And so I waited. During the twenty-four 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.

Then--the deliberate murder. And, finally, young Margot Vernee, and her

confession. It was like the revolving whirl 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!

It was plainly not a medical affair, or at least only remotely so. The

thing was in proper hands, then, with Drake following it through. And I

had only to wait for his return.

He came at last, and closed the door of the room behind him. He stood

over me with something of a swagger.

"Dale, I have been looking into the records of this Michael Strange," he

said quietly. "They are interesting, those records. They go back some

ten years, when this fellow Strange was beginning his study of science.

And now Michael Strange is one of the greatest authorities in Paris on

the subject of mental telegraphy. He has gone into the study of human

thought with the same thoroughness that other scientists go into the

subject of radio telegraphy. He has 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 had previously marked in pencil.

"Read it," he said significantly.

* * * * *

I looked at him in wonder, and then did as he ordered. What I read was

this:

"Mental telegraphy is a science, not a myth. It is 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 until 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

an amusement.

"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 those 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 scientists of to-day 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 have found the beginning thread. Perhaps, if we

follow that thread...."

Drake smiled.

"If you'll 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 had 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 fog. The cabby, evidently one who knew

my companion by sight (and what London cabby does not know his Scotland

Yard men!) chose a route that twisted through gloomy, uninhabited side

streets, seldom winding into the main route of traffic.

As for Drake, he sank back in the uncomfortable seat and made no attempt

at conversation. For the entire first part of our journey he said

nothing. Not until we had reached a black, unlighted section of the city

did he turn to me.

"Dale," he said at length, "have you ever hunted tiger?"

I looked at him and laughed.

"Why?" I replied. "Do you expect this hunt of ours will be something of

a blind chase?"

"It will be a blind chase, no doubt of it," he said. "And when we have

followed the trail to its end, I imagine we shall find something very

like a tiger to deal with. I have looked rather deeply into Michael

Strange's life, and unearthed a bit of the man's character. He has 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 its laboring nose into a narrowing, gloomy street. I had a glimpse

of a single unsteady street lamp on the corner, and a dim sign, "Mate

Lane." And then we were dragging along the curb. The cab stopped with a

groan.

I had 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

sought, he turned to Drake. I heard a whispered greeting and an

undertone of conversation. Then, quietly, Drake stepped toward me.

"Dale," he said. "I thought it best that I should not show myself here

to-night. No, there is no time for explanation now; you will understand

later. Perhaps"--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 the 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 footbeats as we mounted them in the darkness;

and the sound of the bell, as Hartnett pressed it came sharply to us

from the silence of the interior.

* * * * *

We stood there, waiting. In the short interval before the door opened,

Hartnett glanced at his watch (it was nearly ten o'clock), and said to

me:

"I imagine, Doctor, we shall meet a blank wall. Let me do the talking,

please."

That was all. In another moment the big door was pulled slowly open from

the inside, and in the entrance, glaring out at us, stood the man we had

come to see. It is not hard to remember that first impression of Michael

Strange. 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 had stared at us intently, for nearly a minute, was curt and

rasping.

"Well, gentlemen? What is it?"

"I should like a word with Dr. Michael Strange," said my companion

quietly.

"I am Michael Strange."

"And I," replied Hartnett, with a suggestion of a smile, "am Raoul

Hartnett, from Scotland Yard."

I did not see any sign of emotion on 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, ill-lighted room just beyond.

Here he motioned us to be seated, he himself standing upright beside the

table, facing us.

"From Scotland Yard," he said, and the tone was heavy with dull sarcasm.

"I am at your service, Mr. Hartnett."

* * * * *

And now, for the first time, I wondered just why Drake had insisted on

my coming here to this gloomy house in Mate Lane. Why he had so

deliberately arranged a substitute so that Michael Strange should not

come face to face with him directly. 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 had gained

admission, what excuse would Hartnett offer for the intrusion? Surely he

would not follow the bull-headed role of a common policeman!

There was no anger, no attempt at dramatics, in Hartnett's voice. He

looked quietly up at our host.

"Dr. Strange," he said at length, "I have come to you for your

assistance. Last night, some time after midnight, Franklin White was

strangled to death. He was murdered, according to substantial evidence,

by the girl he was going to marry--Margot Vernee. I come to you because

you know this girl rather well, and can perhaps help Scotland Yard in

finding her motive for killing White."

Michael Strange said nothing. He stood there, scowling 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 had expected almost anything from him, even to

a mad accusation of Strange himself. But I had hardly foreseen this cold

blooded declaration.

"You understand, Doctor," Hartnett went on, in that same ironical drawl,

"that we do not believe Margot Vernee did this thing herself. She had a

companion, undoubtedly, one who accompanied her to the house on After

Street, and assisted her in the crime. Who that companion was, we are

not sure; but there is decidedly a case of suspicion against a certain

young London sportsman. This fellow is known to have prowled about the

White mansion both on the night of the murder and the night before."

* * * * *

Hartnett glanced up casually. Strange's face was a total mask. When he

nodded, the nod was the most even and mechanical thing I have ever seen.

Certainly this man could control his emotions!

"Naturally, Doctor," Hartnett said, "we have gone rather deeply into the

past life of the lady in question. Your name appears, of course, in a

rather unimportant interval when Margot Vernee resided in Paris. And so

we come to you in the hope that you can perhaps give us some slight bit

of information--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 Drake's, 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 realize his

position, and to discover just how much Raoul Hartnett actually knew.

And then, after his interim of silence, he came forward sullenly and

stood over my comrade.

"I will tell you this much, Mr. Hartnett of Scotland Yard," he said

bitterly: "My relations with Margot Vernee 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 company with a distinguished group of scientific friends. I will

tell you, on authority, that Margot _did not murder her lover_. Why?

Because she loved him!"

* * * * *

The last words were heavy with bitterness. Before they had died into

silence, Michael Strange had opened the door of his study.

"If you please, gentlemen," he said quietly.

Hartnett got to his feet. For an instant he stood facing the

gorilla-like form of our host; then he stepped over the sill, without a

word. We passed down the unlighted corridor in silence, while Strange

stood in the door of his study, watching us. I could not help but feel,

as we left that gloomy house, that Strange had suddenly focused his

entire attention upon me, and had ignored my companion. I could feel

those eyes upon me, and feel the force of the will behind them. A

decided feeling of uneasiness crept over me, and I shuddered.

A moment later the big outer door had closed shut after us, and we were

alone in Mate Lane. Alone, that is, until a third figure joined us in

the shadows, and Drake's hand closed over my arm.

"Capital, Dale," he said triumphantly. "For half an hour you entertained

him, you and Hartnett. And for half an hour I've had the unlimited

freedom 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 had nearly reached

my rooms. Then he turned to me with a smile.

"We are one up on our friend, Dale," 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 have passed!"

That was all. At least, all of significance. I left the two Scotland

Yard men at the opening of Cheney Lane, and continued alone to my rooms.

I opened the door and let myself in quietly. And there some few hours

later, began the last and most horrible phase of the case of the murder

machine.

* * * * *

It begin--or to be more accurate, I began to react to it--at three

o'clock in the morning. I was alone, and the rooms were dark. For hours

I had sat quietly by the table, considering the significant events of

the past few days. Sleep was impossible with so many unanswered

questions staring into me, and so I sat there wondering.

Did Drake actually believe that Margot Vernee'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 might be free to return to him? 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 on After Street?

Those were the questions that still remained without answers: and it was

over those questions that I pondered, while my surroundings became

darker and more silent as the hour became more advanced. I heard the

clock strike three, and heard the answering drone of Big Ben from the

square.

* * * * *

And then it began. At first it was little more than a sense of

nervousness. Before I had been content to sit in my chair and doze. Now,

in spite of myself, I found myself pacing the floor, back and forth like

a caged animal. I could have sworn, at the time, that some sinister

presence had found entrance to my room. Yet the room was empty. And I

could have sworn, too, that some silent power of will was commanding me,

with undeniable force, to go out--out into the darkness of Cheney Lane.

I fought it bitterly. I laughed at it, yet even through my laugh 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 dully, 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 Mate Lane--number seven.

Where that deliberate desire came from I did not know. I did not 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 the

unlightened side streets that lay beyond. Three miles separated Cheney

Lane from Mate Lane, and I had 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 Sinbad, and pointed out the way.

Only one disturbing thing occurred on that night journey through London.

I had turned into a narrow street hardly more than a quarter mile from

my destination; and before me, in the shadows, I made out the form 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, for his throat. At that moment I should have

killed him!

