an hour more."

* * * * *

Bell went down the companion-ladder. The promenade was crowded with
passengers now, asking questions of each other. Some, frowning
portentously, thought the plane an unscheduled ocean flier who had
lost his way in the fog.

Paul Canalejas was close to Bell as he shouldered his way through the
crowd.

"That was for him?" she asked, without moving her lips.

Bell nodded.

"Tell him," she said quietly, "I--pray for him."

Bell nodded abruptly and went into the saloon. It was nearly empty. He
wiped the sweat off his face. It was horrible to have to go down to
Ortiz and tell him that at best it would be half an hour more....

Then there was a sudden scream below him, and then a shot. Bell jumped
for the stairs, his heart in his throat, and saw Ortiz coming out of
his stateroom door. His eyes were wide and agonized. His body....

Even in the incredibly short time before he reached the bottom of the
steps, Bell had time to receive the ghastly impression that Ortiz was
sane, but that his body had gone mad. Ortiz's face was white and
horrified. His hands and arms were writhing savagely, working at the
handcuffs on his wrists. His legs were carrying him at a curious,
padding trot down the hallway. One of the hands held a glittering
revolver. A steward was crouched behind a couch, his face white and
filled with stark terror. And Ortiz held his head back, as if
struggling to hold back and control his body, which was under the
control of a malignant demon.

"Out of the way!" cried Ortiz in a voice of terrible despair. "Get
someone to shoot me! Kill me! I cannot--ah, _Dios!_"

* * * * *

The hands leveled the revolver in spite of him, while he flung his
head from side to side in a frantic attempt to disturb their aim.

"Close your eyes!" panted Bell, and hurled himself upon--whom? It was
not Ortiz. It was Ortiz's body, gone mad and raging. The manacled arms
flailed about frenziedly. The gun went off. Again. Again....

Bell struck. He knocked the Thing that possessed Ortiz's body off its
feet. The hands groped for him. They clubbed at him with the revolver.
The feet kicked....

"Keep your eyes closed," gasped Bell, struggling to get the gun away
from those horrible hands. "It--it can't see when you keep your eyes
closed!"

Fighting insanely as the Thing was fighting, he could not identify it
with Ortiz himself. One of the hand