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"No one knows except the Mahars and those who go to the pits with them, but as the latter never return, their knowledge does them but little good. It is said that the learned ones cut up their subjects while they are yet alive, thus learning many useful things. However I should not imagine that it would prove very useful to him who was being cut up; but of course this is all but conjecture. The chances are that ere long you will know much more about it than I," and he grinned as he spoke. The Sagoths have a well-developed sense of humor. "And suppose it is the arena," I continued; "what then?" "You saw the two who met the tarag and the thag the time that you escaped?" he said. "Yes." "Your end in the arena would be similar to what was intended for them," he explained, "though of course the same kinds of animals might not be employed."

The rifle boomed. The muzzle flash made Raoul blink, and a cloud of blue-white smoke drifted across the canyon. A long time seemed to pass with nothing happening. But maybe it was only a heartbeat or two. Then the dark, distant figure threw up his arms and toppled sideways from his horse. The horse kept running and was gone over the horizon a moment later. "Right through his noodle," Eli said. "I couldn't of made that shot if he hadn't been riding due south. Too hard to get a lead on him _and_ arch the bullet just right." Eli made it seem just a simple matter of skill, but Raoul felt as if he had just seen a miracle.

"It's a long way from the docks, and a long way from the spaceport." "Oh, just temporary storage," Tom said. "It hasn't been checked in with the Co-op yet." That wasn't any answer--or maybe it was. I let it go at that. Then we came to an open space about fifty feet square. There was a jeep, with a 7-mm machine gun mounted on it, and half a dozen men in boat-clothes were playing cards at a table made out of empty ammunition boxes. I noticed they were all wearing pistols, and when a couple of them saw us, they got up and grabbed rifles. Tom let down and got out of the jeep, going over and talking with them for a few minutes. What he had to tell them didn't seem to bring any noticeable amount of sunlight into their lives.

"_There are no novelties outside_," she said quietly. "_It looks like this is the only Plumie ship anywhere around. It could have been exploring, like us. Maybe it was looking for the people who put up Space-Survey markers._" "Maybe," agreed Baird, using the communicator. "Is that stuff about falling into the sun correct?" "_It seems so_," said Diane composedly. "_I'm checking again. So far, the best course I can get means we graze the sun's photosphere in fourteen days six hours, allowing for acceleration by the sun's gravity._" "And you and I," said Baird wryly, "have been acting as professional associates only, when--" "_Don't say it!_" said Diane shakily. "_It's terrible!_" He put the communicator back in his pocket. The Plumie had watched him.

"It will be more wonderful if we get back to earth," spoke Mark. "Oh, I don't know," went on his chum. "We may like it so on Mars, that we'll want to stay. And there isn't any reason why we shouldn't, provided we find nice people there. We haven't many friends, Mark. Our best ones are right here with us. We could just as well stay as not." "Yes, provided, as you say, that the Martians are nice people. But you must remember that we're going to be strangers in a strange land." "Well, one always treats strangers politely," declared Jack.

But suddenly, across the narrow gap before them, rose a dozen red-robed figures. In the fore was the menacing form of Bra Naan. Leveled at them was the deadly crossbow of the Priesthood. Marima uttered a cry of horror and leaped forward, placing her body between that of Bra Naan and Dahnjen. There was a sharp twang of a bowstring, and the arrow leaped from the priest's crossbow to bury itself in her breast. With a scream she sank to the ground. But as she did so Dahnjen recovered from his frozen surprise and whipped his rifle from his shoulder. Crouching behind her fallen body, he leveled it and pressed the trigger. Bra Naan's head exploded on his shoulders and disintegrated. He fell to the ground.

[Illustration] The beer went down chuck-a-luck. Crowley put the can aside and licked his bottom lip, then rubbed it with a fingertip. He said slowly, "Now take it easy while I think about this." He blinked. "Why you could just walk into a bank and...." The three were watching him, empty-faced. "Exactly," Dr. Braun said. * * * * * Frederick Braun stared gloomily from the hotel suite's window at the street below. He peered absently at his thin wrist, looked blank for a moment, then realized all over again that his watch was being cleaned. He stared down at the street once more, his wrinkled face unhappy.

he exclaimed. "What shall we say to explain them?" "Since we cannot explain them we shall have to leave them behind us," I replied. "Is it not the extreme of rashness to thus put ourselves again, unarmed, in the power of the First Born?" "It is the only way," I answered. "You may trust me to find a way out of the prison of Shador, and I think, once out, that we shall find no great difficulty in arming ourselves once more in a country which abounds so plentifully in armed men." "As you say," he replied with a smile and shrug. "I could not follow another leader who inspired greater confidence than you. Come, let us put your ruse to the test." Boldly we emerged from the hatchway of the craft, leaving our swords behind us, and strode to the main exit which led to the sentry's post and the office of the Dator of the guard.

"Wait! I am exhausted! I can't answer. Speak to me!" . . . . "Courage," resumed my uncle. "Don't speak.

I needed a crew and that's the only reason you're here! Any spaceman that doesn't like the way I run things aboard this ship, better keep it to himself, or start swimming back to the prison asteroid!" He paused. "Well? Are you all with me?" There was a chorus of cheers on the intercom and Coxine nodded grimly. "All right," he continued, "now that we understand each other, I'll get on with the business. Second-in-command to me will be Gus Wallace. _Lieutenant_ Wallace!" A roar of approval came over the loud-speaker.

Neat as a Salariki net-cast--and right around our collective throats, my friends!" "So what do we do now?" Weeks wanted to know. "We keep on the Old Man's course, get lost in the asteroids until we can do some heavy thinking and see a way out. But if I-S gave us this prize package, some trace of its origin is still aboard. And if we can find that--why, then we have something to start from." "Mura went down first--and then Karl. Nothing in common," the old problem faced Dane for the hundredth time. "No. But," Ali arose from his place at the com-unit.

His agitation increased. He found himself with the hardly formulated idea that a school was a place where one learned something, and he did not know what this could mean. He thought of the School that he had attended. All the young people of the District of Fransco attended it: they had been told that there were other Schools, in other districts, and that they were all the same. He had believed it, and forgotten about it. What did it matter? One district was as good as another. He had never travelled. He knew a Man who had gone to the District of Shasta, but he had not been interested in hearing about it. He remembered that the Man had said it was all the same thing, not worth the bother.

He should have known better. One does not spot an eighty-foot space ship with the naked eye when it is 200 miles away. But he saw something, though for seconds he didn't know what it was. Now the little ship was 300 miles high and still rising. Joe was dazed and battered by the vibration of the ship in the graze just past. The sister space ship hadn't lost speed so fast. It would be traveling faster. It would be leaving him farther behind every second. It was rising more sharply. It would rise higher.

He saw the stupefied recognition on the faces of his friends. One despairing glance he cast at Charlotte and then he went on with his act. They waited for him until it was over. They clasped him to their bosoms. They acknowledged Charlotte with critical glances. "Come on and join the party," they said. After that, their silence was worse than any questions. They talked freely and merrily enough, but behind their words was a deep reserve. Lefty broke it when he had an opportunity to take Hugo aside. "What in hell is eating you?

They can get along without me and you know it." "What about Pendleton, Ray? He died here, you know, in mysterious circumstances." "Would going back help him any? He wasn't murdered; we know that. And why do people commit suicide? For what one of several thousand possible reasons did Pendleton? We don't know. We'll never know. And if we did know, what good would it do?"

"Let's forget the riddles and get down to business. What happened to Mel Skinner's hacienda?" The Attorney General stared at his guest for a moment, before remarking harshly: "It got blown up." "A bomb, you mean?" Duran asked. "Oh, no, no--nothing so crude as that. This was a guided missile. With a warhead." The senator was thinking fast now, but still the pattern eluded him. "Not an act of war, surely?"