I cannot explain it. During that brief interval I was a murderer at

heart. I wanted to kill. And 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 should have killed the first man who crossed my path.

But I did not 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 gray house that awaited me.

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. Michael Strange stood before me.

He did not 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, and 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 had entered, he closed the door cautiously.

For a moment he faced me without speaking.

"You came very close to committing a murder on your way here, did you

not, Dale?"

I stared at him. How, in God's name, could this man read my thoughts so

completely?

"You would have completed the murder," he said softly, "had I wished it.

I did not wish it!"

I did not answer. There was no reply to such a mad declaration. As for

my companion, he watched me for an instant and then laughed. He was not

mad. I am 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 the half hidden door at

the farther end of the room.

"I shall not keep you long, Dale," 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 forward. The room was dark, and

not until he had closed the door again and switched on a dim light,

could I see its contents.

Even then I saw nothing. At least, nothing of importance to 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 the chair. Beyond that I saw

nothing, until Strange had moved forward and drawn aside a curtain that

hung beside the table.

"I made you come here to-night, Dale," he murmured, "because I was a bit

afraid of you. Your comrade, Hartnett, was an ignorant police officer.

He has not the intellect to connect the series of events of the past day

or two, and so I did not trouble myself with him. But you are an

educated man. You have 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 will wait here, Doctor," he said. "I have another caller to-night.

Another one who came the same way as you!"

He vanished. For a short interlude I was alone, with that peculiar

radio-like apparatus before me. It was, for all the world, 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 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 in to my presence, I knew her.

And when she came, with white, fearful face and trembling body, I could

not withhold a shudder of apprehension. It was the young woman who had

come to my office--Margot Vernee. 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 have succeeded--at last," I said bitterly.

He turned to me with a sneer.

"I have brought her here, yes," he replied. "And now that she has come,

she shall hear what I have to tell you. It will perhaps give her a

respect for me, and this time she will not have the power to turn me

away."

He pointed to the table, to the apparatus that lay there.

"I'm telling you this, Dale," he said, "because it gives me pleasure to

do so. You are enough of a scientist to appreciate and understand it.

And if, when I have finished, I have told you too much, there is a very

easy way to keep your tongue silent. You have heard of hypnotism, Dale?

You have heard also of radio? Have you ever thought of combining the

two?"

* * * * *

He faced me directly. 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 twenty years I have worked on that instrument, and for

twenty years I have studied hypnotism. You understand, of course, that

this instrument is worthless unless it is operated by a master mind.

Thought waves are useless; they will not control the actions of even a

cat. But hypnotic waves or concentrated thought waves--will control the

world."

There was no denying him. He faced me with the savage triumph of a wild

beast. He was glorying in his power, and in my amazement.

"I wanted Franklin White to die!" he cried. "It was I who murdered him.

Why? Because he was about to take the girl I desired. Is that not reason

enough for murder? And so I killed him. It was not Margot Vernee who

strangled her lover: it was a complete stranger, a London sportsman, who

had no reason for committing the murder, _except that I wished him to_!

"He died on the night of December seventh, murdered by Sir John Harmon,

the sportsman. Why? Because, of all London, Sir John would be the last

man to be suspected. I have a keen appreciation for the irony of fate!

White would have died the night before, Dale, except that I lacked 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. 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

puppet, a group of men sat here with me. They believed that I was

experimenting with a new type of radio receiver!"

* * * * *

Michael Strange laughed, laughed harshly, in utter triumph, as a cat

laughs at the antics of his mouse victims.

"When that murder was done," he said, "I sent Margot to the scene, so

that she might see her lover strangled, dead. I repeat, Dale, that I

enjoy the irony of fate, especially when I can control it. And as for

you--I brought you here to-night merely so that 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 am sure that

you will make no further attempt to interfere with things out of your

realm of understanding."

I heard a sob from Margot. She had retreated to the door, and clung

there. For myself, I did not move. Strange's recital had revealed to me

the horrible lust that gripped him, and now I watched him in

fascination. He would not harm the girl; that much I was sure of. In his

distorted fashion he loved 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 microphonic thing that hung before his

eyes. As he stared, he spoke to me.

"Science, in its intricate forms, is probably above the mind of a common

medical man, Dale," he said. "It would be useless to explain to you how

my thoughts--and my will--can be transmitted through space. Perhaps you

have sat in a theater and stared at a certain person until that person

turned to face you. You have? Then you will perhaps understand how I can

control the minds of any human creature within the radius of my power.

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 scorned from one end

of the world to the other. I could make every man murder his neighbor,

until the streets of the city were running with blood!"

Strange turned quietly to look at me. He spoke deliberately.

"And now for the little exhibition of which I spoke, Dale," he murmured.

"Your detective friend, Hartnett, has been under my power for the 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 would like to see

him kill himself!"

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 me. Yet 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?

* * * * *

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, but that one man. And

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 there. I heard a dull,

droning hum fill the room, and, over it, Strange's penetrating voice.

"When I am finished, Dale, I shall probably kill you. I brought you here

merely to frighten you, but I believe I have told you too much."

With that new horror upon me, I saw my captor's lips move slowly....

And then, from the shadows at the other end of the small room, came a

low, unemotional voice.

"Before you begin, Strange--"

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. The

scientist slumped forward in his chair.

The dull, whirring sound of that hellish machine had stopped abruptly,

cut short by the sudden weight of Strange's lunging body as he fell upon

it. I saw the livid, fiery snake of white light twist suddenly upward

through that coil of wires: and in another moment the entire apparatus

shattered by a blinding crash of flame.

* * * * *

After that I turned away. Whether the bullet killed Strange or not, I do

not 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 lay in his hand, and as he led me into

the adjoining room, I saw that Margot had already found refuge there.

"You see now, Dale," Drake said quietly, "why I let Hartnett go with you

before? If Strange had suspected me, I should have been merely another

victim. As for Hartnett, he has been under constant guard down at

headquarters. He's safe. They've kept him there, at my instructions, in

spite of all his terrific efforts to leave them."

I was listening to my companion in admiration. Even then I did not quite

understand.

"I was wrong in just one thing, Dale. I left you alone, without

protection. I believed Strange would ignore you, because, after all, you

are not a Scotland Yard man. Thank God I had the sense to follow

Margot--to trail her here--and get here soon enough."

* * * * *

And 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 Strange's house in

Mate Lane. The girl, I believe, has left London, where she can be as far

as possible from memories that are all too terrible.

As for me, I am 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 Yard, insists upon bringing the affair up again!

_IN THE NEXT ISSUE_

THE INVISIBLE DEATH

_A Thrilling Novelet of an Invisible

Empire Within the United States_

_By_ Victor Rousseau

STOLEN BRAINS

_Another Absorbing Dr. Bird Story_

_By_ Capt. S. P. Meek

PRISONERS ON THE ELECTRON

_An Exciting Story of a Young

Man Marooned on an Electron_

_By_ Robert H. Leitfred

JETTA OF THE LOWLANDS

_Part Two of the Current Novel_

_By_ Ray Cummings

_--AND OTHERS!_

[Illustration: _We had been captured by a race of gigantic beetles._]

The Attack from Space

A SEQUEL TO "BEYOND THE HEAVISIDE LAYER"

_By Captain S. P. Meek_

"No one knows what unrevealed horrors space holds and the world

will never rest entirely easy until the slow process of time again

heals the protective layer."--From "Beyond the Heaviside Layer."

Over a year has passed since I wrote those lines. When they were written

the hole which Jim Carpenter had burned with his battery of infra-red

lamps through the heaviside layer, that hollow sphere of invisible

semi-plastic organic matter which encloses the world as a nutshell does

a kernel, was gradually filling in as he had predicted it would: every

one thought that in another ten years the world would be safely enclosed

again in its protective layer as it had been since the dawn of time.

There were some adventurous spirits who deplored this fact, as it would

effectually bar interplanetary travel, for Hadley had proved with his

life that no space flyer could force its way through the fifty miles of

almost solid material which barred the road to space, but they were in

the minority. Most of humanity felt that it would rather be protected

against the denizens of space than to have a road open for them to

travel to the moon if they felt inclined.

[Sidenote: From a far world came monstrous invaders who were all the

more terrifying because invisible.]

