. Kelly's time would have indeed been short, had not his earth-werexed while victims come to the rescue. One of the thickest of the twining things encircled his body and had him pinned to the tree. His breath was coming in gasps as its tightening coils increased their pressure. His coarse features were livid

and his eyes bulged from their sockets. Bart hacked and hacked at the rubbery growth until he had him free, jerked him from his perch, blubbering and whining like a schoolboy. His shirt had been torn from his body. breast, they saw a great welt where the blood had been drawn through the paws by those terrible suckers.

Look out, Bart, Van shouted it. Another of the creeping things had come through the underbrush and was wrapping its coals around Bart's ankle. Another and another wiggle through, and soon they were battling for their own freedom. Kelly staggered off into the woods and went crashing down the hill, leaving them to take care of themselves as best they might. The stench of the viscous liquid that oozed from the injured tendrils was nauseous. It had something of a soporific effect, and the two friends found themselves fighting the terror in a growing mist of red that blinded and confused them.

Then, miraculously, they were free, and Van assisted Bart as they ran through the forest. When they reached the road, weak and out of breath, it was just in time to see Kelly's road to vanish around the bend. Yeah, he'd give back the diamonds. What an ass. Van muttered, indictively. Then shrugging his shoulders. Well, it won't be much good to him anyway. Won't be any good to us either, as far as that goes.

What do you mean? Aren't they real? Art was raising himself painfully into the seat of Van's car, his wounded legs suddenly very much in the way. Yeah, sure, they're real. Well, don't you realize what this thing means? This ungodly growth is started? Well, no, you mean it will keep growing.

Yep, and how? Those inner stalks drop a new batch of seeds every five minutes or so. There you go. A flock of new plants spring up ten feet from the first. Dozens of them for every pod that drops. You know how geometrical progression works out. They'll cover the whole country. The whole world.

God. This is terrible. I hadn't thought of that before. What are we going to do? Yeah, that's the question. What can we do? Van started his motor and jerked the car to the road. First off, we're going to get away from here, fast.

Bart ripped his arm as he shifted into second gear. Oh, look, Van, he babbled. Get out of the woods already. Loose. The red snakes are loose from their stalks. God damn it, they're alive, I tell you. It was true. Several of the slimy red things were wriggling their way over the tarmac like great earthworms, but moving with a speed of hurrying pedestrians. Free and untrammeled by the roots and stems of the mother plants, they'd set forth on her own in search for beings of flesh and blood to destroy. Millions of their kind would follow. Billions.

In sudden panic, Van stepped on the gas. Fifteen minutes later, with shrieking siren, a motorcycle drew alongside and forced them to the curb. "'Hey, um, where's the fire?' The sarcastic voice of a stern visaged officer demanded, when Van had brought his car to a screeching stop. 75, the speedometer had read, only a moment before. Look, oh, it's life and death officer. Van started to explain. explain. We must get to the proper officials to warn them. Ah, tell it to the judge.

Come on now, you follow me. But officer, there's death on its way from the hills, I tell you. Red creeping things that'll be here in a couple of hours. Move away from the wheel. I'll drive you in myself. Bard had opened the door on the side and was limping his way around the back of the car. This was serious. They had to get away.

I had to spread the word in a way that we'll be. be believed before it was too late. The officer was tugging at Vann's arm, astonishment and black rage showing his weather-beaten countenance. Speeding, drunk, resisting an officer. I'd never get out of this mess. A swift uppercut interrupted the proceedings. Bart's leg was known stiff, but his good right arm was working smoothly, and with all its old-time precision. His second punch was a haymaker. With his full weight behind it, it drove straight to the chin and stretched the officer on the concrete. Thoughtfully, Bart removed his pistol from its holster before scrambling in at Van's side.

Oh boy, we're in for it now, he gasped. We might as well make a good job of it while we're at it. Van let in his clutch with a jerk, and soon again they were breaking all traffic regulations. It was dusk when they roared in through the gate at the Rockland County Airport and pulled up at the hangar office. Van rushed in, shouting for Bill Peterson, and Bart followed it. A slender fair-haired youth in rumpled flying togs greeted them. Bill, it's my friend, Bard Madison. Van blurted without pausing for breath.