There have been suppers and dances every night. Our members have not spared themselves. The Kermesse is now over. We have time, as our lady members are saying, to turn round. For the moment we are sitting listening, amid bursts of applause, to our treasurer's statement. As we hear it we realise that this Peace Kermesse has proved the culmination and crown of four winters' war work. But I must explain from the beginning. Our efforts began with the very opening of the war. We felt that a rich organisation like ours ought to do something for the relief of the Belgians. At the same time we felt that our members would rather receive something in the way of entertainment for their money than give it straight out of their pockets.

We'll watch Lola get started. It will be highly instructive for you to watch a really capable Operator at work." * * * President Benton had been introduced; had in turn finished introducing Lola. The crowd, many thousands strong, was cheering. Lola was stepping into the carefully marked speaker's place. "You may disconnect these," she waved a hand at the battery of microphones, "since I do not use speech. Not only do I not know any of your various languages, but no one language would suffice. My thought will go to every person on this, your world." "World?" the President asked in surprise.

Entman scowled. "I'm going to talk to some people about this. I refuse to allow--" "Thanks, but not for a while. I've shaped my operation on a one-man basis. I'd be embarrassed if they relented. I wouldn't know what to do with all the men." Entman's little eyes shone with affection. "I can only wish you good luck." "Thanks. I'll need it."

"Let a volunteer go aboard," commanded the chief executive. "Have him report what he finds." A pause. Then the solemn announcement of an intrepid volunteer's name, from far, far away. Calhoun listened, frowning darkly. This pompous heroism wouldn't be noticed in the Med Service. It would be routine behavior. Suspenseful, second-by-second reports. The volunteer had rocketed himself across the emptiness between the two again-separated ships. He had opened the airlock from outside.

After the half-million people had returned to London, he was allowed to crawl into a carriage, and being thoroughly tired he fell asleep in a corner of the compartment. But the police wanted some entertainment, and waking him up, said: "Now then, darky, tune up! we can pay you as well as the toffs; let's have a song!" They had a concert all the way, Wingfield singing the solos. The hat was sent round and a collection made, and to the bitter end Wingfield had to bang away at his banjo and squeak with what little voice he had left. This nearly finished him. Arriving at Victoria, he hailed a hansom. One driver after another eyed him scornfully and passed on. He then for the first time realised that it is not a customary thing for an itinerant nigger to drive about London in hansoms, even on Derby Day. So he dragged himself wearily along the streets until he happened to meet an intimate friend.

Had to smash up quite a few people. Don't figure on taking it for good. Lucky we were made cheap. Couldn't stand it, otherwise. Hiding in the brush. Eating sticks. Hardly ever sleeping. Lucky we can't catch pneumonia. We could stand conditions far worse than this--but it gets awful tiresome. Seen Granger lately?"

This ransom is too dangerous to arrange." His voice sounded calmly good humored; I could hear in it now more than a trace of alcoholic influence. He added, "I think we had better kill him and have done. My men think so, too; already I have caused trouble with them, by bringing him." It jolted me into full wakefulness. Jetta's voice: "No! I tell you it can be arranged, Hendrick. I have been thinking of it, planning it--" "Child! Well what? The least I can do is listen; I am no pig-headed American.

But when it clearly dawned upon me that the being for whose freedom I had resolutely labored had become the victim of her murderers, that I could never again enfold her beauty with my love, however ardent or tender, I was petrified with horror. My immediate comrades, to whom I communicated the tidings, grew white with the appalling news. The one cry was, "Could Lyone, the idol of her army, the goddess of her people, be indeed dead? Was the voice that could conjure such love and devotion hushed forever?" Leaving a guard to watch over the body of the goddess, I set out for Kioram. Barely escaping arrest at the hands of several wayleals, we arrived safely at the fortress. It was our wings and spears, and not the passport of the king, that saved us. The council in Kioram, on hearing of the death of the queen, grew excited. The one desire in the hearts of all had been to save Lyone's life--but, alas! I despatched a messenger to the king, charging him with the murder of the queen, and stating that I should exact retribution at his hands for the foul deed.

It seemed to have nothing to do with him. But Sattell undoubtedly dealt with it fully in his desperate writings back to Earth. * * * * * Pop matter-of-factly tended the shack and the landing field and the stores for the Big Crack mine. Between-times he made more drawings in pursuit of his own private objective. Quite accidentally, he developed a certain talent professional artists might have approved. But he was not trying to communicate, but to discover. Drawing--especially with his mind on Sattell--he found fresh incidents popping up in his recollection. Times when he was happy. One day he remembered the puppy his children had owned and loved. He drew it painstakingly--and it was his again.

Her tone was hardly enthusiastic. "If we do, you'd better not try making the passes at me you did the last time!" "You expect me to resist the temptation of all that beautiful skin?" he retorted, grinning down at her. She gave a pert shake of her head. "When I give in to a man, he'll be my husband," she said firmly. "And he'll be my husband because he loves me--not because he drools over my body!" "Ummm," Morrow ummed, doubtfully. He decided it would be best to change the subject. "Read the latest _Universe_?"

They were supposed to record memoranda and--" Fay held up a palm and shook his head and again listened for a space. Then, "That's how ticklers were supposed to be of use to humans," he said. "I don't mean that at all. I mean how ticklers were supposed to be of use to themselves. Surely you had some notion." Fay wet his lips. "If it's any help," he added, "keep in mind that it's not Fay who's asking this question, but Pooh-Bah." Gusterson hesitated. He had the feeling that every one of the eight dual beings in the room was hanging on his answer and that something was boring into his mind and turning over his next thoughts and peering at and under them before he had a chance to scan them himself. Pooh-Bah's eye was like a red searchlight.

The Pilot's Assister is the official name of the new English device. It weighs about 120 pounds. Flights have been made with the mechanical pilot in all sorts of weather. In dense fog and clouds, when a human pilot would have found it almost impossible to maintain straight or level flight because of the absence of any visible horizon by which to steer, the mechanical pilot flew the plane with absolute accuracy. On one test flight the automatic pilot steered a dead true course from Farnborough in South England, to Newcastle, 270 miles farther north. The human pilot did not touch the controls until it was necessary to land the plane at the destination. Jetta of the Lowlands Conclusion _By Ray Cummings_ [Sidenote: Black-garbed figures move in ghastly greenness as the invisible flyer speeds on its business of ransom.] [Illustration: _Hans and I hauled out the heavy casket._] CHAPTER XV _In the Bandit Camp_ The dark cave, with its small spots of tube-light mounted upon movable tripods, was eery with grotesque swaying shadows. The bandit camp. Hidden down here in the depths of the Mid-Atlantic Lowlands.

"The embassy contacted me. They can set you at home six months after you left -- there's a courier gateway this afternoon." "Six months!" I said. "My Mama will go crazy! Can't you get me home any sooner?" Pondicherry smirked. "Don't complain to me, boy. You dug this hole yourself. The next scheduled courier going anywhere near your departure-point is in five years.

Rip grinned back. "Nunez," he called, "how are things at the cave?" "Sir, this is Nunez. Two Connies were prowling around, but they didn't see the entrance. Then, a minute ago, they hurried away." Rip considered. "Koa, how many Connies have you?" "Four, sir." With the five he and Dowst had taken, that meant four sill at large, and from Nunex's report, some Connie yelling had been going on. The four certainly knew by this time that there were Federal men on the asteroid.

"Not a chance," he admitted. "I'm due up in Erickson's office in five hours. I wonder if I've got a chance with them...." * * * * * Five hours of driving, and Rawson walked into the office of Erickson, Incorporated, with a steady step. Another hour, and his tanned face had gone a trifle pale; his lips were set grimly in a straight line that would not relax under the verdict he felt certain he was about to hear. For an hour he had faced the steely-eyed man across the long table in the Directors Room--faced him and replied to questions from this man and the half-dozen others seated there. Skeptical questions, tricky questions; and now the man was speaking: "Rawson, six months ago you laid your Tonah Basin plans before us--plans to get power from the center of the Earth, to utilize that energy, and to control the power situation in this whole Southwest. It looked like a wild gamble then, but we investigated. It still looks like a gamble." "Yes," said Rawson, "it is a gamble. Did I ever call it anything else?"