To be sure, during the five years that the hole had been open, nothing

more dangerous to the peace and well-being of the world had appeared

from space than a few hundreds of the purple amoeba which we had found

so numerous on the outer side of the layer, when we had traveled in a

Hadley space ship up through the hole into the outer realms of space,

and one lone specimen of the green dragons which we had also

encountered. The amoeba had been readily destroyed by the disintegrating

rays of the guarding space-ships which were stationed inside the layer

at the edge of the hole and the lone dragon had fallen a ready victim to

the machine-gun bullets which had been poured into it. At first the

press had damned Jim Carpenter for opening the road for these horrors,

but once their harmlessness had been clearly established, the row had

died down and the appearance of an amoeba did not merit over a squib on

the inside pages of the daily papers.

* * * * *

While the hole in the heaviside layer was no longer news for the daily

press, a bitter controversy still waged in the scientific journals as to

the reason why no observer on earth, even when using the most powerful

telescopes, could see the amoeba before they entered the hole, and then

only when their telescopes were set up directly under the hole. When a

telescope of even small power was mounted in the grounds back of

Carpenter's laboratory, the amoeba could be detected as soon as they

entered the hole, or when they passed above it through space; but, aside

from that point of vantage, they were entirely invisible.

Carpenter's theory of the absorptive powers of the material of which the

heaviside layer was composed was laughed to scorn by most scientists,

who pointed out the fact that the sun, moon and stars could be readily

seen through it. Carpenter replied that the rays of colored or visible

light could only pass through the layer when superimposed upon a carrier

wave of ultra-violet or invisible light. He stated dogmatically that the

amoeba and the other denizens of space absorbed all the ultra-violet

light which fell on them and reflected only the visible rays which could

not pass through the heaviside layer because of the lack of a

synchronized carrier wave of shorter wave-length.

Despetier replied at great length and showed by apparently unimpeachable

mathematics that Carpenter was entirely wrong and that his statements

showed an absolute lack of knowledge of the most elementary and

fundamental laws of light transmission. Carpenter replied briefly that

he could prove by mathematics that two was equal to one and he

challenged Despetier or anyone else to satisfactorily explain the

observed facts in any other way. While they vainly tried to do so,

Carpenter lapsed into silence in his Los Angeles laboratory and delved

ever deeper into the problems of science. Such was the situation when

the attack came from space.

My first knowledge of the attack came when McQuarrie, the city editor of

the San Francisco _Clarion_, sent for me. When I entered his office he

tossed a Los Angeles dispatch on the desk before me and with a growl

ordered me to read it. It told of the unexplained disappearance of an

eleven year old boy the night before. It looked like a common

kidnapping.

"Well?" I asked as I handed him back the dispatch.

With another growl he tossed down a second telegram. I read it with

astonishment, for it told of a second disappearance which had happened

about an hour after the first. The similarity of the two cases was at

once apparent.

"Coincidence or connection?" I asked as I returned it.

"Find out!" he replied. "If I knew which it was I wouldn't be wasting

the paper's money by sending you to Los Angeles. I don't doubt that I am

wasting it anyway, but as long as I am forced to keep you on as a

reporter, I might as well try to make you earn the money the owner

wastes on paying you a salary, even although I know it to be a hopeless

task. Go on down there and see what you can find out, if anything."

I jotted down in my notebook the names and addresses of the missing

children and turned to leave. A boy entered and handed McQuarrie a

yellow slip. He glanced at it and called me back.

"Wait a minute, Bond," he said as he handed me the dispatch. "I doubt

but you'd better fly down to Los Angeles. Another case has just been

reported."

I hastily copied down the dispatch he handed me, which was almost a

duplicate of the first two with the exception of the time and the name.

Three unexplained disappearances in one day was enough to warrant speed;

I drew some expense money and was on my way south in a chartered plane

within an hour.

On my arrival I went to the Associated Press office and found a message

waiting for me, directing me to call McQuarrie on the telephone at once.

"Hello, Bond," came his voice over the wire, "have you just arrived?

Well, forget all about that disappearance case. Prince is on his way to

Los Angeles to cover it. You hadn't been gone an hour before a wire came

in from Jim Carpenter. He says, 'Send Bond to me at once by fastest

conveyance. Chance for a scoop on the biggest story of the century.' I

don't know what it's about, but Jim Carpenter is always front page news.

Get in touch with him at once and stay with him until you have the

story. Don't risk trying to telegraph it when you get it--telephone. Get

moving!"

I lost no time in getting Carpenter on the wire.

"Hello, First Mortgage," he greeted me. "You made good time getting down

here. Where are you?"

"At the A. P. Office."

"Grab a taxi and come out to the laboratory. Bring your grip with you:

you may have to stay over night."

"I'll be right out, Jim. What's the story?"

His voice suddenly grew grave.

"It's the biggest thing you ever handled," he replied. "The fate of the

whole world may hang on it. I don't want to talk over the phone; come on

out and I'll give you the whole thing."

* * * * *

An hour later I shook hands with Tim, the guard at the gate of the

Carpenter laboratory, and passed through the grounds to enter Jim's

private office. He greeted me warmly and for a few minutes we chatted of

old times when I worked with him as an assistant in his atomic

disintegration laboratory and of the stirring events we had passed

through together when we had ventured outside the heaviside layer in his

space ship.

"Those were stirring times," he said, "but I have an idea, First

Mortgage, that they were merely a Sunday school picnic compared to what

we are about to tackle."

"I guessed that you had something pretty big up your sleeve from your

message." I replied. "What's up now? Are we going to make a trip to the

moon and interview the inhabitants?"

"We may interview them without going that far," he said. "Have you seen

a morning paper?"

"No."

"Look at this."

He handed me a copy of the _Gazette_. Streamer headlines told of the

three disappearances which I had come to Los Angeles to cover, but they

had grown to five during the time I had been flying down. I looked at

Jim in surprise.

"We got word of that in San Francisco," I told him, "and I came down

here to cover the story. When I got here, McQuarrie telephoned me your

message and told me to come and see you instead. Has your message

anything to do with this?"

"It has everything to do with it, First Mortgage; in fact, it _is_ it.

Have you any preconceived ideas on the disappearance epidemic?"

"None at all."

"All the better--you'll be able to approach the matter with an unbiased

viewpoint. Don't read that hooey put out by an inspired reporter who

blames the laxness of the city government; I'll give you the facts

without embellishment. Nothing beyond the bare fact of the disappearance

is known about the first case. Robert Prosser, aged eleven, was sent to

the grocery store by his mother about six-thirty last night and failed

to return. That's all we know about it, except that it happened in Eagle

Rock. The second case we have a little more data on. William Hill, aged

twelve, was playing in Glendale last night with some companions. They

were playing 'hide and go seek' and William hid. He could not be found

by the boy who was searching and has not been found since. His

companions became frightened and reported it about eight o'clock. They

saw nothing, but mark this! Four of them agree that they heard a sound

in the air _like a motor humming_."

"That proves nothing."

"Taken alone it does not, but in view of the third case, it is quite

significant. The third case happened about nine-thirty last night. This

time the victim was a girl, aged ten. She was returning home from a

moving picture with some companions and she disappeared. This time the

other children saw her go. They say she was suddenly taken straight up

into the air and then disappeared from sight. They, also claim to have

heard a sound like a big electric fan in the air at the time, although

they could see nothing."

"Had they heard the details of the second disappearance?"

"They had not. I can see what you are thinking; that they were

unconsciously influenced by the account given of the other case."

"Consciously or unconsciously."

"I doubt it, for the fourth case was almost a duplicate of the third.

The fourth and fifth cases happened this morning. In the fourth case the

child, for it was a nine year old girl this time, was lifted into the

air in broad daylight and disappeared. This disappearance was witnessed,

not only by children, but also by two adults, and their testimony agrees

completely with that of the children. The fifth case is similar to the

first: a ten year old boy disappeared without trace. The whole city is

in a reign of terror."

* * * * *

The telephone at Carpenter's elbow rang and he answered it. A short

conversation took place and he turned to me with a grim face as he hung

up the receiver.

"Another case has just been reported to police headquarters from Beverly

Hills," he said. "Again the child was seen to be lifted into the air by

some invisible means and disappeared. The sound of a motor was plainly

heard by five witnesses, who all agree that it was just, above their

heads, but that nothing could be seen."

"Was it in broad daylight?"

"Less than an hour ago."

"But, Jim, that's impossible!"

"Why is it impossible?"

"It would imply the invisibility of a tangible substance; of a solid."

"What of it?"

"Why, there isn't any such substance. Nothing of the sort exists."

Carpenter pointed to one of the windows of his laboratory.

"Does that window frame contain glass or not?" he asked.

I strained my eyes. Certainly nothing was visible.

"Yes," I said at a venture.

He rose and thrust his hand through the space where the glass should

have been.

"Has this frame glass in it?" he asked, pointing to another.