Listen, you've got to have a plane right away. Got one with a radio? Yeah, but what's all the rush? going? Albany, right away. Make it snappy, will you? Sure, but what's it all about? Young Peterson was leading them to the field where a sleek monoplane was in waiting, as if they'd ordered it. Hey, a warmer-up, Joe, he called to the mechanic. Listen, Bill, I'd never lie to you, did I? Van asked, when they were seated in the plane's cabin. Not that I know of, but Sometimes I've thought you were lying, until so with my own eyes are things that you told me about.

What is it this time? Death and destruction, coming down out of the Ramapo's. We've got to warn the country. Plants build. Squirmy red plants with long feelers that can twist around and devour a man. Half animal they are. And the feelers break loose and crawl by themselves. I'm all deplying like nothing you ever.

saw millions of them in an hour what peterson stared incredulously as his motor roared into life and he gave his attention to the business of taking off he jerked the thumb of his free hand toward the radio land's expert fingers manipulated the switches and dials of the portable apparatus and its vacuum tubes glowed into life 2bXX calling 2 t i m he droned into the microphone "'Who's that?' Bart asked. The drone of the moat who was barely audible in the closed cabin and didn't interfere. The Times, trying to get Johnny Forbes. If anyone can get this thing across, he can.

Wait a minute, here they are. He closed his eyes as he listened to the murmuring voice in the headphones. And he was talking rapidly, forcefully, and the young flyer gazed with owlish solemnity at Bart as they listened to this conversation. It was plain that Bill was only half inclined to believe, though impressed by the earnestness and evident apprehension displayed by his two passengers. Yes, to be XX, Van was saying. Connect me with Johnny Forbes, please.

Oh, in a hurry. Yeah, hello, Johnny, it's Van der Van der Venter, you know? Yep, got a scoop for you, but first I want you to get it in the broadcasts, got me? It's about a man-eating plant that's starting to overrun the country. No, listen now. I'm not dreaming. I'm not making this up. Listen.

The frantic scientist rambled on and on about the seed from the moon, the red death that was creeping down from the mountains, the horror of this calamity as he and Bart had visioned it. Then, with a sudden note of despair, his voice trailed off into nothingness, and he turned a drawn white face to his two friends. laughed at me hung up on me he grung oh good god we've got to do something quick well we'll be in Albany in an hour the pilot suggests is what's you going to do there he believed now his expression

of horror showed it i see the gardener but man it's an hour wasted we must stir up the country get the word to washington everywhere it might be possible to fight the things some way if we could mobilize state and national resources quickly enough. Bill. Bart, what can we do? The plane sped on through the night under control of her gyropilot as the three men racked their brains for a solution to the problem. If a hard-boiled newspaper man wouldn't believe the story, who would? Oh, I've got it, Bart shouted suddenly. How can any of you pound a key, A code, I mean. Sure I can.

Then what? Peterson returned. Fake and SOS, don't you see? All broadcasting has to stop. Every ship at sea, every airliner in this part of the country will be listening, standing by. Give them the story in code. I don't think we're in a ship from the moon. Catched by Lunarians, we're here to destroy the world with this weed of theirs.

Anything. Make it as weird as possible. almost everyone will think it's a hoax but there are 10,000 kids, amateurs, they'll be listening in. Somebody will believe it. And believe me, there'll be some investigating in the neighborhood of the growth in no time. God, I believe that'll do it, Vann exclaimed. And the broadcasters listen in for an SOS themselves. They got you, you know, so they know when to start up again.

Some smart announcer will tell the story, maybe even believe it. The trick will work. Sure thing. The pilot glanced at his instruments and saw that the automatic gyro apparatus was functioning properly. Then he moved over to the radio and through the switch that put the key in circuit instead of the microphone. Rapidly he ticked off the three dots, three dashes and again three dots that spelled the dread danger signal of the air. Over and over he repeated the signal, and then he listened for results.

It worked, he gloated after a moment. They're all signing off, the broadcasters. The Navy Yard in Brooklyn gives me the go-ahead. He then pounded out the absurd message with swift fingers, pausing occasionally to ask a pertinent question of Van or Bach. At Van's request, he added a warning to all residents of New York State, west of the Hudson River and of northern New Jersey to flee their homes without delay. He even asked that the message be relayed to the governors of the two-southwest.