"He _was_ angry," said Smith. "Do you know what has happened, Comrade Brown? With your very first contribution to the paper you have hit the bull's-eye. You have done the state some service. Friend Parker came as the representative of the owner of those Broster Street houses. He wanted to buy us off. We've got them scared, or he wouldn't have shown his hand with such refreshing candor. Have you any engagements at present?" "I was just going out to lunch, if you could spare me." "Not alone.

But it isn't foreign enemies we must fear today. We've created a nation divided into Davids and Goliaths--and David and Goliath are always enemies." "David killed Goliath," Eric said. "Does that mean we're going to die?" "Only if we're as stupid as Goliath was. Only if we wear our telescreens like invincible armor and pay no attention to the slingshot in David's hands." Eric lit a reef. "All right," he said. "You don't have to lecture. I'm willing to join.

"The night is young," he said, "and you're so dutiful. Where was I? Oh yes, Bell. At first our electronic pawn-pusher wasn't so hot--it could beat the pants off a lousy player, but an expert just made it look silly. But we kept improving it, see, building more and more electronic anticipation and gambit-plotting powers into it, and finally, one great day in '55, we thought we had all the kinks ironed out and were ready for the big test. By this time, of course, Washington had stepped in and taken over the whole project. "Well, we got hold of Fortunescu, the world's champion chess player, sat him down and turned the robot loose on him. For four hours straight we followed the match, with a delegation of big brass from Washington, and for four hours straight the machine trounced Fortunescu every game. That was when I began to get scared. I went out that night and got really loaded."

Didn't any of yours give you a hand?" "They offered to--most kindly," said King Sidney, "but--well, I didn't altogether relish letting them dress me." "They'd have made a jolly sight neater job of it than you have--keep still a jiff till I've tucked this tape in. There--that's more like it. And I say, you and the Mater had better hurry--you're keeping the whole Court waiting for you!" "Why didn't you tell us before?" said the Queen in a violent flurry. "Where--where _are_ the Court?" "All drawn up in the Hall at the foot of the big staircase. They can't make a move till you come down, and lead the way in to dinner, you know!"

"For flying, we have an aeroplane that came in when we devised a suitable motor power. This is obtained from very light paper-cell batteries that combine some qualities of the primary and secondary type, since they must first be charged from a dynamo, after which they can supply full currents for one hundred hours--enough to take them around the globe--while partly consuming the elements in the cells. The power is applied through turbine screws, half of which are capable of propelling the flat deck in its inclined position at sufficient speed to prevent its falling. The moving parts have ball bearings and friction rollers, lubrication being secured automatically, when required, by a supply of vaseline that melts if any part becomes hot. All the framing is of thin but very durable galvanized aluminum, which has superseded steel for every purpose in which weight is not an advantage, as in the permanent way on railways. The air ships, whose length varies from fifty to five hundred feet, have rudders for giving a vertical or a horizontal motion, and several strengthening keels that prevent leeway when turning. They are entirely on the principle of birds, maintaining themselves mechanically, and differing thus from the unwieldy balloon. Starting as if on a circular railway, against the wind, they rise to a considerable height, and then, shutting off the batteries, coast down the aerial slope at a rate that sometimes touches five hundred miles an hour. When near the ground the helmsman directs the prow upward, and, again turning on full current, rushes up the slope at a speed that far exceeds the eagle's, each drop of two miles serving to take the machine twenty or thirty; though, if the pilot does not wish to soar, or if there is a fair wind at a given height, he can remain in that stratum of the atmosphere by moving horizontally. He can also maintain his elevation when moving very slowly, and though the headway be entirely stopped, the descent is gradual on account of the aeroplane's great spread, the batteries and motors being secured to the under side of the deck.

I thought for a moment, then tried a shot in the dark, illogical as it was. "You lost your home? Derelicted resident?" He looked like I'd stepped on his sore corn. I tried again. "You don't mean you were kicked out of the group?" He winced. "Oohhh, nooo! Opposition. Opposition."

The change was even very dimly apparent in his face. He had once been a big, easy-going, timid soul, nagged by his wife. Now his features bore a hint of brutality. He walked with a slight swagger. He did not roar, but the aura of power was there. Ed's mother explained the change to his father: "Memory seems not always to match facts, Jack. Mrs. Payten fooled herself into believing that Ronald Payten used to be a bully. So she even fooled Schaeffer's mind-machines. And lo!

The arctic seas were teeming with practically all the fish from the Atlantic Ocean. For once the Eskimos had no difficulty in securing enough to eat. The inhabitants of the seas in which the Silver Menace had appeared, without exception, fled from its sticky masses. Morrison remained shut up in his house, sunk in despondency and gloom, while the silvery jelly crept up the shores of his little island slowly but surely, higher and higher day by day. His butler came to him with a white face. "Mr. Morrison, sir," said the butler hesitatingly, "the gardener says, sir, that that there silver stuff is creepin' up higher, sir." "All right, let it creep!" snapped Morrison angrily. "But, sir," ventured the butler once more, "it's creepin' up on the bridge."

"When I was in New York last winter I summoned up courage and wrote Professor Farrago. He came to see me at the Holland House that same evening; I told him as much as I ever shall tell anybody. That is all, Mr. Gilland." For a long time I sat silent, musing over the strange words. After a while I asked him whether Professor Farrago was supplied with provisions; and he said he was; that a great store of staples and tins of concentrated rations had been carried in as far as Little Sprite Lake; that Professor Farrago was now there alone, having insisted upon dismissing all those he had employed. "There was no practical use for a guide," added Rowan, "because no cracker, no Indian, and no guide knows the region beyond the Seminole country." I rose, thanking him and offering my hand. He took it and shook it in manly fashion, saying: "I consider Professor Farrago a very brave man; I may say the same of any man who volunteers to accompany him. Good-bye, Mr.

Not that I don't enjoy your company," he added quickly, "but she seems to be highly strung." "Do you think I like the situation any better than you? But this is the way the mbretersha has ordered it." "I suppose she knows what she's doing," Mattern sighed. In any case, the mbretersha's orders were absolute and could not be contravened--otherwise, at least one universe might be destroyed. There were still so many things he didn't understand and was not likely to learn. "Strange," he went on pensively, "that Lyddy should have seen you, when I hardly can, and I _know_ you're here." He knew, too, that the kqyres was deliberately vibrating out of phase, so that the horror of his appearance in this continuum would be spared not only those he chanced to meet, but also himself. There was always the danger of passing a mirror. Knowing how the kqyres looked in his own universe, knowing how he himself looked in the kqyres' universe, Mattern didn't doubt that any revelation would be a frightful one.

"Obviously there's something wrong with our judgment of their weight-to-speed-to-momentum ratio. Maybe it's something simple like low gravity aboard ship, with magnetic shoes. Maybe they _are_ floating slightly." "Why worry?" Nathen cut in. "I don't see any reason to try to figure it out now." He laughed and shoved back his black hair nervously. "We'll see them in twenty minutes." "Will we?" asked the _Times_ slowly.

In spite of the French spelling, he pronounced the name "George," in the English manner. He had welcomed the two Earthmen into his office, smiling the automatic smile of the diplomat as he welcomed them to Pallas. As soon as they were comfortably seated--though perhaps that word did not exactly apply to Edway Tarnhorst--Georges Alhamid said: "Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?" He asked it as though he were completely unaware of what had brought the two men to Pallas. Tarnhorst looked as though he were privately astonished that his host could speak grammatically. "Mr. Alhamid," he began, "I don't know whether you're aware that the industrial death rate here in the Belt has been the subject of a great deal of discussion in both industrial and governmental circles on Earth." It was a half question, and he let it hang in the air, waiting to see whether he got an answer. "Certainly my office has received a great deal of correspondence on the subject," Alhamid said. His voice sounded as though Tarnhorst had mentioned nothing more serious than a commercial deal.

