level," he ordered.
"Search them to the skin: all their weapons may not have been in their
armor. Seal the doors and mount special guards, tuned to me here."

Imprisoned they were, and carefully searched; but they bore no arms, and
nothing had been said or thought of communicators. Even if such
instruments could be concealed, Roger would detect their use instantly.
At least, so would have run his thought had the subject entered his
mind. But even Roger had no inkling of the possibility of Costigan's
"Service Special" phones, detectors and spy-ray--instruments of minute
size and of infinitesimal power, but yet instruments which, working as
they were, below the level of the ether, were effective at great
distances and caused no vibrations in the ether by which their use could
be detected. And what could be more innocent than the regulation,
personal equipment of every officer of space? The heavy goggles, the
wrist-watch and its supplementary pocket chronometer, the flash-lamp,
the automatic lighter, the sender, the money-belt?

All these items of equipment were examined with due care; but the
cleverest minds of Triplanetary's Secret Service had designated those
communicators to pass any ordinary search, however careful, and when
Costigan and Bradley were finally locked into the designated cells, they
still possessed their ultra-instruments.

CHAPTER II

In Roger's Planetoid

In the hall Clio glanced around her wildly, her bosom heaving, eyes
darting here and there, seeking even the narrowest avenue of escape.
Before she could act, however, her body was clamped inflexibly, as
though in a vise, and she struggled, motionless.

"It is useless to attempt to escape, or to do anything except what Roger
wishes," the guide informed her somberly, snapping off the instrument in
her hand and thus restoring to the thoroughly cowed girl her freedom of
motion.

"His lightest wish is law," she continued as they walked down a long
corridor. "The sooner you realize that you must do exactly as he
pleases, in all things, the easier your life will be."

"But I wouldn't _want_ to keep on living!" Clio declared, with a flash
of spirit. "And I can _always_ die, you know."

"You will find that you cannot," the passionless creature returned,
monotonously. "If you do not yield, you will long and pray for death,
but you will not die unless Roger wills it. I was like you once. I also
struggled, and I became what I am now--whateve