States and that Governor Perkins of New York be advised that they were on their way to Albany to discuss the situation. But he balked the story of the Lunarians, telling instead the equally strange truth regarding the origin of the deadly growth, adding the names of Van and Bart lend authenticity to the tale. Then he signed off and switched the radio receiver to the loud speaker before returning to the pilots. Bart tuned in to the various broadcasters as they resumed their programs, finally settling on W.O.R. Newark, whose announcer was reading the strange message to his radio public with appropriate comments. A crime and an outrage he called it. An affront to the industry and to the public. An insult to the government of the United States.

But wait! A telephone call had just been received at the station from the village of Slottsburgh. A reputable citizen of that town had reported the red growth at the edge of State Road. huge red earthworms wriggling across the concrete another call and then another he announced his voice was rising hysterically oh it did work but vallexalted now the hell starts popping governor perkins met them in person when they arrived at the municipal airport in northern a great crowd had gathered in the shadows outside the brilliance of the floodlights a police escort rushed them to the governor's private car Well, here's where you go to the Bastille for sogging that cop, Van observed. His spirits had risen appreciably since that successful SOS call. The governor was, nonetheless, in a serious mood, as they made their way to the executive mansion

through the milling crowds that lined the hilly streets of the capital city of New York State. Proofs had not been lacking of the truth of Bill Peterson's radio warning, although the spreading red death had covered a circle some eight miles in diameter, covering farmlands and destroying the crops, blocking the roads and trapping many on the streets and in their homes in nearby towns. More than a hundred had lost their lives, and thousands were fleeing the threatened area. The country was in uproar. Gentlemen, the governor said, when they'd reached the privacy of his chambers. This is a serious

matter, and no time must be lost in dealing with it. Nevertheless, I want you to be. I want you, you, Mr. Van de Venter, to tell your story of the thing to me and to the radio system of the United States Secret Service. The President himself will be listening, as will the chief executives of most of the States, hold nothing back as the fate of our people is at stake. So Van face the microphone related the history of his work in the little laboratory in the Ramapo Mountains. He told of his interest in the Earth's satellite and of his first unsuccessful expression. with ultra-t telescopes in the endeavor to explore its surface close at hand. Of the failure of a spaceship he'd built, of the final discovery of the ray,

by means of which it was possible to transport solid objects from the one body to the other. He told of the discovery of man-made relics and of fossils. He told of the diamonds and of the attack by Dan Kelly, which had resulted in the spreading of the seed of the deadly moonweed. He even related the incident of the traffic policeman, at which the governor smiled. Yeah, that has been reported, he said. And you need have no fear on that score,

and the charges will be dropped. And I'll ask that you give us your opinion as to the best method of combating this new enemy. There be any ideas? I have not, sir, Van replied gloomily, though I believe it can be done only from the air, possibly bombing or gas of some sort. I don't know.

but it will take time, Mr. Governor. Yes, and meanwhile, the thing is overwhelming us at what rate? As nearly as I can estimate it, the growth is moving with a speed of four or five miles an hour. So, um, by morning you expect it will have traveled 40 or 50 miles in all directions. Yeah, I'm afraid so. A sharp buzz from the instrument on the governor's desk interrupted them. Oh, the president, he wished. That is enough, Governor, came the husky tones of President Alfred's voice.

I shall communicate with Secretary Markley at once. All available Army bombing planes will be rushed to the scene. You, sir, will mobilize the militia, as will the governors of the other states. Meanwhile, this young scientist is to report to the Bureau of Scientific Research in Washington tonight. Have him bring a supply of those seeds with him. And that was all. Governor Perkins offered no comment, but merely rose from his seat to indicate that the discussion was ended. The solemn silence reigned in the room. Right, let's go! exclaimed Bill Peterson suddenly, unawed by the presence of the governor.

On our ship's waiting, we can stop off for a couple of those parts and still make Washington in two hours. Come on. Governor Perkins smiled. good luck boys he said as they were ushered from the room my car will return you to the airport and remember this country will be watching you now and expecting much from you goodbye they were to recall his words in the dark days ahead before they'd reach newbird they saw a dull red glow in the skies that told them the news broadcast to which they'd been listening but not exaggerated the red growth was luminous in the darkness off there to the south-west it was as if a vast forest fire

were lighting the heavens no wonder the panics and rioting were getting out of control of the plea coming up over bare mountain they caught their first glimpse of the sea of fire that was the red death by night like a vast bed of glowing embers it covered the countryside extending eastward to have a straw where it was temporarily hollower by the broad Hudson. It was a shimmering, undulating mass of living, luminous things, eating their horrible way through all organic matter that stood in their park. Rithing, squirming, all-absorbing monsters sent out an advanced guard

of independent snake-like tendrils to capture and hold for the lagging mother plants whatever livestock and humanity they were able to find. You think they'll go over the river, then? Bart asked. Sure they will. Every fugitive who had a narrow escape after being in contact with the things is a potential carrier of the seed. Found several of them sticking to my clothing after we got away. I picked a couple off your coat, but didn't tell you.