I think she is very much to be pitied. But when it comes to having her always here----' 'I know, dear. Don't think I am looking forward to the prospect; you know I don't want anybody but you. Still, we ought to think of the future, and besides we shall be able to live so very much better. I shall be able to give you all sorts of nice things that I know you ought to have after all that hard work in the City. Our income would be doubled.' 'Do you mean she would pay us £150 a year?' 'Certainly. And she would pay for the spare room being furnished, and any extra she might want. She told me, specially, that if a friend or two came now and again to see her, she would gladly bear the cost of a fire in the drawing-room, and give something towards the gas bill, with a few shillings for the girl for any additional trouble.

His height was fully six feet, his form was very spare, his face thin, his nose sharp and prominent, his eyes and hair grey, and his face closely shaven, wrinkled, and sallow. He was dressed in a plain black dress-coat and pants, of a style about three years old. His vest was of black satin, his shirt-bosom was scrupulously white; a black silk choker was tightly enveloped about his neck, above which peered a diminutive collar, which, when it was put on, was without doubt a standing-collar, but the starch had not been made of such a consistency as to render it consistent for the collar to stand up against the unstiffening effects of a hot day's sweating. As I saw him, he was coming down the street at a rapid rate, describing all sorts of geometrical figures on the sidewalk, and making efforts to sing the words of "Yankee Doodle" to the tune of "Old Hundred." Whenever he ran against an awning-post, he would stop, and expostulate with the post for its want of civility, and would insist that the post had never been born and bred in the St. Lawrence country, or it would have shown more politeness to strangers. He was entirely unable to account for the sudden revolutions of the earth, which made day and night follow each other in such quick succession. When he ran against a lamp-post, he would look up to the light and insist that it was dinner-time, and would wonder why the old woman didn't blow the horn. At that moment a policeman came along, and was going to take him into custody. On observing the policeman's uniform, he inquired of him whether he was a 'Merican or British soger, and whether the Russians had whipped Nicholas, and whether Cuba had begun to bombard General Pierce at Sebastopol.

"Picked it up on the teleceiver inside the ship. Thought you might like to know how safe we are here." Simms grinned back, "And how far off the track they are. Where is that space quadrant they think we're in?" "Out past Saturn," said Wallace with a grin. "With the Mars garrison chasing us at one end of the system, we'll hit them on the other and be gone before they know what happened!" Simms patted the barrel of the nearest atomic blaster. "And, spaceman, we're going to hit them hard!" CHAPTER 10 "Stop your ship and be recognized!" The rasping voice on the audioceiver was sharp.

Like most of those of the new flesh, they kept this secret as if by intuitive prudence. The many people restored in normal protoplasm were less reticent. That there were androids around him, known, suspected and unrecognized as such, was a thrilling idea to Ed Dukas. It was part of the onward march to greater wonders--or so it seemed to him most of the time. Eager to understand how they thought and felt, he sought them out cautiously, not wishing to offend. Usually his efforts were met with coolness and evasion--which perhaps gave them away. But then Ed met a very special memory man. He wasn't the copy of somebody famous. He was just a humorous legend. Yet now perhaps he was the right kind of personality striking against the right sort of circumstances to produce the type of action and fire that could affect the existing era.

Those who still claim that the Angles were right Angles are certainly ignorant of English history. They were obtuse Angles, and when bedtime came and they tried to walk a crack, the historian, in a spirit of mischief, exclaims that they were mostly a pack of Isosceles Try Angles, but this doubtless is mere badinage. They were all savages, and their religion was entirely unfit for publication. Socially they were coarse and repulsive. Slaves did the housework, and serfs each morning changed the straw bedding of the lord and drove the pigs out of the boudoir. The pig was the great social middle class between the serf and the nobility: for the serf slept with the pig by day, and the pig slept with the nobility at night. And yet they were courageous to a degree (the Saxons, not the pigs). They were fearless navigators and reckless warriors. Armed with their rude meat-axes and one or two Excalibars, they would take something in the way of a tonic and march right up to the mouth of the great Thomas catapult, or fall in the moat with a courage that knew not, recked not of danger. Christianity was first preached in Great Britain in 597 A.D., at the suggestion of Gregory, afterwards Pope, who by chance saw some Anglican youths exposed for sale in Rome.

I shall always feel degraded in your eyes. Of course you are the victim of a practical joke." Du Maurier pulled from his pocket one of my supposed returns. It was an imitation of printing, with the amounts filled in. "This is the kind of thing I get every morning." "Why, of course, it is written, not printed. That is the work of the irrepressible practical joker. But it makes no difference, du Maurier; if you thought that I would be such a cad as to send you these returns, I cannot see how we can ever be great friends." Although as du Maurier believed for a time I had the necessary vulgarity of the "bloated millionaire," to use his own words, we were never much more than acquaintances--although very pleasant acquaintances--and I believe du Maurier reciprocated the kind feeling I had towards him. Du Maurier rarely forgave a satirical thrust at his expense.

Then, with eyes still tearless, but with dry sobs breaking from her throat, she tottered to her seat before the desk, and let her face fall forward upon her arms, moaning from time to time like some hurt animal, and so heedless of all about her that she did not hear a light step in the hall without, nor the approach of the man who paused in the doorway to gaze at her in troubled surprise. He was a tall and slender young fellow, with a handsome face, an eye clear, frank, and keen, and a mouth which, but for the moustache which shadowed it, might have been pronounced too strong for beauty. A moment he stood looking with growing pity upon the grieving woman, and then he turned and silently tip-toed across the room and to the outer door. Standing there he seemed to ponder, and then, softly stepping back to the vacant platform, he seated himself in the teacher's chair and idly opened the first of the volumes scattered over the desk, smiling as he read the name, Charles Brierly, written across the fly-leaf. "Poor old Charley," he said to himself, as he closed the book. "I wonder how he enjoys his pedagogic venture, the absurd fellow," and then by some strange instinct he lifted his eyes to the clock on the opposite wall, and the strangeness of the situation seemed to strike him with sudden force and brought him to his feet. What did it mean! This silent school-room! These empty desks and scattered books! Where were the pupils?

* * * * * At some Southern town we played once with "The Old Homestead"; the rehearsal was called for 4:30. At 4:30 all the musicians were there but the bass fiddler. "Where is your bass fiddler?" asked our director. "Well, he can't get here just yet," replied one of the other players. "When will he be here?" "Well, if it rains he is liable to be in any minute now; if it don't rain he can't get here until six o'clock." "What has the rain got to do with it?" "He drives the sprinkling cart." * * * * * The worst orchestra I ever heard was with an Uncle Tom's Cabin show playing East St.

Henderson," he said sternly. "It is your plain duty to your client." "God be my witness that I doubt it," replied Henderson, and opened the door. We descended the steps. The air beneath was damp and chill. It touched us as with clammy fingers; and the sensation was not wholly physical. Before the narrow mansion which now sufficed Lord Southery, the great engineer whom kings had honored, Henderson reeled and clutched at me for support. Smith and I had looked to him for no aid in our uncanny task, and rightly. With averted eyes he stood over by the steps of the tomb, whilst my friend and myself set to work. In the pursuit of my profession I had undertaken labors as unpleasant, but never amid an environment such as this.

In a conversational sense, he was sparring for wind. Molly had regained her composure by this time. Her father was taking the thing better than she had expected. "It's Jimmy, father, dear," she said. "Jimmy Pitt." "Dear old James," murmured the visitor. "I know, me dear, I know. Wahye?" "Still well," replied Jimmy cheerfully. "Sitting up, you will notice," he added, waving a hand in the direction of his teacup, "and taking nourishment.

"Going up!" said my uncle, with a shrug. "No doubt, for the last half-hour the inclines have gone the other way, and at this rate we shall soon arrive upon the level soil of Iceland." The Professor nodded slowly and uneasily like a man that declines to be convinced. I tried to resume the conversation. He answered not a word, and gave the signal for a start. I saw that his silence was nothing but ill-humour. Still I had courageously shouldered my burden again, and was rapidly following Hans, whom my uncle preceded. I was anxious not to be left behind. My greatest care was not to lose sight of my companions.