"No."

He struck the glass with his knuckle.

"I'll give up," I replied. "I am used to thinking of glass as being

transparent but not invisible; yet I can see that under certain light

conditions it may be invisible. Granted that such is the case, do you

believe that living organisms can be invisible?"

"Under the right conditions, yes. Has any observer been able to see any

of the purple amoeba which we know are so numerous on the outer side of

the heaviside layer?"

"Not until they have entered the hole through the layer."

"And yet those amoeba are both solid and opaque, as you know. Why is it

not possible that men, or intelligences of some sort, are in the air

about us and yet are invisible to our eyes!"

"If they are, why haven't we received evidence of it years ago?"

"Because there has only been a hole through the heaviside layer for six

years. Before that time they could not penetrate it any more than poor

Hadley could with his space ship. They have not entered the hole earlier

because it is a very small one, at present only some two hundred and

fifty yards in diameter in a sphere of over eight thousand miles

diameter. The invaders have just found the entrance."

"The invaders? Do you think that the world has been invaded?"

"I do. How else can you explain the very fact which you have just

quoted, that no evidence of the presence on these invisible entities has

previously been recorded?"

"Where did they come from?"

"They may have come from anywhere in the solar system, or even from

outside it but I fancy, that they are from Mars or Venus."

"Why so?"

"Because they are the two planets nearest to the earth and are the ones

where conditions are the most like they are on the earth. Venus, for

example, has an atmosphere and a gravity about .83 of earthly gravity,

and life of a sort similar to that of the earth might well live there.

Further, it seems more probable that the invaders have come from one of

the nearby planets than from the realms of space beyond the solar

system."

"What about the moon?"

"We can dismiss that because of the lack of an atmosphere."

"It sounds logical, Jim, but the idea of living organisms of sufficient

size to lift a child into the air who are invisible seems a little

absurd."

"I never said they were invisible. I don't think they are."

"But they must be, else why weren't they seen?"

"Use your head, First Mortgage. Those purple amoeba we encountered were

quite visible to us, yet they are invisible to observers on the earth."

"Yes, but that is because the heaviside layer is between them and the

earth. As soon as they come below it they can be seen."

* * * * *

"Exactly. Why is it not possible that the Venetians, or Martians, or

whoever our invaders are, have encased themselves and their space flyer

in a layer of some substance similar to the heaviside layer, a substance

which is permeable to light rays only when a large proportion of

ultra-violet rays accompany the visible rays? If they did this and then

constructed the walls of their ship of some substance which absorbed all

the ultra-violet rays which fell on it; not only would the ship itself

be invisible, but also everything contained in it--and yet they could

see the outside world easily. That such _is_ the case is proved by the

disappearance of those children in mid-air. They were taken into a space

ship behind an ultra-violet absorbing wall and so became invisible."

"If the walls absorbed all the ultra-violet and were impermeable to

light without ultra-violet, the ship would appear as a black opaque

substance and could be seen."

"That would be true except for one thing which you are forgetting. The

heaviside layer, as I have repeatedly proved, is a splendid conductor of

ultra-violet. The rays falling on it are probably bent along the line of

the covering layer so that they open up and bend around the ship in the

same manner as flowing water will open up and flow around a stone and

then come together again. The light must flow around the solid ship and

then join again in such a manner that the eye can detect no

interruption."

"Jim, all that sounds reasonable, but have you any proof of it?"

"No, First Mortgage, I haven't--yet; but if the Lord is good to us we'll

have definite proof this afternoon and be in a position to successfully

combat this new menace to the world."

"Do you expect me to go on another one of your crack-brained expeditions

into the unknown with you?"

* * * * *

"Certainly I do, but this time we won't go out of the known. I have our

old space flyer which we took beyond the heaviside layer six years ago

ready for action and we're going to look for the invaders this

afternoon."

"How will we see them if they are invisible?"

"They are invisible to ordinary light but not to ultra-violet light.

While most of the ultra-violet is deflected and flows around the ship or

else is absorbed, I have an idea that, if we bathe it in a sufficient

concentration of ultra-violet, some would be reflected. We are going to

look for the reflected portion."

"Ultra-violet light is invisible."

"It is to the eye, but it can be detected. You know that radium is

activated and glows under ultra-violet?"

"Yes."

"Mounted on our flyer are six ultra-violet searchlights. By the side of

each one is a wide angle telescopic concentrator which will focus any

reflected ultra-violet onto a radium coated screen and thus make it

visible to us. In effect the apparatus is a camera obscura with all lens

made of rock crystal or fused quartz, both of which allow free passage

to ultra-violet."

"What will we do if we find them?"

"Mounted beneath the telescope is a one-pounder gun with radite shells.

If we locate them, we will use our best efforts to shoot them down."

"Suppose they are armed too?"

* * * * *

"In that case I hope that you shoot faster and straighter than they do.

If you don't--well, old man, it'll just be too damned bad."

"I don't know that the _Clarion_ hires me to go out and shoot at

invisible invaders from another planet, but if I don't go with you, I

expect you'd just about call up the _Echo_ or the _Gazette_ and ask them

for a gunner."

"Just about."

"In that case, I may as well be sacrificed as anyone else. When do we

start?"

"You old faker!" cried Jim, pounding me on the back. "You wouldn't miss

the trip for anything. If you're ready we'll start right now. Everything

is ready."

"Including the sacrifice," I replied, rising. "All right, Jim, let's go

and get it over with. If we live, I'll have to get back in time to

telephone the story to McQuarrie for the first edition."

I followed Jim out of the laboratory and to a large open space behind

the main building where the infra-red generators with which he had

pierced the hole through the heaviside layer had been located. The

reflectors were still in place, but the bank of generators had been

removed. A gang of men were hard at work erecting a huge parabolic

reflector in the center of the circle, about the periphery of which the

infra-red reflectors were placed. In an open space near the center stood

a Hadley space ship, toward which Jim led the way.

* * * * *

I wondered at the activity and meant to ask what it portended, but in

the excitement of boarding the flyer forgot it. I followed Jim in; he

closed the door and started the air conditioner.

"Here, First Mortgage," he said as he turned from the control board and

faced me, "here are the fluoroscopic screens. They are arranged in a

bank, so that you can keep an eye on all of them readily. Beneath each

telescope is an automatic one-pounder gun with its mount geared to the

telescope and the light, so that the gun bears continually on the point

in space represented by the center of the fluoroscopic screen which

belongs to that light. If we locate anything, turn your beam until the

object is in the exact center of the screen where these two cross-hairs

are. When you have it lined up, push this button and the gun will fire."

"What about reloading?"

"The guns are self-loading. Each one has twenty shells in its magazine

and will fire one shot each time the button is pushed until it is empty.

If you empty one magazine, I can turn the ship so that another gun will

bear. This gives you a total of one hundred and twenty shots quickly

available; there are sixty extra rounds, which we can break out and load

into the magazines in a few seconds. Do you understand everything?"

"I guess so. Everything seems clear enough."

"All right; sit down and we'll start."

* * * * *

I took my seat, and Jim pulled the starting lever. I was glued to the

seat and the heavy springs in the cushion were compressed almost to

their limit by the sudden acceleration. As soon as we were well clear

of the ground Jim reduced his power, and in a few moments we were

floating motionless in the air, a thousand feet up. He left the control

board and came to my side.

"Start your ultra lights," he said as he joined me. "We may be able to

spot something from here."

I started the lights and we stared at the screens before us. Nothing

appeared on any of them except the one pointing directly down, and only

an image of the ground, appeared on it. Under Jim's tutelage I swung the

beams in wide circles, covering the space around us, but nothing

appeared.

"Those beams won't project over five miles in this atmosphere," he said,

"and the ship we are looking for may be so small that we would have

trouble locating it at any great distance. I am going to move over near

the scene of the last disappearance. Keep your lights swinging and sing

out if you see anything on the screens."

I could feel the ship start to move slowly under the force of a side

discharge from the rocket motor, and I swung the beams of the six lights

around, trying to cover the entire area about us. Nothing appeared on

the screens for an hour, and my head began to ache from the strain of

unremitting close observation of the glowing screens. A buzz sounding

over the hum of the rocket motor attracted my attention; Jim pulled his

levers to neutral with the exception of the one which maintained our

elevation and stepped to an instrument on the wall of the flyer.

"Hello," he called. "What? Where did it happen? All right, thanks, we'll

move over that way at once."

* * * * *

He turned from the radio telephone and spoke.

"Another disappearance has just been reported," he said. "It happened on

the outskirts of Pasadena. Keep your eyes open: I'm going to head in

that direction."

