o slowly?" asked a reporter, staring at the
globe. "They hardly seem to be moving. It looks like a slow motion
picture."

"They are not moving slowly," replied Dr. White. "There must be a
difference in time in the fourth dimension. Maybe what is hours to us is
only seconds to them. Time must flow more slowly there. Perhaps it is a
bigger place than this third plane. That may account for it. They aren't
moving slowly, they are fighting savagely. It's a fight to the death!
Watch!"

* * * * *

The grotesque arm of one of the figures in the milky globe was moving
out slowly, loafing along, aimed at the head of the other. Slowly the
other twisted his body aside, but too slowly. The fist finally touched
the head, still moving slowly forward, the body following as slowly. The
head of the creature twisted, bent backward, and the body toppled back
in a leisurely manner.

"What does White say?... Can't you get a statement of some sort from
him? Won't he talk at all? A hell of a fine reporter you are--can't even
get a man to open his mouth. Ask him about Henry Woods. Get a
human-interest slant on Woods walking into the light. Ask him how long
this is going to last. Damn it all, man, do something, and don't bother
me again until you have a real story--yes, I said a real story--are you
hard of hearing? For God's sake, do something!"

The editor slammed the receiver on the hook.

"Brooks," he snapped, "get the War Department at Washington. Ask them if
they're going to back up White. Go on, go on. Get busy.... How will you
get them? I don't know. Just get them, that's all. Get them!"

Typewriters gibbered like chuckling morons through the roaring tumult of
the editorial rooms. Copy boys rushed about, white sheets clutched in
their grimy hands. Telephones jangled and strident voices blared through
the haze that arose from the pipes and cigarettes of perspiring writers
who feverishly transferred to paper the startling events that were
rocking the world.

The editor, his necktie off, his shirt open, his sleeves rolled to the
elbow, drummed his fingers on the desk. It had been a hectic twenty-four
hours and he had stayed at the desk every minute of the time. He was
dead tired. When the moment of relaxation came, when the tension
snapped, he knew he would fall into an exhausted stupor of sleep, but
the excitement was keeping him on his feet. There was work to do. There
was news such as the world had