They were well-meaning, but they could not run any faster by virtue of that. Kay's would have to trust to its scrum to pull it through. Peel, the sprinter whom Kennedy had discovered in his search for athletes, had to be put in the pack on account of his weight, which deprived the three-quarter line of what would have been a good man in that position. It was a drawback, too, that Fenn was accustomed to play on the wing. To be of real service, a wing three-quarter must be fed by his centres, and, unfortunately, there was no centre in Kay's--or Dencroft's, as it should now be called--who was capable of making openings enough to give Fenn a chance. So he had to play in the centre, where he did not know the game so well. Kennedy realised at an early date that the one chance of the house was to get together before the house-matches and play as a coherent team, not as a collection of units. Combination will often make up for lack of speed in a three-quarter line. So twice a week Dencroft's turned out against scratch teams of varying strength. It delighted Kennedy to watch their improvement.

When he returned his face was pallid, and there was a sick look in his eyes. The girl asked sharply: "What is it? What's wrong? Tell me, Allan!" He looked at her grimly, started to say something, thought better of it. Then: "It wasn't a pleasant sight." He shrugged. "Come on, let's see what we can find. We'll have to spend the night here, and start for Sugar Loaf Mountain in the morning." Once more Allan descended a narrow, spiral staircase into darkness and silence.

_The idiots! Training themselves for some future battle while their charges go off to face God knows what dangers!_ "Which road did the Tartars take? I must go after them." The contessa was by now rather obviously annoyed at his lack of interest in her. "I do not know. Perhaps Cardinal Paulus knows. He spoke to them before they left." Simon bade the contessa a polite good-bye. She insisted on embracing him. He wondered if he had looked as foolish to Sophia as Donna Elvira now appeared to him.

Adari trimmed the Raven's controls and clamped a mag beam on the tug. She and the tug driver exchanged salutations and prattled navigational details as the escort moved off with the Raven following like an elephant leashed to a flea. Adari logged their destination: Slot 09 along Coldfield marker 13K. Their passage was slow. Despite the heavy traffic of tugs, taxis, and other small craft the lanes were orderly and the flow steady. Traffic thinned as the ship drifted across surface-parked lots for small vessels and disappeared entirely as the Raven closed on its mooring towers. The escort rattled off the coordinates and the Raven fixed her position. Adari released the mag-beam. The tug slipped around to starboard and mag-nosed the clumsy vessel into its slot. A command from the tug and mooring beams glowed at the fore-and-aft towers to immobilize the Raven.

"I don't expect to fruit for another two months," Phyllis said coldly, "and why shouldn't we have another festival? We can afford it and I like parties. I haven't been to one since the day I landed." [Illustration] "Is the life out here getting a little quiet for you, petiole?" the tree asked solicitously. "It must be hard when one has no intellectual resources upon which to draw." * * * * * Phyllis held her peace for ten seconds; then, "I wonder where those boys can be," she said. "I hope they bring some pickles along. I asked to have some sent, but I'm accustomed to having no attention paid to what I want." "There's a surprise coming for you, Phyllis," James could not help telling her again, hoping to arouse some semblance of interest.

A hotter and a closer night I have never known. "The flat will be like an oven," I grumbled, at the head of our own staircase. "Then we won't go down," said Raffles, promptly; "we'll slack it up here for a bit instead. No, Bunny, you stay where you are! I'll fetch you a drink and a deck-chair, and you shan't come down till you feel more fit." And I let him have his way, I will not say as usual, for I had even less than my normal power of resistance that night. That villainous upper-cut! My head still sang and throbbed, as I seated myself on one of the aforesaid parapets, and buried it in my hot hands. Nor was the night one to dispel a headache; there was distinct thunder in the air. Thus I sat in a heap, and brooded over my misadventure, a pretty figure of a subordinate villain, until the step came for which I waited; and it never struck me that it came from the wrong direction.

There is not a farmer nor a fisherman that cannot read and does not read. Our principle is, that books, instead of growing mouldy behind an iron grating, should be worn out under the eyes of many readers. Therefore, these volumes are passed from one to another, read over and over, referred to again and again; and it often happens that they find their way back to their shelves only after an absence of a year or two." "And in the meantime," said my uncle rather spitefully, "strangers--" "Well, what would you have? Foreigners have their libraries at home, and the first essential for labouring people is that they should be educated. I repeat to you the love of reading runs in Icelandic blood. In 1816 we founded a prosperous literary society; learned strangers think themselves honoured in becoming members of it. It publishes books which educate our fellow-countrymen, and do the country great service. If you will consent to be a corresponding member, Herr Liedenbrock, you will be giving us great pleasure." My uncle, who had already joined about a hundred learned societies, accepted with a grace which evidently touched M. Fridrikssen.

He fought to break free of his bonds so that he might warn the loyal Vininese garrison. The two guards shoved him back roughly. One of them grabbed Dirrul's tunic in a claw grip and the cloth tore open, revealing Sorgel's identification disk. Both guards bent over him, fingering the disk, talking soundlessly with their facile fingers. Suddenly they jerked the disk off, snapping the chain. At the same moment a rolling explosion from within the wall shook the earth. Dirrul heard a great noise and a terrifying fear filled his mind. It was a steady undiminishing fear that gripped every muscle of his body. His throat was ice-cold. His heart pounded and gasped for breath.

Patch leaned into the hole and pushed the solid flesh as far as it would go. Turning, he motioned Swat toward Ram. For a moment Flume faced away from Hodak. He did not see the boomerang before it twisted around his throat and was gone. Intent on Ram, Swat and Patch saw neither the strike nor the weapon. They heard a gurgling sound and whirled. Flume was on the tunnel floor, blood pulsing from the neck of his headless torso. The head, itself, had rolled against the opposite wall, eyes open. Panicked, they fired frantically down the tunnel in both directions. The boomerang back in his hand, Hodak waited.

At almost the first glance he saw that the newest evolutionary thought was correct--these were simian, but not apes. Ape and man, as he had often heard, sprang from the same common fore-father, low-browed, muzzle-faced, hairy. Such were these, in varying degrees of intensity. None wore clothes. Grinning mouths exhibited fanglike teeth, bare chests broadened powerfully, clumsy hands with short, ineffectual thumbs made foolish gestures. But the feet, for instance, were not like hands, they were flat pedestals with forward-projecting toes. The legs, though short, were powerful. Man's father, decided Parr, must have had something of the bear about his appearance ... and the most bearlike of the twenty or thirty beast-men heaved himself erect and came slouching across toward Parr. This thing had once been a giant of a man, and remained a giant of an animal. None of the others present were nearly as large, nor were any of the men who had driven Parr forth.

He says holy smoke, what a murky-looking planet we live on." Nathen smiled. "Kidding." The _Times_ was puzzled. "What does he mean, murky? It can't be raining over much territory on Earth." Outside, the rain was slowing and bright blue patches of sky were shining through breaks in the cloud blanket, glittering blue light from the drops that ran down the windows. He tried to think of an explanation. "Maybe they're trying to land on Venus." The thought was ridiculous, he knew.

"Why not let her come with me? I can guarantee her protection. I have brought fifty men with me, more than a match for a few bedouin." "Gracious," she said. "Evidently I was unaware of the magnitude of this matter. I absolutely _must_ go." Johnny said, "No." She looked at him appraisingly. "Mr. McCord," she said, "I am here for a story.

They cruised about above the surface, watching their instruments to find and record any metallic ore deposits, especially the new one. The terrain was so forbidding, so desolate, that even the irrepressible Jon felt no desire to land on it, or to go outside. Again their mother took most of the needed photographs, while the boys recorded all the other data of geography, size and conditions generally. Finally, Jon set the ship down on a fairly level plateau close to what they figured was the equator. "Well, here we are and that's all I care about," Jon announced with a shiver. "We'll use the distant hands to put out the marker. Then we'll see if we can find the location of that fuel deposit." Jak agreed. "I wouldn't go out there for a million credits." He shuddered as he looked out the port while the others crowded about to view that forbidding scene.