Lord, what did you do with them? I put them in the ash receiver in my car, like a fool. Wouldn't have to go down for more if I kept them. Well, it can't be helped now. I'll have a job getting some down there now too. I'll say so. Then Van lapsed into gloomy silent. They were over the landing field above Tompkins Cove.

Bill turned on the siren whose raucous shriek operated the mechanism of the floodlight switches by sound vibrations. The field sprang into instant illumination, and they circled it once before swooping to a landing. They were but a mile now from the advancing town. The field was deserted, and the three men started off immediately in the direction of the oncoming weed. Oh, we'll have to make it snappy, Van grunted. We've got about twelve minutes to get the parts and get back to the ship. Those damn things will be here at that time. They scrambled over fences and pushed through thickets. The lighted windows of a deserted farmhouse were directly ahead, and they ran through the open gate and across the fields. ever the glow of the weed growing brighter the terrified horse galloped wildly past them and crashed into the fence whinnying piteously as it went down with a broken leg

they could see the red rim of the advancing horror just beyond the road one of the detached tendrils slithered past each glowing coil distinctly visible oh lucky those things can't see bart shut it "'Yop,' said Van. "'Have to dodge him to getting close enough to one of the plants. "'Keep your eyes peeled now, you fellows, in case one of us gets caught.' A terrific explosion rocked the ground. They didn't pay no heed to the roaring of motors overhead. The bombers were already on the job, shooting skyward,

a column of flame not a hundred yards from them showed where the high explosive had landed in the red manse. then slimy wriggling things rained all about them fragments of the red weed that still squirmed and crawled and clung bill peterson yelled and clutched at his neck where one of the things had taken hold another warning whistle of a falling bomb crash more of the horror raining down as splattering as it fell a huge blob of quivering luminous jelly fell before them a portion of one of the mother-plands Run, Van shouted. Run for the plane. We'll never make it now. Oh, damn those bombers. All along the advancing front, the bombs were bursting,

shattering the air with their detonations and scattering the glowing red stems and tendrils in all directions. The dim was appalling, and the increasing brightness of the crimson glow added to the horror of the situation. Stumbling and cursing, they ran for the plane. "'Fools! Fools!' Bill was shouting. "'Can't they see the field in the plain?

"'Why in the devil are they dropping them so near?' "'Then Bart was down, "'clawing at a three-foot length of red tendril "'that had fallen on him and borne him to the earth. "'Bart! Bart!' "'Ban turned back and was tearing at the thing "'with fingers that were slippery with the sap that oozed from its torn skin. "'Oh, monstrous earthworms!

"'Cut them apart and eat them apart, portion lived on took on new vigor and these vile things could sting like a jellyfish where each sucker touched the skin a burning sore remained will help them break away from the thing and all three fought on toward the lights of the landing field only a short way off now but it seemed that they would never reach it the bombers were dropping their missiles with unceasing regularity and the red death only spread that faster When they scrambled into the cabin and the plain, the red wall of creeping horror was almost upon them. Advancing speedily out from the red-lit darkness, it seemed to halt momentarily, when it emerged

into the brilliance of the great art-lights which illuminated the field. And then, more slowly and with seemingly purposeful deliberation, the wriggling feelers reached out from the mass and bore down upon them. all slammed the door and lashed it, then fumbled frantically with the starter-swit. Most welcome sound was the answering roar of the motor. The pilot yanked his ship into the air, taking off with a wind rather than running the risk of remaining on the ground long enough to taxi around and head into it. The plane acted like a frightened bird as Bill's struggle with the controls, darting this

way and that, once missing a crash by inches as the tail was lifted by the treacherous ground, And then they were clear, a slowly gained altitude and a steep climb. Oh, Van exclaimed, mopping his red-splatted forehead with his handkerchief. That was a narrow escape, boys. We haven't got the seeds yet, unless we can find a few on our clothing. Oh, who said so? Bar gloated. Look at this.

