-suit.
Evidently there was a layer of air in here. The red lidless eyes were
filled with a cold fury. Spatulate fingers tensed on the button of a
pencil ray.

"Miro," Grant breathed to himself unbelievingly. A great light burst
upon him.

* * * * *

The Inspector of the Service for Ganymede did not recognize him,
swathed as Grant was in the depths of his space-suit, nor did he
notice the little movement of surprise. He was too furiously angry.
His words came tumbling out in a tremble of rage.

"You damned scoundrels; have you gone mad? What do you mean by coming
in here through the secret way? Don't you know it is death for anyone
to pass the barrier? And what do you mean by shooting down your
fellows with an Earth weapon? Answer, damn you, before I thrust you
into the Gorm."

Both were silent; Nona because she did not know what to say, and Grant
because he knew his voice would be recognized by Miro's keen ears. He
kept his eyes fixed on the Ganymedan, waiting hawk-like for one false
move, for the tiniest wavering of attention. But the pencil-ray was
pointed squarely at his breast.

"You won't talk?" Miro's voice was choked with passion. "Well, there
are ways to make you." With one foot he kicked at the open slab, while
his weapon commanded them unwaveringly. There was a smooth soundless
rush. Grant knew that the wall was an unbroken surface again. They
were cut off on the secret side of the island, alone with Miro.

Yet that was the horror of it. They were not alone. For Grant's first
darting look inside when he had first opened the panel had shown him
the others. Hundreds of them there were, men of all races and planets,
a motley crew. And each man walked stiffly, unnaturally, looking
neither to the right nor to the left. Their eyes were fixed and
glassy; the skin of their faces, no matter what their origin, was
uniformly parched and gray. A cold sweat broke out on Grant's
forehead. They looked like automatons: beings from whom life had been
drained. He heard a little choked cry from Nona; she had seen them,
too.

Miro plucked out with his free hand a little pear-shaped mechanism
punctured with innumerable holes. He blew into it, once--twice. It
gave forth a high whining note. Instantly two of the strange lifeless
men wheeled angularly, and with queer mechanical movements headed
straight for them. A bloodless hand stretched out, grasped Nona. Grant
heard her scream and saw he