What is the matter now?" "You can search me!" responded the other boy. "If this sort of business keeps on I shall wish, with Wash, that we'd never come to Alaska." "You can wish it with me!" grumbled Mark. "Washington doesn't want to get back to Maine any more than I do right now, Jack." "We must complete the repairing of the _Snowbird_," gasped Jack. "And where are the rods--and the plane frame? And where are the lights?"

There were iron knives, a roast kid, a basket of peanuts, a sack of roasted coffee beans, a string of dried fruit, and a tiny earthware flask of perfume. There was even a woolen riga for Aaron, black, suggesting that the Survey had said a bit to the natives about Amish custom; and there were bolts of bright-patterned cloth too worldly for aught but quilts and infant-dresses, brightening Martha's eyes. Aaron stood to accept the guest gifts with elaborate thanks. Sarki Kazunzumi as elaborately bemeaned his offerings. "Musa the carpenter will appear on tomorrow's tomorrow," he said. "You will, the Mother willing, visit me in Datura tomorrow. We will together purchase lumber worthy of my friend-neighbor's barn-making. May the Mother give you strength to farm, Haruna! May the Mother grant you the light of understanding!" "_Sannu, sannu!_" Stoltzfoos responded.

We can only hope." "And pray," their mother added determinedly. "We'll make out some way," Jon tried to cheer them all. "Meanwhile, I suggest I cut to one G and that Mom fixes us some grub. We have to eat." "That's a good idea," his father agreed, and Jon manipulated his controls. They all felt the sudden relief of once more being their accustomed weight. Mrs. Carver unstrapped herself and left for the galley. Jak also unstrapped, saying, "I'll go help Mom."

Morey cried jubilantly. "The first men ever to leave Earth--I'm going to start the old sender and radio back home! Man--look at that stretch of plain!" He jumped to his feet and started across the control room. "Lord--I feel like of ton of lead now--I sure am out of condition for walking after all that time just floating!" Arcot raised a restraining hand. "Whoa--wait a minute there, Morey--you won't get anything through to them now. The Earth is on the other side of Venus--it's on the night side, remember--and we're on the day side. In about twelve hours we'll be able to send a message. In the meantime, take the controls while I make a test of the air here, will you?"

"_There's an air pressure outside the ship!_" he cried out in surprise. "High oxygen, very little nitrogen, breathable apparently, provided there are no poisons. Temperature ten below zero C." "Lights are off because relays opened when the crash short circuited them." Morey and the entire group were suddenly shaking. "Nervous shock," commented Zezdon Afthen. "It will be an hour or more before we will be in condition to work." "Can't wait," replied Arcot testily, his nerves on edge, too. "Morey, make some good strong coffee if you can, and we'll waste a little air on some smokes." Morey rose and went to the door that led through the main passage to the galley.

Rodan took charge at once. "Back!" he commanded. Then he was avidly busy in the pit, working as carefully as a fine jeweller. He cleared more dust away, not with a trowel, not with his gloved fingers, but with a little nylon brush. The thing was like a seven-pointed star, four feet across. And was the ripped, transparent casing of its body and limbs another version of a vacuum armor? The material resembled stellene. As in an Archer, there were metal details, mechanical, electronic, and perhaps nuclear. In the punctured covering, the corpse was dry, of course--stomach, brain sac, rough, pitted skin, terminal tendrils--some coarse, some fine, almost, as thread, for doing the most delicate work, half out of protecting sheaths at the ends of its arms or legs.

But the ugly impossible idea dogged him even there. "If Steel had been guilty--but he isn't, I tell you--no, but if he had been, just for argument, would she ever have looked--hush!--idiot and egotist!--No, but _would_ she? And could you have made her happy if she had?--Ah, that's another thing ... I wonder!--It is worth wondering about; you know you have failed before. Yes, yes, yes; do you think I forget it? No, but I must remind you. Are you the type to make women happy, women with anything in them, women with nerves? Are you not moody, morbid, uneven, full of yourself?--No, of my work. It comes to the same thing for the woman. Could you have made her happy?--yes or no! If no, then pull yourself together and never think of it.

"The other two geniuses," Dr. O'Connor said, "the other two geniuses both happen to be connected with the project known as Project Isle--an operation whose function I neither know, nor care to know, anything at all about." Malone nodded. Project Isle was the non-rocket spaceship. Classified. Top Secret. Ultra Secret. And, he thought, just about anything else you could think of. "At first," Dr. O'Connor was saying, "our detector recorded the time periods of--ah--mental invasion as being the same as before.

"My wife and I left the place at once, and for a long time I lived in a hell of suspense lest she should develop the infernal disease. By a merciful providence, however, she did no such thing, but, on the contrary, picked up in health in the most marvellous fashion; indeed, she only told me yesterday, she felt better than she had done for years. I've told you the story, O'Donnell--and it is true in every detail--because it goes a long way to substantiate your theory that animals, as well as human beings, have a future life." "I am absolutely sure they have!" I replied. _Jungle Animals and Psychic Faculties_ It is, of course, impossible to say whether animals of the jungle possess psychic faculties, without putting them to the test, and this, for obvious reasons, is extremely difficult. But since I have found that such properties are possessed--in varying degree--by all animals I have tested, it seems only too probable that bears and tigers, and all beasts of prey, are similarly endowed. It would be interesting to experiment with a beast of prey in a haunted locality; to observe to what extent it would be aware of the advent of the Unknown, and to note its behaviour in the actual presence of the phenomena. PART III BIRDS AND THE UNKNOWN CHAPTER VII BIRDS AND THE UNKNOWN As Edgar Allan Poe has suggested in his immortal poem of "The Raven," there is a strong link between certain species of birds and the Unknown. We all know that vultures, kites and crows scent dead bodies from a great way off, but we don't all know that these and other kinds of birds possess, in addition, the psychic property of scenting the advent not only of the phantom of death, but of many, if not, indeed, all other spirits.

A--ah--a Helena Glinska--" * * * * * "Hello," Erika Ashby's voice said from the door. "Nick, are you there? May I come in?" The sound of her voice sent delicious chills rushing up and down Martin's spine. He swung round, mike in hand, to welcome her. But St. Cyr, pleased at this diversion, roared before he could speak. "No, no, no, no! Go! Go at once.

Look at it, sir! (Pointing to the map.) Do not you see from these broad, brown lines drawn around this immense territory that the enterprising inhabitants of Duluth intend some day to inclose it all in one vast corral, so that its commerce will be bound to go there, whether it would or not? (Great laughter.) And here, sir (still pointing to the map), I find within a convenient distance the Piegan Indians, which, of all the many accessories to the glory of Duluth, I consider by far the most inestimable. For, sir, I have been told that when the small-pox breaks out among the women and children of that famous tribe, as it sometimes does, they afford the finest subjects in the world for the strategical experiments of any enterprising military hero who desires to improve himself in the noble art of war (laughter); especially for any valiant lieutenant general, whose "Trenchant blade, Toledo trusty, For want of fighting has grown rusty, And eats into itself for lack Of somebody to hew and hack." (Great laughter.) Sir, the great conflict now raging in the Old World has presented a phenomenon in military science unprecedented in the annals of mankind--a phenomenon that has reversed all the traditions of the past as it has disappointed all the expectations of the present. A great and warlike people, renowned alike for their skill and valor, have been swept away before the triumphant advance of an inferior foe, like autumn stubble before a hurricane of fire. For aught I know, the next flash of electric fire that shimmers along the ocean cable may tell us that Paris, with every fibre quivering with the agony of impotent despair, writhes beneath the conquering heel of her loathed invader.