A few minutes later we were floating over Pasadena. Jim stopped the

flyer and joined me at the screens. We swung our beams in wide circles

to cover the entire area around us, but no image on the screens rewarded

us.

"Doggone it, they must have left here in a hurry," grumbled Jim.

Even as he spoke the flyer gave a lurch which nearly threw me off my

seat and which sent Jim sprawling on the floor. With a white face he

leaped to the control board and pulled the lever controlling our one

working stern motor to full power. For a moment the ship moved upward

and then came to a dead stop, although the motor still roared at full

speed.

"Can't you see anything, Pete?" cried Jim as he threw our second stern

motor into gear.

Again the ship moved upward for a few feet and then stopped. I swung the

searchlights frantically in all directions, but five of the screens

remained blank and the sixth showed only the ground below us.

"Not a thing," I replied.

"Something ought to show," he muttered, and suddenly shut off both

motors. The flyer gave a sickening lurch toward the ground, but we fell

only a hundred yards before our motion stopped. We hung suspended in the

air with no motors working. Jim joined me at the screens and we swung

the lights rapidly without success.

"Look, Pete!" Jim cried hoarsely.

* * * * *

My gaze followed his pointing finger and I saw the door of our flyer

springing out as though some force from the outside were trying to

wrench it open. The pull ceased for an instant, then came again; the

sturdy latches burst and the door was torn from its hinges. Jim swung

one of the searchlights until the beam was at right angles to the hull

of the flyer and pressed the gun button. A crash filled the confined

space of the flyer as a one-pounder radite shell tore out into space.

"They're there but still invisible," he exclaimed as he shifted the

direction of the gun and fired again. "I am shooting by guess-work, but

I might score a hit."

He changed the direction of the gun again, but before he could press the

button he was lifted into the air and drawn rapidly toward the open

door.

"Shoot, Pete!" he shouted. "Shoot and keep on shooting--it's your only

chance!"

I turned to the knobs controlling the guns and lights, but, before I

could make a move, something hard and cold grasped me about the middle

and I was lifted into the air and drawn toward the open door after Jim.

I tore at the thing holding me with my hands, but it was a smooth round

thing like a two-inch thick wire, and I could get no grip on it to

loosen it. Out through the door I went and was drawn through the air a

few feet behind Jim. He moved ahead of me for fifteen or twenty feet and

then vanished in mid-air. I dared not struggle in mid-air and I was

drawn through a door into a large space flyer which became visible as I

entered it. The flexible wire or rod which had held me uncoiled and I

was free on the floor beside Jim Carpenter. This much was clear and

understandable, but when I looked at the crew of that space ship, I was

sure that I had lost my mind or was seeing visions. I had naturally

expected men, or at least something in semi-human form, but instead of

anything of the sort, before me stood a dozen gigantic beetles!

* * * * *

I rubbed my eyes and looked again. There was no mistaking the fact that

we had been captured by a race of gigantic beetles flying an invisible

space ship. When I had time later to examine them critically, I could

see marked differences between our captors and the beetles we were

accustomed to see on the earth besides the mere matter of size. To begin

with, their bodies were relatively much smaller, the length of shell of

the largest specimen not being over four feet, while the head of the

same insect, exclusive of the horns or pinchers, was a good eighteen

inches in length. The pinchers, which by all beetle proportions should

have been a couple of feet long at the least, did not extend over the

head a distance greater than eight inches, although they were sturdy and

powerful.

Instead of traveling with their shells horizontal as do earthly beetles,

these insects stood erect on their two lower pairs of legs, which were

of different lengths so that all four feet touched the ground when the

shell was vertical. The two upper pairs of legs were used as arms, the

topmost pair[A] being quite short and splitting out at the end into four

flexible claws about five inches long, which they used as fingers. These

upper arms, which sprouted from a point near the top of the head, were

peculiar in that they apparently had no joints like the other three

pairs but were flexible like an elephant's trunk. The second pair of

arms were armed with long, vicious-looking hooks. The backplates

concealed only very rudimentary wings, not large enough to enable the

insects to fly, although Jim told me later that they could fly on their

own planet, where the lessened gravity made such extensive wing supports

as would be needed on earth unnecessary.

[Footnote A: Mr. Bond has made a laughable error in his description.

Like all of the coleoptera, the Mercurians were hexapoda (six legged).

What Mr. Bond continually refers to in his narrative as "upper arms"

were really the antenna of the insects which split at the end into four

flexible appendages resembling fingers. His mistake is a natural one,

for the Mercurians used their antenna as extra arms.--James S.

Carpenter.]

The backplates were a brilliant green in color, with six-inch stripes of

chrome yellow running lengthwise and crimson spots three inches in

diameter arranged in rows between the stripes. Their huge-faceted eyes

sparkled like crystal when the light fell on them, and from time to time

waves of various colors passed over them, evidently reflecting the

insect's emotions. Although they gave the impression of great muscular

power, their movements were slow and sluggish, and they seemed to have

difficulty in getting around.

* * * * *

As my horrified gaze took in these monstrosities I turned with a shudder

to Jim Carpenter.

"Am I crazy, Jim," I asked, "or do you see these things too?"

"I see them all right, Pete," he replied. "It isn't as surprising as it

seems at first glance. You expected to find human beings; so did I, but

what reason had we for doing so? It is highly improbable, when you come

to consider the matter, that evolution should take the same course

elsewhere as it did on earth. Why not beetles, or fish, or horned toads,

for that matter?"

"No reason, I guess," I answered; "I just hadn't expected anything of

the sort. What do you suppose they mean to do with us?"

"I haven't any idea, old man. We'll just have to wait and see. I'll try

to talk to them, although I don't expect much luck at it."

He turned to the nearest beetle and slowly and clearly spoke a few

words. The insect gave no signs of comprehension, although it watched

the movement of Jim's lips carefully. It is my opinion, and Jim agrees

with me, that the insects were both deaf and dumb, for during the entire

time we were associated with them, we never heard them give forth a

sound under any circumstances, nor saw them react to any sound that we

made. Either they had some telepathic means of communication or else

they made and heard sounds beyond the range of the human ear, for it was

evident from their actions that they frequently communicated with one

another.

* * * * *

When Jim failed in his first attempt to communicate he looked around for

another method. He noticed my notebook, which had fallen on the floor

when I was set down; he picked it up and drew a pencil from his pocket.

The insects watched his movements carefully, and when he had made a

sketch in the book, the nearest one took it from him and examined it

carefully and then passed it to another one, who also examined it. The

sketch which Jim had drawn showed the outline of the Hadley space flyer

from which he had been taken. When the beetles had examined the sketch,

one of them stepped to an instrument board in the center of the ship and

made an adjustment. Then he pointed with one of his lower arms.

We looked in the direction in which he pointed; to our astonishment, the

walls of the flyer seemed to dissolve, or at least to become perfectly

transparent. The floor of the space ship was composed of some silvery

metal, and from it had risen walls of the same material, but now the

effect was as though we were suspended in mid-air, with nothing either

around us or under us. I gasped and grabbed at the instrument board for

support. Then I felt foolish as I realized that there was no change in

the feel of the floor for all its transparency and that we were not

falling.

* * * * *

A short distance away we could see our flyer suspended in the air, held

up by two long flexible rods or wires similar to those which had lifted

us from our ship into our prison. I saw a dozen more of these rods

coiled up, hanging in the air, evidently, but really on the floor near

the edge of the flyer, ready for use. Jim suddenly grasped me by the

arm.

"Look behind you in a moment," he said, "but don't start!"

He took the notebook in his hand and started to draw a sketch. I looked

behind as he had told me to. Hanging in the air in a position which told

me that they must have been in a different compartment of the flyer,

were five children. They were white as marble, and lay perfectly

motionless.

"Are they dead, Jim?" I asked in a low voice without looking at him.

"I don't know," he replied, "but we'll find out a little later. I am

relieved to find them here, and I doubt if they are harmed."

The sketch which he was making was one of the solar system, and, when he

had finished, he marked the earth with a cross and handed the notebook

to one of the beetles. The insect took it and showed it to his

companions; so far as I was able to judge expressions, they were amazed

to find that we had knowledge of the heavenly bodies. The beetle took

Jim's pencil in one of its hands and, after examining it carefully, made

a cross on the circle which Jim had drawn to represent the planet

Mercury.