He then opened his clenched fist and disclosed. fist and disclosed one of the pods, unbroken and gleaming horribly scarlet in the dim light of the cabin. Bill heaved a sigh of relief as he banked the ship and swung around toward the south. He dreaded another landing near the sea of moonweep. Van Shortalded over their good fortune as he examined the mysterious pond. One good thing the bombers are done anyway. Blow one of the things into his friend's hands, Bart and the young pilot found himself very much out of the picture when they reported with van at the research building in Washington the government had no use for them in this emergency it was a scientist they wanted and he was immediately rushed into conference

with the heads of the bureau his two friends were left to shift for themselves and they joined the crowds in the street the name of karl van der venta was on everyone's tongue cursing and reviling him they were for the hair-brained experiment which had been the cause of this terrible disaster. Ah, fools. Bart seethed with rage and nearly came to blows with a number of the vesiferous agitators

who were advocating a necktie party. Why haven't the officials published the entire story, as Vannard told it over the Secret Service radio? There was no mention of Dan Kelly in the broadcast news, nor of the fact that the police were searching for him in every city and town

in the country. another instance of the results of secrecy in governmental activity well we'd better find ourselves a room and turn in bart growled let's get out of this mob before i slam so on it bill peterson was only too willing he was suddenly very tired in the willard hotel they were assigned to an excellent room and bart insisted on switching on the broadcasts and listening to the news far into the night he sat by the loudspeaker or paced the floor as an exceptionally calamitous happening was reported but bill slept through it all the army bombers had been recalled there if it worked more harm than good the invincible moonweed now would cross the Hudson River at niac and Piermont tarry town was overrun and many of the inhabitants had lost their lives either in the moors of the insatiable monsters or in the panics and rioting them that accompanied the evacuation of the town

New Jersey was covered as far south as New Brunswick, and west of Phillipsburg and Belvedere. At Margechunk, the contents of 20 oil tanks have been diverted to the Delaware River, and the floating oil film was proving at least a temporary protection to a considerable portion of the state of Pennsylvania. In New York State, the growth had buried hill and valley, town and village, as far as Monticello, and along the Hudson, extended as far north as far north as. Kingston. But Poughkeepsie, on the opposite side of the river, frantic householders had armed themselves with rifles and shotguns, and were killing off all refugees who attempted to land from boats at that point. But the militia was on guard at the bridges, assuring safe crossing

to the thousands who fled the red death over these routes. There was no keeping the seed of the moonweed from filing its way east. At some point's fire had been used with considerable success as a barrier, hundreds of acres of forest lands being destroyed in the endeavor to stem the crimson time. But after the ashes would cool, germination would recur, and the weed would continue on its triumphant way. Asid sprays and poisonous gas of various kinds have been tried without appreciable effects. The casualty estimates already ran into the tens of thousands. Rumor had it that nearly 100,000 that lost their lives in the city of Newark alone. There was no way in which the figures could be checked

while everything was in a state of confusion. Communication lines were broken, roads blocked, gas and electricity supply systems paralyzed and the railroads were helpless. Trains could not be driven through the glutinous, wriggling mass that piled high on the tracks. Only the radio and the airlines were operative in the stricken area, and even these were of little value

to the unfortunate who, in many cases, were surrounded and cut off from all hope of Sukkur. Four in the morning, with aching heart and reeling brain, Bart threw himself on the bed without undressing and fell into the troubled sleep of exhaustion and despair. The next day brought no encouragement, though it was reported that growth developed with less rapidity after sunrise than it had during the night. Bart endeavoured to get van on the telephone, but was curtly informed by the operator at the research building that no incoming calls could be transferred to the laboratory where he was working. Knowing his friend, he pictured him as working feverishly with the government engineers and giving

no thought to sleep or food. He'd kill himself for sure, but such a death even most preferable to the red one of the moonweed. The Canadians and Mexicans had been quick to protect their borders and the border. forbid the landing of any American aircraft or the passage of trains and automobiles. But the seed had reached Europe. One of the 12-hour night airliners having carried a thousand refugees who had sufficient foresight and the means to engage passage.

It was a world catastrophe that they faint. By mid-afternoon the streets of Washington were almost deserted. It was less than 24 hours since the first moon seed had taken root, and already the crimson growth had progressed nearly a hundred miles southward from the point of origin. Another twenty or thirty hours, and it would reach the capital city. Unless Van and those engineers over in the research building discovered something, a miracle. Mark tried the phone once more and was overjoyed when the operator, all apologies now, informed him that Van had been trying to reach him for several hours.