But there is so much accuracy when she's right that I think there's some future to training her. What I want out of you is a measurement of how great her accuracy is." Norty snorted. "When Maragon doesn't believe it?" he said. "No thanks." He started the card sorter, filling the room with its clatter. I drew a pair of dice from my pocket. I'm never without the ivories. They are the original instruments of my TK skill.

Bird gazed at him keenly. "I'll know you the next time I see you," he muttered, half to himself. "The next time you see me will be in the hereafter, if there be such a thing," laughed the Russian. "The sweetest blow of all is now about to fall. We expected you to be here and came prepared to capture you. Had we not known that the arch enemy of the people would be here to-night, we would have struck at a point miles away. Do you know who betrayed you? It was one we placed in your laboratory for the very purpose which she served." He turned on the light again and it picked out of the darkness another face, a long oval face with startlingly red lips and dark oval eyes which glowed as with an internal flame. As the face became visible, the red lips drew back, exposing strong white teeth and the words were literally spat out.

Do you give it up?" "Yes." "Because I am in a high cool-and-airy (_culinary_) position." [_Astonished cadet nearly falls from the yard_. You young monkey, how dare you joke up in the air like that? However, we look over it this time.--_Punch_] * * * * * [Illustration: An economical mode of putting troops into white trowsers.] * * * * * REGULATIONS FOR YEOMANRY OUTPOSTS (_Aldershot Edition_) 1. Never recognise your enemy when you meet him on the road, in case you might be compelled to take him prisoner and so cause unpleasantness and unseemly disturbance. 2. Advanced guards should walk quietly and without ostentation into the enemy's main body, and be careful never to look behind bushes, trees, or buildings for an unobtrusive cyclist patrol.

_Good!_ Daoud thought fiercely. In a battle of insults, he felt sure, the talkative Greek would have the upper hand over the dour Tartar. Kassar reddened, and he smashed his fist into Nicetas's jaw. The Greek boy fell to the ground, and Daoud saw that his eyes were blank, dazed. But Nicetas shook his head and forced himself to his feet. "Your fist can't restore your honor, Kassar. You have fucked it too many times." Loud laughter burst out from the watching boys, choked off as again the Tartar swung, hitting Nicetas in the mouth. The boy was thrown back against the onlookers, and blood ran from his nose and mouth. Daoud felt the blood pounding his temples as his anger grew.

"What did you do next?" said the admiral.--"Let's know all while you are about it." "I remained at the hangman's house for some time, until all fear of discovery was over, and then he removed me to a place of greater security, providing me from his own resources with the means of existence, until I had fully recovered my health, and then he told me to shift for myself. "During my confinement though, I had not been idle mentally, for I concocted a plan, by which I should be enabled not only to live well myself, but to pay to the hangman, whose name was Mortimore, the annual sum I had agreed upon. I need not go into the details of this plan. Of course it was neither an honest nor respectable one, but it succeeded, and I soon found myself in a position to enable me thereby to keep my engagement, as well as to supply me with means of plotting and planning for my future fortunes. "I had never for a moment forgotten that so large a sum of money was somewhere concealed about Bannerworth Hall, and I still looked forward to obtaining it by some means or another. "It was in this juncture of affairs, that one night I was riding on horseback through a desolate part of England. The moon was shining sweetly, as I came to a broad stream of water, across which, about a mile further on, I saw that there was a bridge, but being unwilling to waste time by riding up to it, and fancying, by the lazy ripple of the waters, that the river was not shallow, I plunged my horse boldly into the stream. "When we reached its centre, some sudden indisposition must have seized the horse, for instead of swimming on well and gallantly as it had done before, it paused for a moment, and then plunged headlong into the torrent.

"You don't answer my question, Captain Clephane. How much for your thoughts?" "I'll make you a present of them, Mrs. Lascelles. I was beginning to think that a lot of rot has been written about the eternal snows and the mountain-tops and all the rest of it. There a few lines in that last little volume of Browning--" I stopped of my own accord, for upon reflection the lines would have made a rather embarrassing quotation. But meanwhile Mrs. Lascelles had taken alarm on other grounds. "Oh, _don't_ quote Browning!" "Why not?"

The respective commanders, officers and men of the incoming vessels were delighted to know that the _Polar King_ was not only safe, but had discovered Atvatabar, and that its commander was at present king of the realm. This was the substance of the despatches sent me by Captain Adams and Commander Forbes, and addressed, "To Lexington White, Esq., Commander of the _Polar King_." Captain Adams stated that Boatswain Dunbar was on board his vessel as pilot, accompanied by Seaman Henderson. Owing to the waterlogged condition of the _Polar King_, we could only wait the arrival of the vessels. When near at hand, a simultaneous salute of guns reverberated upon the sea, which must have been heard in all Atvatabar. Amid the smoke and noise of the roaring guns, steam launches had put off from the _Mercury_ and _Aurora Borealis_, and in a very short time the commanders of both vessels stood upon the deck of the _Polar King_, accompanied by their respective officers. I embraced Captain Adams and Commander Forbes, and introduced the strangers to Rear-Admiral Wallace, Rear-Admiral Gerolio and staff, who were no less delighted and surprised than myself to receive visitors from the outer world. When the commanders reached the deck of the _Polar King_ the cheers of the American and British sailors, mingled with the shouts of our fletyemings, made a soul-stirring scene. In fact, I was already beginning to think the outer world a more or less mythical place, and thought the doctrine of reincarnation had an illustration or proof in myself. After all, the outer world really existed, and, strange as it seemed to the Atvatabarese, there was really an outer sun and live beings like themselves, only physically more vigorous.

You either turn over all of the Combine's nuclear weapons to the Board, break the back of the Wendel police force by arresting all of its officers and placing yourself under house arrest and order every Wendel employee to cooperate with the Board or--Joseph Sherwood will vaporize the plant with a thermonuclear bomb. The rocket will be guided by remote control and will hover directly above the plant until the bomb has been dropped. Only the plant will be destroyed. There will be no zone of spreading radio-active contamination." All of the color drained from Wendel's face, leaving it ashen. "You must be mad!" he gasped. "You'd die too." "I'm aware of that," I said. "We'll all be vaporized together.

There came a resonant clang as blade and barrel encountered each other. Steel is ever stronger than bronze, so Nelson had the satisfaction of seeing the Jarmuthian's sword blade break squarely in two near the hilt. Horrified, the black bearded warrior glanced at the empty hilt in his hand but, courageous to the end, sprang in like a tiger to grapple with that small, agile man in khaki and serge. "You would--eh?" gasped Nelson. Putting all his strength behind a blow he whirled up the heavy Winchester, struck out and felt the solid walnut stock smash fair and square on the conical helmet. Like an eggshell the bronze helm broke and the six-pointed star above went spinning off into the dust. As a tree sways before it falls beneath a forester's ax, so the dark Jarmuthian giant tottered, while the wide dusty plain of Poseidon echoed with a rumbling, incredulous shout. "There," choked Nelson, incredulous to be still alive, "I guess that'll be about all for to-day." But he was wrong.

"What do you mean?--a death ray evolved?" And: "What of it?" he demanded; "what of it? What's that got to do with it?" "A death ray," the other agreed. "You have dreamed, Avery--one must in order to create--but it is only a dream. You dreamed of life--a fuller life--for the world, but you would have given them, as you have just seen, death." The face of Avery was white as wax; his eyes glared savagely from dark hollows. "A rat!" he protested.

