He had just snapped out of empty
air.

Stutsman stared at him, his eyes widening, but the gun remained steady
in his hand.

"Look out, Craven," warned Greg. "He's going to fire and it will go
right through me and hit you."

* * * * *

There was the thump of a falling body as Craven hurled himself out of
his chair, hit the floor and rolled. Stutsman's gun vomited flame. The
spouting flame passed through Greg's image, blasted against the chair in
which Craven had sat, fused it until it fell in on itself.

"Russ," said Greg quietly, "disarm this fellow before he hurts
somebody."

An unseen force reached out and twisted the gun from Stutsman's hand,
flung it to one side. Swiftly Stutsman's hands were forced behind his
back and held there by invisible bonds.

Stutsman cried out, tried to struggle, but he was unable to move. It was
as if giant hands had gripped him, were holding him in a viselike
clutch.

"Thanks, Manning," said Craven, getting up off the floor. "The fool
would have shot this time. He's threatened it for days. He has been
developing a homicidal mania."

"We don't need to worry about him now," declared Greg. He turned around
to face Craven. "Where's Chambers?"

"Stutsman locked him up," said Craven. "I imagine he has the key in his
pocket. Locked him up in the stateroom. Chambers jumped him and tried to
take the gun away from him and Stutsman laid him out, hit him over the
head. He kept Chambers locked up after that. Hasn't allowed anyone to go
near the room. Hasn't even given him food and water. That was three days
ago."

"Get the key out of his pocket," directed Greg. "Go and see how Chambers
is."

Alone in the control room with Stutsman, Greg looked at him.

"I have a score to settle with you, Stutsman," he said. "I had intended
to let it ride, but not now."

"You can't touch me," blustered Stutsman. "You wouldn't dare."

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"You're bluffing. You've got a lot of tricks, but you can't do the
things you would like me to think you can. You've got Chambers and
Craven fooled, but not me."

"It may be that I can offer you definite proof."

Chambers staggered over the threshold. His clothing was rumpled. A rude
bandage was wound around his head. His face was haggard and his eyes
red.

"Hello, Manning," he said. "I suppose you've won. The Solar System must
be in your control by now."

He lifted his hand to his mustache, bru