Listen, old man, his friend's voice came over the wire. I've been worried as the devil not knowing where you were. I want you and Bill to stick around where I can get you any time. I may need you. Where are you staying? Will that, have you doped out something? But answered in quick excitement. Maybe.

Can there anything out yet? Not till we've tested it thoroughly. But I can tell you that a hundred factories are already working on machines that we've devised. By good luck, it only means minor changes to an... apparatus that's already on the market in large quantity great stuff oh the city's nearly emptied itself you know and boy how they've been razzing you over the radio and in the papers held him for your hide whole damn country yeah i know van's voice was calm but bart sensed in it something of a cold fury that was new to him and his friend the young scientist was bitterly resentful of the

attitude of the public can we see you van no don't call me either better hang around the hotel and wait for a call from me so long for now but i've got to get busy so long barbara then gazed solemnly at bill peterson who'd been listening abstractedly to the one-sided conversation bill had given up hoping was resigned to the inevitable says he may need us bill said bar Yeah, well, we'll be ready for anything he wants us to do. It's no use, though. Not anything. What do you mean, no use?

You never saw a van leaked yet, did you? Well, sure I did. I used super telescopes and that rocket ship. Yeah, but this is different. Bart was a staunch defender of his friend. He glared at Bill for a moment and then switched on the news broadcast, which he knew he detested. the progress of the moonweed continued and abated in the city of New York a million

souls were reported as having lost their lives and this inspired the difficulty experienced by the uncanny moonweed in obtaining a foothold in Manhattan it had been thought that the asphalt and concrete proved an effective barrier and so they did for a time but with the seed active in the parks and along the waterfronts wasn't long before the powerful roots of the greedy plants work their way underneath, ripping up pavements and wriggling into cellars as they progressed. The city was a massive wreckage in a maelstrom of fighting, fighting and dying humanity. Entire regiments of the National Guard were wiped out as they fought off the weed with axe and bayonet in the effort to provide time

for the refugees to clear from their homes in certain localities. All transportation facilities facilities to the south and west were taxed to the utmost. Those fighting and killing for the possession of automobiles and planes and for rooms in trains and buses. Airline terminals and railroad stations were the scenes of dreadful massacres as the police and military guards fought off the crazed and desperate creatures who attacked them en masse. And still the news announcers prated of the responsibility of one Carl van der Venter.

The telephone bell rang. and Bart answered it in relief. At last they were to see some action. But no, it was merely the desk-clerk, notifying him that all employees were leaving the hotel and that they would be left to shift for themselves. Yes, there was plenty of food in the kitchens, and they were welcome to it, and a permanent telephone connection will be made to their room. Frightened Clark then wished them the best of luck. In endless monotone, the voice of the news announcer droned on. Binghampton and O'Mira, Albany and Chenectady, New Haven, Philadelphia, Allentown.

All had succumbed. The casualty estimates now ran into the millions. The red mist that rose from the steaming weed was drifting westward and spreading the seed with ever-increasing rapidity. For now, the monstrous growth from out of the sky was adapted. itself to its environment, providing the seed with feathery tufts that permitted the winds to carry them far and wide like the seed of a dandelion. Turn off that damn thing, Bill shouted. And he jumped to his feet, his eyes glinting strangely in the twilight gloom of the room.

Bill was close to the breaking point. Ah, I guess you're right. Bart mumbled. Not good for either of us to listen to that stuff. He switched off the receiver, and they sat in sight. silence as darkness fell over the city bill shivered and felt for the button of the electric light which he pressed with a trembling finger they blinked in the sudden illumination but it cheered them somewhat wasn't good to sit in the darkness and think besides they knew that the turbine

generators of poter mac edison were still running some brave souls were sticking to their jobs for the time being at least god bill sudden ground after an endless time of dead silence my sister she lives in Pittsburgh you know wonder if she and the kids got away and it won't be long before the damn stuff gets there Bart thanked his lucky star that he had no family times uh that's okay they've had plenty of warning he tried to console Bill for hours you know and the westbound lines are in good shape from there i wouldn't worry about them too much if I were you And then there was utter silence once more.