That would be a good second sentence for his story. "You okay, Abby?" Link said, looking concerned. Albert realized that he'd been on another planet for a moment there. "Sorry, just fell down a rabbit hole," he said, flapping his arms comically. "I was writing " -- felt *good* to say that -- "and I'm in a bit of a, how you say, creative fog." Link took a step back. "I don't want to disturb you," he said. But for all that, she still approved his outfits before he left the house, refusing to let him succumb to the ephemeral awful trendiness of mesh-back caps and too-tight boy-scout jamboree shirts. Instead, she put him into slightly fitted cotton shirts that emphasized his long lean belly and his broad shoulders.

he asked, gesturing toward the excavation and the two giant mining machines digging and blasting and pounding away at the rock. "Well, to keep Kurt Fawzi and that crowd happy, I suppose. It seems like an awful waste of time, though." "I'm afraid it isn't. I'm afraid Merlin, or something just as bad, is down there. That's why I'm here, instead of on Koshchei. I want to keep people like Fawzi from doing anything foolish with it when they find it." "But there _can't_ be a Merlin!" "I'm afraid there is. Not the sort of a Merlin Fawzi expects to find; that thing's too small for that.

"Crump, I believe you're a sport!" Mr. Crump seemed completely to have forgotten his responsible position as secretary to a millionaire and special messenger to a prince. He smirked. "I'd have liked a day or two in the old burg," he said softly. "I haven't been to Rector's since Ponto was a pup." John reached across the table and seized the secretary's hand. "Crump," he said, "you _are_ a sport. This is no time for delay. If we are to liven up this great city, we must get busy right away.

But at that moment the other flier began to say to Supreme: "The big man is a tender of cattle, Supreme; and he owes his peculiar aptitude to the fact that his parents, for twenty generations back, were engaged in similar work. The same may be said for the younger of the two women; she is small, but we owe much of the excellence of our crops to her energy and skill. "As for the other woman," indicating Rolla, "she is a soil-tester, and very expert. Her studies and experiments have greatly improved our product. The same may be said in lesser degree of the youth, who is engaged in similar work." "Then," coolly commented the Sanusian whose eyes and ears Billie enjoyed; "then your line of action is clear enough. You will see to it that the big man marries the sturdy young girl, of course; their offspring should give us a generation of rare outdoor ability. Similarly the young man and the older woman, despite their difference in ages, shall marry for the sake of improving the breed of soil-testers." "Quite so, Supreme. There is one slight difficulty, however, such as caused me to summon you."

He made less noise than a breeze blowing among the tree-trunks, but Valeria felt as if her soft boots were betraying their flight to all the forest. "I don't think he can follow a trail," muttered Conan. "But if a wind blew our body-scent to him, he could smell us out." "Mitra grant that the wind blow not!" Valeria breathed. Her face was a pallid oval in the gloom. She gripped her sword in her free hand, but the feel of the shagreen-bound hilt inspired only a feeling of helplessness in her. They were still some distance from the edge of the forest when they heard a snapping and crashing behind them. Valeria bit her lip to check a cry. "He's on our trail!"

"Sir Lewis," she said, "will see you. I couldn't say why. But take the side corridor to the rear of the suite. His office has his name on it, and I won't tell you you can't miss it because I have every faith that you will. Good luck." Malone blinked. "Look," he said. "I know I startled you, but I didn't mean to. I--" He started to sneeze, but this time he got his own handkerchief out in time and muffled the explosion slightly. "Good work," the girl said approvingly.

Almost simultaneously they discovered the little black dot that seemed to pop out of the irregular southern horizon. They leaped to their feet, kicked out the fire. They would have covered the ashes with sand but for hundreds of feet in either direction there was nothing but bare rock. "Never mind!" Murray said. "Let's make for cover. They may think it's an old fireplace. With rains only about once in three years that spot will look like that indefinitely." "Yes," Tuman agreed, running along, "if they didn't see the smoke!" * * * * * As the craft neared they could make out the orange and green of the Martian army.

"Fifty-six," said the businessman. "That's counting gin," he added. "Game," the reporter announced. "I'll figure the damage." "You play good," said the businessman in disgust. "You only say that 'cause it's true," the reporter said. "But it's sweet of you all the same." "Shut up!" said the businessman. The reporter looked up, concerned.

"Are you firm in this determination, Varney--will you indeed tell me no more to-night?" "No more, I have said it. Leave me now. I have need of more repose, for of late sleep has seldom closed my eyelids." Charles Holland was convinced, from the positive manner in which he spoke, that nothing more in the shape of information, at that time, was to be expected from Varney; and being fearful that if he urged this strange being too far, at a time when he did not wish it, he might refuse all further communication, he thought it prudent to leave him, so he said to him,-- "Be assured, Varney, I shall keep the appointment you have made, with an expectation when we do meet of being rewarded by a recital of some full particulars." "You shall not be disappointed; farewell, farewell!" Charles Holland bade him adieu, and left the place. Although he had now acquired all the information he hoped to take away with him when Varney first began to be communicative, yet, when he came to consider how strange and unaccountable a being he had been in communication with, Charles could not but congratulate himself that he had heard so much, for, from the manner of Varney, he could well suppose that that was, indeed, the first time he had been so communicative upon subjects which evidently held so conspicuous a place in his heart. And he had abundance of hope, likewise, from what had been said by Varney, that he would keep his word, and communicate to him fully all else that he required to know; and when he recollected those words which Varney had used, signifying that he knew the danger of half confidences, that hope grew into a certainty, and Charles began to have no doubt but that on the next evening all that was mysterious in the various affairs connected with the vampyre would become clear and open to the light of day. He strolled down the lane in which the lone house was situated, revolving these matters in his mind, and when he arrived at its entrance, he was rather surprised to see a throng of persons hastily moving onward, with come appearance of dismay about them, and anxiety depicted upon their countenances.

Behold this multitude of moveable square cards. See, I put one on another, not, as you supposed, Northward of the other, but ON the other. Now a second, now a third. See, I am building up a Solid by a multitude of Squares parallel to one another. Now the Solid is complete, being as high as it is long and broad, and we call it a Cube." "Pardon me, my Lord," replied I; "but to my eye the appearance is as of an Irregular Figure whose inside is laid open to view; in other words, methinks I see no Solid, but a Plane such as we infer in Flatland; only of an Irregularity which betokens some monstrous criminal, so that the very sight of it is painful to my eyes." "True," said the Sphere; "it appears to you a Plane, because you are not accustomed to light and shade and perspective; just as in Flatland a Hexagon would appear a Straight Line to one who has not the Art of Sight Recognition. But in reality it is a Solid, as you shall learn by the sense of Feeling." He then introduced me to the Cube, and I found that this marvellous Being was indeed no Plane, but a Solid; and that he was endowed with six plane sides and eight terminal points called solid angles; and I remembered the saying of the Sphere that just such a Creature as this would be formed by the Square moving, in Space, parallel to himself: and I rejoiced to think that so insignificant a Creature as I could in some sense be called the Progenitor of so illustrious an offspring. But still I could not fully understand the meaning of what my Teacher had told me concerning "light" and "shade" and "perspective"; and I did not hesitate to put my difficulties before him.

But that pistol in Frank's hand could end his life. He couldn't shoot Auguste while Frank held it on him. Raoul swung the barrel of his own pistol to cover Frank's chest. "Get back inside, Frank," he said, putting a steel edge into it. Instead, with a sudden movement that almost made Raoul squeeze the trigger, Frank came forward, stepping in front of Auguste. Raoul saw another movement in the doorway, and then he was staring into his father's glittering eyes. Elysée's rifle, long barrel trembling only slightly, was leveled at him. Raoul decided the best attack was to laugh at them. "Look at the mongrel's protectors. A weakling who would never carry a pistol and a lame old man in his nightshirt."

The car with its gunmen was closer now, and one of the flames from their guns almost hit him. There was only one possible escape. He ran back from the cliff's edge for several yards, straight toward the onrushing car. Then he turned and sprinted for that edge. He took off like a broad jumper, as far outward as he could, curving his body downward into a dive. "Oh, God, please," he prayed earnestly, "deep water and no rocks." It seemed an interminable age that George Hanlon fell through the air on that incredible dive toward the water so far away. Not knowing what was below made the moments seem dreadful eternities. His mind persisted in painting ghastly pictures.... At long last Hanlon struck--and was instantly numbed from the force of the blow and chilled by the icy water. His bruises, burns and cuts smarted painfully from the salt.