* * * * *

"They come from Mercury," exclaimed Jim in surprise as he showed me the

sketch. "That accounts for a good many things; why they are so

lethargic, for one thing. Mercury is much smaller than the earth and the

gravity is much less. According to Mercurian standards, they must weigh

a ton each. It is quite a tribute to their muscular development that

they can move and support their weight against our gravity. They can

understand a drawing all right, so we have a means of communicating with

them, although a pretty slow one and dependent entirely on my limited

skill as a cartoonist. I wonder if we are free to move about?"

"The only way to find out is to try," I replied and stood erect. The

beetles offered no objection and Jim stood up beside me. We walked, or

rather edged, our way toward the side of the ship. The insects watched

us when we started to move and then evidently decided that we were

harmless. They turned from us to the working of the ship. One of them

manipulated some dials on the instrument board. One of the rods which

held our flyer released its grip, came in toward the Mercurian ship and

coiled itself up on the floor, or the place where the floor should have

been. The insect touched another dial. Jim threw caution to the winds,

raced across the floor and grasped the beetle by the arm.

The insect looked at him questioningly; Jim produced the notebook and

drew a sketch representing our flyer falling. On the level be had used

to represent the ground he made another sketch of it lying in ruins. The

beetle nodded comprehendingly and turned to another dial; the ship sank

slowly toward the ground.

* * * * *

We sank until we hung only a few feet from the ground when our flyer was

gently lowered down. When it rested on the ground, the wire which had

held it uncoiled, came aboard and coiled itself up beside the others. As

the Mercurian ship rose I noticed idly that the door which had been torn

from our ship and dropped lay within a few yards of the ship itself. The

Mercurian ship rose to an elevation of a hundred feet, drifting gently

over the city.

As we rose I determined to try the effect of my personality on the

beetles. I approached the one who seemed to be the leader and, putting

on the most woeful expression I could muster, I looked at the floor. He

did not understand me and I pretended that I was falling and grasped at

him. This time he nodded and stepped to the instrument board. In a

moment the floor became visible. I thanked him as best I could in

pantomime and approached the walls. They were so transparent that I felt

an involuntary shrinking as I approached them. I edged my way cautiously

forward until my outstretched hand encountered a solid substance. I

looked out.

At the slow speed we were traveling the drone of our motors was hardly

audible to us, and I felt sure that it could not be heard on the ground.

Once their curiosity was satisfied, our captors paid little or no

attention to me and left me free to come and go as I wished. I made my

way cautiously toward the children, but ran into a solid wall.

Remembering Jim's words, I made my way back toward him without

displaying any interest.

* * * * *

Jim could probably have wandered around as I did had he wished, but he

chose to occupy his time differently. With his notebook and pencil he

carried on an extensive conversation, if that term can be applied to a

crudely executed set of drawings, with the leader of the beetles. I was

not especially familiar with the methods of control of space ships and I

could make nothing of the maze of dials and switches on the instrument

board.

For half an hour we drifted slowly along. Presently one of the beetles

approached, seized my arm and turned me about. With one of his arms he

pointed ahead. A mile away I could see another space flyer similar to

the one we were on.

"Here comes another one, Jim." I called.

"Yes, I saw it some time ago. I don't know where the third one is."

"Are there three of them?"

"Yes. Three of them came here yesterday and are exploring the country

round about here. They are scouts sent out from the fleet of our brother

planet to see if the road was clear and what the world was like. They

spotted the hole through the layer with their telescope and sent their

fleet out to pay us a visit. He tells me that the scouts have reported

favorably and that the whole fleet, several thousand ships, as near as I

can make out, are expected here this evening."

"Have you solved the secret of their invisibility?"

* * * * *

"Partly. It is as I expected. The walls of the ship are double, the

inner one of metal and the outer one of vitrolene or some similar

perfectly transparent substance. The space between the walls is filled

with some substance which will bend both visible and ultra-violet rays

along a path around the ship and then lets them go in their original

direction. The reason why we can see through the walls and see the

protective coating of that ship coming is that they are generating some

sort of a ray here which acts as a carrier for the visible light rays. I

don't know what sort of a ray it is, but when I get a good look at their

generators, I may be able to tell. Are you beginning to itch and burn?"

"Yes, I believe that I am, although I hadn't noticed it until you

spoke."

"I have been noticing it for some time. From its effects on the skin, I

am inclined to believe it to be a ray of very short wave-length,

possibly something like our X-ray, or even shorter."

"Have you found out what they intend to do with us?"

"I don't think they have decided yet. Possibly they are going to take us

up to the leader of their fleet and let him decide. The cuss that is in

command of this ship seems surprised to death to find out that I can

comprehend the principles of his ship. He seems to think that I am a

sort of a rara avis, a freak of nature. He intimated that he would

recommend that we be used for vivisection."

"Good Lord!"

"It's not much more worse than the fate they design for the rest of

their captives, at that."

"What is that?"

"It's a long story that I'll have to tell you later. I want to watch

this meeting."

* * * * *

The other ship had approached to within a few yards and floated

stationary, while some sort of communication was exchanged between the

two. I could not fathom the method used, but the commander of our craft

clamped what looked like a pair of headphones against his body and

plugged the end of a wire leading from them into his instrument board.

From time to time various colored lights glowed on the board before

him. After a time he uncoupled his device from the board, and one of the

long rods shot out from our ship to the other. It returned in a moment

clamped around the body of a young girl. As the came on board, she was

lowered onto the deck beside the other children. Like them, she was

stiff and motionless. I gave an exclamation and sprang forward.

"Pete!"

Jim's voice recalled me to myself, and I watched the child laid with the

others with as disinterested an expression as I could muster. I had

never made a mistake in following Jim Carpenter's lead and I knew that

somewhere in his head a plan was maturing which might offer us some

chance of escape.

Our ship moved ahead down a long slant, gradually dropping nearer to the

ground. I watched the maneuver with interest while Jim, with his friend

the beetle commander, went over the ship. The insect was evidently

amused at Jim and was determined to find out the limits of his

intelligence, for he pointed out various controls and motors of the ship

and made elaborate sketches which Jim seemed to comprehend fairly well.

* * * * *

One of the beetles approached the control board and motioned me back. I

stepped away from the board; evidently a port in the side of the vessel

opened, for I felt a breath of air and could hear the hum of the city. I

walked to the side and glanced down, and found that we were floating

about twenty feet off the ground over a street on the edge of the city.

On the street a short distance ahead of us two children, evidently

returning from school, to judge by the books under their arms, were

walking unsuspectingly along. A turn of the dial sped up our motors, and

as the hum rang out in a louder key the children looked upward. Two of

the long flexible wires shot out and wrapped themselves about the

children; screaming, they were lifted into the space flyer. The port

through which they came in shut with a clang and the ship rose rapidly

into the air. The children were released from the wires which coiled

themselves up on deck and the beetle who had operated them stepped

forward and grasped the nearer of the children, a boy of about eleven,

by the arm. He raised the boy, who was paralyzed with terror, up toward

his head and gazed steadily into his eyes. Slowly the boy ceased

struggling and became white and rigid. The beetle laid him on the deck

and turned to the girl. Involuntarily I gave a shout and sprang forward,

but Jim grasped me by the arm.

"Keep quiet, you darned fool!" he cried. "We can do nothing now. Wait

for a chance!"

"We can't stand here and see murder done!" I protested.

"It's not murder. Pete, those children aren't being hurt. They are being

hypnotized so that they can be transported to Mercury."

"Why are they taking them to Mercury?" I demanded.

"As nearly as I can make out, there is a race of men up there who are

subject to these beetles. This ship is radium propelled, and the men and

women are the slaves who work in the radium mines. Of course the workers

soon become sexless, but others are kept for breeding purposes to keep

the race alive. Through generations of in-breeding, the stock is about

played out and are getting too weak to be of much value.

"The Mercurians have been studying the whole universe to find a race

which will serve their purpose and they have chosen us to be the

victims. When their fleet gets here, they plan to capture thousands of

selected children and carry them to Mercury in order to infuse their

blood into the decadent race of slaves they have. Those who are not

suitable for breeding when they grow up will die as slaves in the radium

mines."

* * * * *

"Horrible!" I gasped. "Why are they taking children, Jim? Wouldn't

adults suit their purpose better?"

"They are afraid to take adults. On Mercury an earthman would have

muscles of unheard of power and adults would constantly strive to rise

against their masters. By getting children, they hope to raise them to

know nothing else than a life of slavery and get the advantage of their

strength without risk. It is a clever scheme."

"And are we to stand here and let them do it?"

"Not on your life, but we had better hold easy for a while. If I can get

a few minutes more with that brute I'll know enough about running this

ship that we can afford to do away with them. You have a pistol, haven't

you?"