Even the customary street noises were lacking. Both men jumped nervously when the shrill siren of a police motorcycle sounded in the distance. Bart thought grimly of his fracas with a police officer who tried to arrest Van. God, how long ago that seemed, and how inconsequential an incident. Their windows faced north, and by midnight they could make out the red glow of the moonweed. that awful band of flickering crimson that painted the horizon the color of blood the telephone clambered for attention bill stifled a hysterical sob as the terrifying sound broke the eerie stillness ban was on the way to get them he had a government car and they were going to go to arlington

for bill's plane well then what he refused to commit himself they must follow him blindly anything was better than this inactivity though bark shouted with glee we're going not van replied shortly in answer to bart's question when they entered the official car in front of the hotel after dan kelly after dan kelly they got a line on him yep secret service reports him in toronto the canoics are after him now but by god i'm going to get him myself himself. The van was haggard and waned, his eyes gleaming with a fanatical life. The strain had done something to him, something Bart didn't like at all. This was a different van from the man who had entered his office two days previously. Unshavened and unkempt. He looked and talked like a drunken man on the verge of delirium. What's the idea, Van? He asked gently. I'm going to get him, tell you that scumbag is his fault the whole world's against me i'll get him but i'll kill him with my

bare hands so that was it the combination of grueling labor and the effort to save mankind from the dread moonweed and bitter censure from the very people he was trying to save it had been too much for that he'd developed a fixation unreasoning and murderous he'd get even with the man who'd cause this trouble and nothing could deter him from his purpose. Bart could see that. Might as well humour him and help him. It made a little difference anyway, with the red doom spreading at its present rate. They'd all be victims within a few days.

They were speeding through the streets of Washington and a breakneck rate. Van bent over the wheel and like a demented man glued his wildly staring eyes to the road. Why about your work? But asked after a while. Has anything been accomplished? Well, yes, I know. They'll be ready to shoot in a few hours. Don't know whether it'll be a complete success or not.

But I sneaked away anyhow. This other thing is more important to me right now. What is it? Can you tell us now? Sure. I've got one of the machines in the car and I'll explain when we're on our way to Canada. Well, this wasn't like Van. Never secretive and always in good humor.

He was treating his friends like annoying strangers. You can't land in Canada. Bill ventured as they pulled up at the gate of the airport. Like hell you can't. He watched my smoke and let any bloody cannerc up there try and stop me. He was lifting a small black case from the luggage carrier of the car as he replied. Bart silenced the airman with a look. When they'd taken off and were well underway, Bart opened his black case and set a vacuum-tube

apparatus in operation. They were nearing the fringe of the glowing sea of red that was the vast blanket of moonweed. It now extended to within a few miles of Baltimore and stretched northward as far as the eye could see. Ah, it was a cinch, Van was explaining. When I first saw that the growth slowed up under the arc lights of Tompkins Cove, gave me the glimmering of an idea. Then on the following day,

when we learned that the weeds spread more slowly in sunlight, I was convinced. This stuff is dormant on the moon, you know. Why? But asked breathlessly. Because there's no atmosphere surrounding the moon, and the sun's rays are not filtered before they reach its surface as they are here. The invisible rays, ultraviolet and such,

are present in full proportion. And the moonweed cannot flourish when subjected to light of the higher frequencies. It died out when the moon lost his atmosphere, and only revived on being brought to Earth. Probably a million more times prolific in our dense and damp atmosphere in rich soil. Ah, this thing's easy to wipe out. Yeah? Bart commented dryly. Oh, Van was now talking and he could have bitten off his tongue for interrupting him.

his machine of vans was a generator of invisible light in the ultra indigo range van explained you couldn't see its powerful beam but they'd proved in the laboratory that it was certain doomed the moonweeds they'd grow on the stuff from seed in steel cages and played with it until they were satisfied and now will come the final text ten thousand planes were being equipped with this new generator which was merely an adaptation of standard directional television transmitters and tonight these would start out to fight the weed it was as simple as that beneath them the red cordon seethed and tossed as they sped northward the crimson blanket of death that was steadily covering the country dropped to a thousand feet bill the scientist called then watch below but don't slow down we've got to get to Toronto. The ship nose down and soon leveled off at the prescribed altitude. Van's vacuum tubes lighted to full brilliancy, and a black spot appeared on the glowing surface just beneath them. A black spot that extended into a streak as the plane continued on its way. They were cutting

a swath of blackness fifty feet wide through the heart of the grove. "'See that?' Van gloated. "'It's killing them by millions. "'And the best of it is the effect it leaves behind. "'The soil is permeated to a depth of several inches "'and the stuff will not germinate in the spots "'where the ray is contracted. "'Oh, it works to perfection.

