[Illustration: _The others fell back instantly._]
+-----------------------------------+
| Into a land of shadows and lost |
| souls goes Pete Grahame in search |
| of his hapless friends. |
+-----------------------------------+
There was no sense to the note. There was no sense to anything that Vic
Butler did, for that matter. Where he hid away his vast scientific
knowledge in that rattle-brained, red-haired head of his has always been
a mystery to me. The note read:
Dear Pete:
If you get this, I'm in a jam that promises some action.
Drive out, if plane-peddling is palling on you, and bust into
the lab. I'm leaving another note there for you, old son, and
after you read it you can let your conscience be your guide.
Bring a gat along, and plenty of ammo. Hope's away, at Aunt
Cleo's, so don't get in touch with her and spoil her visit.