"No."

"The devil! I thought you had. I have an automatic, but it only carries

eight shells. There are eleven of these insects and unless we can get

the jump on them, they'll do us. I saw what looks like a knife lying

near the instrument board; get over near it and get ready to grab it as

soon as you hear my pistol. These things are deaf and if I work it right

I may be able to do several of them in before they know what's

happening. When you attack, don't try to ram them in the back; their

backplates are an inch thick and will be proof against a knife thrust.

Aim at their eyes; if you can blind them, they'll be helpless. Do you

understand?"

"I'll do my best, Jim," I replied. "Since you have told me their plans I

am itching to get at them."

* * * * *

I edged over toward the knife, but as I did so I saw a better weapon. On

the floor lay a bar of silvery metal about thirty inches long and an

inch in diameter. I picked it up and toyed with it idly, meanwhile

edging around to get behind the insect which I had marked for my first

attentions. Jim was talking again by means of the notebook with his

beetle friend. They walked around the ship, examining everything in it.

"Are you ready, Pete?" came Jim's voice at last.

"All set," I replied, getting a firmer grasp on my bar and edging toward

one of the insects.

"Well, don't start until I fire. You notice the bug I am talking to?

Don't kill him unless you have to. This ship is a little too complicated

for me to fathom, so I want this fellow taken prisoner. We'll use him as

our engineer when we take control."

"I understand."

"All right, get ready."

I kept my eye on Jim. He had drawn the beetle with whom he was talking

to a position where they were behind the rest. Jim pointed at something

behind the insect's back and the beetle turned. As it did so, Jim

whipped out his pistol and, taking careful aim, fired at one of the

insects.

As the sound of the shot rang out I raised my bar and leaped forward. I

brought it down with crushing force on the head of the nearest beetle.

My victim fell forward, and I heard Jim's pistol bark again; but I had

no time to watch him. As the beetle I struck fell the others turned and

I had two of them coming at me with outstretched arms, ready to grasp

me. I swung my bar, and the arm of one of them fell limp; but the other

seized me with both its hands, and I felt the cruel hooks of its lower

arms against the small of my back.

* * * * *

One of my arms was still free; I swung my bar again, and it struck my

captor on the back of the head. It was stunned by the blow and fell. I

seized the knife from the floor, and threw myself down beside it and

struck at its eyes, trying to roll it over so as to protect me from the

other who was trying to grasp me.

I felt hands clutch me from behind; I was wrenched loose from the body

of my victim and lifted into the air. I was turned about and stared

hard into the implacable crystalline eyes of one of the insects. For a

moment my senses reeled and then, without volition, I dropped my bar. I

remembered the children and realized that I was being hypnotized. I

fought against the feeling, but my senses reeled and I almost went limp,

when the sound of a pistol shot, almost in my ear, roused me. The spell

of the beetle was momentarily broken. I thrust the knife which I still

grasped at the eyes before me. My blow went home, but the insect raised

me and bent me toward him until my head lay on top of his and the huge

horns which adorned his head began to close. Another pistol shot

sounded, and I was suddenly dropped.

I grasped my bar as I fell and leaped up. The flyer was a shambles. Dead

insects lay on all sides while Jim, smoking pistol in hand, was staring

as though fascinated into the eyes of one of the surviving beetles. I

ran forward and brought my bar down on the insect's head, but as I did

so I was grasped from behind.

"Jim, help!" I cried as I was swung into the air. The insect whirled me

around and then threw me to the floor. I had an impression of falling;

then everything dissolved in a flash of light. I was unconscious only

for a moment, and I came to to find Jim Carpenter standing over me,

menacing my assailant with his gun.

"Thanks, Jim," I said faintly.

"If you're conscious again, get up and get your bar," he replied. "My

pistol is empty and I don't know how long I can run a bluff on this

fellow."

* * * * *

I scrambled to my feet and grasped the bar. Jim stepped behind me and

reloaded his pistol.

"All right," he said when he had finished. "I'll take charge of this

fellow. Go around and see if the rest are dead. If they aren't when you

find them, see that they are when you leave them. We're taking no

prisoners."

I went the rounds of the prostrate insects. None of them were beyond

moving except two whose heads had been crushed by my bar, but I obeyed

Jim's orders. When I rejoined him with my bloody bar, the only beetle

left alive was the commander, whom Jim was covering with his pistol.

"Take the gun," he said when I reported my actions, "and give me the

bar."

We exchanged weapons and Jim turned to the captive.

"Now, old fellow," he said grimly, "either you run this ship as I want

you to, or you're a dead Indian. Savvy?"

He took his pencil and notebook from his pocket and drew a sketch of our

Hadley space ship. On the other end of the sheet he drew a picture of

the Mercurian ship, and then drew a line connecting the two. The insect

looked at the sketch but made no movement.

"All right, if that's the way you feel about it," said Jim. He raised

the bar and brought it down with crushing force on one of the insect's

lower arms. The arm fell as though paralyzed and a blue light played

across the beetle's eyes. Jim extended the sketch again and raised the

bar threateningly. The beetle moved over to the control board, Jim

following closely, and set the ship in motion. Ten minutes later it

rested on the ground beside the ship in which we had first taken the

air.

* * * * *

Following Jim's pictured orders the beetle opened the door of the

Mercurian ship and followed Jim into the Hadley. As we emerged from the

Mercurian ship I looked back. It had vanished completely.

"The children, Jim!" I gasped.

"I haven't forgotten them," he replied, "but they are all right for the

present. If we turned them loose now, we'd have ninety reporters around

us in ten minutes. I want to get our generators modified first."

He pointed toward the spot where the Mercurian ship had stood and then

toward our generators. The beetle hesitated, but Jim swung his bar

against the insect's side in a vicious blow. Again came the play of blue

light over the eyes; the beetle bent over our generaters and set to

work. Jim handed me the bar and bent over to help. They were both

mechanics of a high order and they worked well together; in an hour the

beetle started the generators and swung one of the searchlights toward

his old ship. It leaped into view on the radium coated screen.

"Good business!" ejaculated Jim. "We'll repair this door; then we'll be

ready to release the children and start out."

* * * * *

We followed the beetle into the Mercurian ship, which it seemed to be

able to see. It opened a door leading into another compartment of the

flyer, and before us lay the bodies of eight children. The beetle lifted

the first one, a little girl, up until his many-faceted eyes looked full

into the closed ones of the child. There was a flicker of an eyelash, a

trace of returning color, and then a scream of terror from the child.

The beetle set the girl down and Jim bent over her.

"It's all right now, little lady," he said, clumsily smoothing her hair.

"You're safe now. Run along to your mother. First Mortgage, take charge

of her and take her outside. It isn't well for children to see these

things."

The child clung to my hand: I led her out of the ship, which promptly

vanished as we left it. One by one, seven other children joined us, the

last one, a miss of not over eight, in Jim's arms. The beetle followed

behind him.

"Do any of you know where you are?" asked Jim as he came out.

"I do, sir," said one of the boys. "I live close to here."

"All right, take these youngsters to your house and tell your mother to

telephone their parents to come and get them. If anyone asks you what

happened, tell them to see Jim Carpenter to-morrow. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right, run along then. Now, First Mortgage, let's go hunting."

* * * * *

We wired our captive up so securely that I felt that there was no

possible chance of his escape; then, with Jim at the controls and me at

the guns, we fared forth in search of the invaders. Back and forth over

the city we flew without sighting another spaceship in the air. Jim gave

an exclamation of impatience and swung on a wider circle, which took us

out over the water. I kept the searchlights working. Presently, far

ahead over the water, a dark spot came into view. I called to Jim and we

approached it at top speed.

"Don't shoot until we are within four hundred yards," cautioned Jim.

I held my fire until we were within the specified distance. The newcomer

was another of the Mercurian space-ships; with a feeling of joy I swung

my beam until the cross-hairs of the screen rested full on the invader.

"All ready!" I sung out.

"If you are ready, Gridley, you may fire!" replied Jim. I pressed the

gun button. The crash of the gun was followed by another report from

outside as the radite shell burst against the Mercurian flyer. The

deadly explosive did its work, and the shattered remains of the wreck

fell, to be engulfed in the sea below.

"That's one!" cried Jim. "I'm afraid we won't have time to hunt up the

other right now. This bug told me that the other Mercurians are due here

to-day, and I think we had better form ourselves into a reception

committee and go up to the hole to meet them."

* * * * *

He sent the ship at high speed over the city until we hovered over the

laboratory. We stopped for a moment, and Jim stepped to the radio

telephone.