"'Mobile was exuberance. "'His hopes revived miraculously. "'He gave his motor the gun "'and got out of it every last revolution, that it could turn up he had to get van to Canada not such a bad idea this going after Kelly Bart was voluble in his praise and then caught himself short as he remembered that he doubted Van only half an hour previously doubted him and despaired now van lapsing into gloomy silence after his triumph was again thinking of nothing but revenge the getting

of Dan Kelly meant more to him than the extinction of the moonweed. When they landed at the Toronto airport, they were welcomed with open arms instead of with rifle fire as Bill had anticipated. The news had gone ahead of them. Already a thousand planes flying over the United States were driving back the Sea of Destruction. The invisible ray was a success, and the name of Karl Van Venter was now a thing with which to conjure, rather than the same. than one on which to heap imprecation and insult. Van grimaced Riley in this last bit of news. And of Danny Kelly?

No one at the airport had ever heard of him. Van telephoned into the city to police headquarters. Oh yes, they had apprehended the fugitive American at the request of Washington, but he was a slippery customer. He'd escaped. So Van raged and fumed. of what use were the congratulations of the night-flyers who still loitered in the hangar of what consolation the radio reports of the success of the ultra indigo ray in the states and in

europe he had come after his man they'd failed and defeat was a bitter pill these broadcasts from the states were jubilant and became increasingly so during the night the moonweed was being driven back on a wide front and by morning will be entirely surrounded there will be no further loss of life and little more destruction of property car van deventa had saved the day van grunted his disgust whenever an announcer mentioned his name when daylight came they prepared to return little use there was of searching the highways and byways of canada for the fugitive he'd simply have to wait until the canadians were able to get a line on dan kelly again

Oh, it was maddening. But Bart was glad. The light of reason was returning to his friend's eyes in the reaction. Then there was a telephone call from the city for Van. Police headquarters wanted him. The fanatical glint returned to his eyes when he ran for the hangar to answer the call. Perhaps they'd already captured Cali, and he had an order in his pocket for the man's return to the States.

he'd been made a deputy and with Kelly released to him anything might happen something would surely happen but the police were reporting the unexplainable reappearance of the moonweed just outside the city limits at a point near cook's room would uh mr van deventa be so kind as to fly over there and destroy it before any lives were lost yes he would the growth had covered an acre of ground by the time they reached the spot designated but it was the work of only a minute to blast it out of existence with the ultra indigo ray van then surveyed the blackened and shrivelled mass with satisfaction let's land and take a look at it he said but thought he saw a look of exultation flash over his careworn features soon they were wading deep in the blackened remains of the moonweed the stems and tendrils

and crumbled into powder as they passed through. The stuff was done for, no question of that. Bill Peterson yelled and pointed a shaking forefinger at an object that lay in the black and drew him. It was a human skeleton, the bones, bare of flesh and gleaming white in the light of the early morning sun. Van was on his knees, quick as the flash,

feeling around the gruesome thing, pouring at the shreds of clothing that remained. and then he was on his feet his face shining with unholy glee in his hands were a half-dozen small smooth objects which looked like pebbles the diamonds i thought so he exclaimed it's kelly the only way the sea could have gotten up here he had some on his clothes and he didn't know it i couldn't get him myself but anyway i am satisfied fine well he staggered and would have fallen had not Bart caught him in his arms poor old van nearly killed him this thing had but he'd be himself again after it was all over no wonder he'd gone out of his head with the horror of it and the blame that had been so cruelly laid on him no wonder he'd become obsessed with this idea of getting square with Dan Kelly but now he was content sleeping like a babe in Bart's arms Tenderly they carried him to the plane and laid him out on the cushions in the bath.

They'd let him sleep as long as he could, returning to Washington where he'd receive his just Jews in recognition for his services. Van would follow the work of reconstruction rehabilitation. Van would glory in that. But regarded his sleeping friend thoughtfully as they winged their swift way toward the American border. The harsh lines that showed on his face, in the past year hours were smoothed away and in their place was an expression

of deep contentment. He was at peace with the world once more. Good old van. What a difference there would be when he awakened a full realization of the changed order of things. What satisfaction

and relief. And so once again, we reached the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you, for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong,

please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.