an, with a questioning
glance at the girl.

"Don't mind me," she answered his unspoken question. "I don't believe in
surrendering, either."

"Right," and both men squatted down behind the ether-walls of their
terrific weapons; the girl prone behind them.

They had not long to wait. A group of human beings--men and to all
appearances Americans--appeared unarmed in the little lounge. As soon as
they were well inside the room, Bradley and Costigan released upon them
without compunction the full power of their frightful projectors. From
the reflectors, through the doorway, there tore a concentrated double
beam of pure destruction--but that beam did not reach its goal. Yards
from the men it met a screen of impenetrable density. Instantly the
gunners pressed their triggers and a stream of high-explosive shells
issued from the roaring weapons. But shells, also, were futile. They
struck the shield and vanished--vanished without exploding and without
leaving a trace to show that they had ever existed.

Costigan sprang to his feet, but before he could launch his intended
attack a vast tunnel appeared beside him--something had gone through the
entire width of the liner, cutting effortlessly a smooth cylinder of
emptiness. Air rushed in to fill the vacuum, and the three visitors felt
themselves seized by invisible forces and drawn into the tunnel. Through
it they floated, up to and over buildings, finally slanting downward
toward the door of a great high-towered structure. Doors opened before
them and closed behind them, until at last they stood upright in a room
which was evidently the office of a busy executive. They faced a desk
which, in addition to the usual equipment of the business man, carried
also a bewilderingly complete switchboard and instrument panel.

Seated impassively at the desk there was a gray man. Not only was he
dressed entirely in gray, but his heavy hair was gray, his eyes were
gray, and even his tanned skin seemed to give the impression of grayness
in disguise. His overwhelming personality radiated an aura of
grayness--not the gentle gray of the dove, but the resistless, driving
gray of the super-dreadnought; the hard, inflexible, brittle gray of the
fracture of high-carbon steel.

"Captain Bradley, First Officer Costigan, Miss Marsden," the man spoke
quietly, but crisply. "I had not intended you two men to live so long.
That is a detail, however, which we will pass by for the moment. You may
remove y