"Hello, Williams," he said, "how are things going? That's fine. In an

hour, you say? Well, speed it up as much as you can; we may call for it

soon."

He turned both stern motors to full power, and we shot up like a rocket

toward the hole in the protective layer through which the invaders had

entered. In ten minutes we were at the altitude of the guard ships and

Jim asked if anything had been seen. The report was negative; Jim left

them below the layer and sent our flyer up through the hole into space.

We reached the outer surface in another ten minutes and we were none too

soon. Hardly had we debouched from the hole than ahead of us we saw

another Mercurian flyer. It was a lone one, and Jim bent over the

captive and held a hastily made sketch before him. The sketch showed

three Mercurian flyers, one on the ground, one wrecked and the third one

in the air. He touched the drawing of the one in the air and pointed

toward our port hole and looked questioningly at the beetle. The insect

inspected the flyer in space and nodded.

"Good!" cried Jim. "That's the third of the trio who came ahead as

scouts. Get your gun ready, First Mortgage: we're going to pick him

off."

Our ship approached the doomed Mercurian. Again I waited until we were

within four hundred yards; then I pressed the button which hurled it, a

crumpled wreck, onto the outer surface of the heaviside layer.

"Two!" cried Jim as we backed away.

"Here come plenty more," I cried as I swung the searchlight. Jim left

his controls, glanced at the screen and whistled softly. Dropping toward

us from space were hundreds of the Mercurian ships.

"We got here just in time," he said. "Break out your extra ammunition

while I take to the hole. We can't hope to do that bunch alone, so we'll

fight a rearguard action."

* * * * *

Since our bow gun would be the only one in action, I hastily moved the

spare boxes of ammunition nearer to it while Jim maneuvered the Hadley

over the hole. As the Mercurian fleet came nearer he started a slow

retreat toward the earth. The Mercurians overtook us rapidly; Jim locked

his controls at slow speed down and hurried to the bow gun.

"Start shooting as soon as you can," he said. "I'll keep the magazine

filled."

I swung the gun until the cross-hairs of the screen rested full on the

leading ship and pressed the button. My aim was true, and the shattered

fragments of the ship fell toward me. The balance of the fleet slowed

down for an instant; I covered another one and pressed my button. The

ship at which I had aimed was in motion and I missed it, but I had the

satisfaction of seeing another one fall in fragments. Jim was loading

the magazine as fast as I fired. I covered another ship and fired again.

A third one of our enemies fell in ruins. The rest paused and drew off.

"They're retreating, Jim!" I cried.

"Cease firing until they come on again," he replied is he took the

shells from the magazines of the other guns and piled them near the bow

gun.

I held my fire for a few minutes. The Mercurians retreated a short

distance and then came on again with a rush. Twenty times my gun went

off as fast as I could align it and press the trigger, and eighteen of

the enemy ships were in ruins. Again the Mercurians retreated. I held my

fire. We were falling more rapidly now and far below we could see the

black spots which were the guard ships. I told Jim that they were in

sight; he stepped to the radio telephone and ordered them to keep well

away from the hole.

* * * * *

Again the Mercurian ships came on with a rush, this time with beams of

orange light stabbing a way before them. When I told Jim of this he

jumped to the controls and shot our ship down at breakneck speed.

"I don't know what sort of fighting apparatus they have, but I don't

care to face it," he said to me. "Fire if they get close; but I hope to

get out of the hole before they are in range."

Fast as we fell, the Mercurians were coming faster, and they were not

over eight hundred yards from us when he reached the level of the guard

ships. Jim checked our speed; I managed to pick off three more of the

invaders before we moved away from the hole. Jim stopped the side motion

and jumped to the radio telephone.

"Hello, Williams!" he shouted into the instrument. "Are you ready down

there? Thank God! Full power at once, please!

"Watch what happens," he said to me, as he turned from the instrument.

Some fifty of the Mercurian flyers had reached our level and had started

to move toward us before anything happened. Then from below came a beam

of intolerable light. Upward it struck, and the Mercurian ships on which

it impinged disappeared in a flash of light.

"A disintegrating ray," explained Jim. "I suspected that it might be

needed and I started Williams to rigging it up early this morning. I

hated to use it because it may easily undo the work that six years have

done in healing the break in the layer, but it was necessary. That ends

the invasion, except for those ten or twelve ships ahead of us. How is

your marksmanship? Can you pick off ten in ten shots?"

"Watch me," I said grimly as the ship started to move.

* * * * *

Pride goeth ever before a fall: it took me sixteen shots to demolish the

eleven ships which had escaped destruction from the ray. As the last one

fell in ruins, Jim ordered the ray shut off. We fell toward the ground.

"What are we going to do with our prisoner?" I asked.

Jim looked at the beetle meditatively.

"He would make a fine museum piece if he were stuffed," he said, "but

on the whole, I think we'll let him go. He is an intelligent creature

and will probably be happier on Mercury than anywhere else. What do you

say that we put him on his ship and turn him loose?"

"To lead another invasion?" I asked.

"I think not. He has seen what has happened to this one and is more

likely to warn them to keep away. In any event, if we equip the guard

ships with a ray that will show the Mercurian ships up and keep the

disintegrating ray ready for action, we needn't fear another invasion.

Let's let him go."

"It suits me all right, Jim, but I hold out for one thing. I will never

dare to face McQuarrie again if I fail to get a picture of him. I insist

on taking his photograph before we turn him loose."

"All right, go ahead," laughed Jim. "He ought to be able to stand that,

if you'll spare him an interview."

An hour later we watched the Mercurian flyer disappear into space.

"I hope I've seen the last of those bugs," I said as the flyer faded

from view.

"I don't know," said Jim thoughtfully. "If I have interpreted correctly

the drawings that creature made, there is a race of manlike bipeds on

Mercury who are slaves to those beetles and who live and die in the

horrible atmosphere of a radium mine. Some of these days I may lead an

expedition to our sister planet and look into that matter."

MECHANICAL VOICES FOR PHONE NUMBERS

New developments whereby science goes still farther in its

assumption of human attributes were described and demonstrated

recently by Sergius P. Grace, Assistant Vice-President of Bell

Telephone Laboratories, where the developments were conceived and

worked out.

One development described, and soon to be put into service in New

York, transforms a telephone number dialed by a subscriber into

speech. Although the subscriber says not a word the number dialed

is spoken aloud to the operator.

The device is expected to simplify and speed the hooking together

of automatic and voice-hand-operated telephone exchanges, and also

to speed long-distance calls from automatic phones through rural

exchanges.

The numbers which can thus be spoken are recorded on talkie films

and those which are to go into use here have already been made, all

by an Irish girl said to have the best voice among the city's

"number, please" girls.

Mr. Grace demonstrated this device by carrying into the audience a

telephone with a long cord connected with a loud speaker on the

stand, which represented central. A member of the audience was

requested to dial a number, and choose 5551-T, the letter T

representing the exchange.

This number the spectator dialed on the phone Mr. Grace carried.

There was no sound but the clicking of the dial. Then, two seconds

later, the loudspeaker spoke up clearly, in an almost human voice,

"5551 T."

As for the recording of the sound films, there is a film for each

of the ten Arabic numerals from zero to nine, and these wound on

revolving drums. The dial on the telephone automatically sets in

action the drum corresponding to the numeral moved on the dial.

Another development which sounds promising for bashful suitors and

other timid souls, enables a person to store within himself

electrically a message he desires to deliver and then to deliver it

without speaking, simply by putting a finger to the ear of the

person for whom the message is intended.

This Mr. Grace demonstrated. He spoke into a telephone transmitter

and his words were clearly heard by all in the audience, by means

of amplifiers. At the same time a part of the electrical current

from the amplifier, representing the sentence he voiced, was stored

in a "delay circuit," another recent invention of the laboratories.

After being stored four and a half seconds this current was

transformed to a high voltage and passed into Mr. Grace's body. He

then put his finger against the ear of a member of the audience,

who heard in his brain the same sentence. The ear drum and

surrounding tissues are made to act as one plate of a

condenser-receiver, Mr. Grace explained, with the vibrations of the

drum interpreted by the brain.

A new magnetic metal, "perminvar," and a new insulating material,

"para gutta," which make possible construction of a telephone cable

across the Atlantic to supplement the radio systems, were also

described. Actual construction of the cable is expected to be

started in 1930, Mr. Grace said.

[Illustration: _The flight was hovering above the first fire-ball._]

Earth, the Marauder

CONCLUSION OF A THREE-PART NOVEL

_By Arthur J. Burks_