Double for Destiny

Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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LEROY YERXA

DOUBLE FOR DESTINY

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Based on a detail from a public-domain wallpaper

First published in Amazing Stories, December 1946

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2022
Version Date: 2022-12-03

Produced by Matthias Kaether and Roy Glashan

All original content added by RGL is protected by copyright.

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Amazing Stories, December 1946 with "Double for Destiny"

"Look down there. Destiny's city—what will it be like—when it happens?"

When Fate doesn't work out the way it should,
maybe a Double can be introduced in its place...

Chapter I. [Untitled]
Chapter II. The Face In The Fog
Chapter III. "I've Killed A Man"
Chapter IV. The Scarlet Ray
Chapter V. City Of Tebba
Chapter VI. Second Visitor
Chapter VII. Cell Of The Silver Square
Chapter VIII. "They Have Escaped"
Chapter IX. Two Kings For Theba
Chapter X. War Comes To Theba
Chapter XI. Love—And A Charge Of T.N.T.
Chapter XII. Ghost Of Nick Freeman
Chapter XIII. No Finer Reward

CHAPTER I. — [UNTITLED]

BOB WALKER slammed the phone down with a force that threatened to destroy it. He stared at the instrument as though it, personally, was responsible for his misfortune.

"So you won't pay?" The expression on his boyish face bordered on the melodramatic. "Well, Mr. McGillycuddy, you are going to pay, and through the nose."

He stalked through the small living-room into a tiny, cluttered kitchen. The breakfast dishes were stacked defiantly in the sink as though daring anyone to wash them. The plain, metal topped table was cluttered with crumbs, a bread knife covered with peanut butter and the remains of a loaf of bread. Bob Walker sat down, adjusted his feet comfortably under the table and clutched the knife firmly in one hand. He found a single slice of bread in the wax wrapper and started to spread peanut butter on it. Every gesture of the knife seemed murderous.

He took an experimental bite of the combination, sniffed in a satisfied manner and discarded the knife. With his free hand, he brushed crumbs from the table and drew from his pocket a carefully folded letter.

Spreading the letter out on the clean portion of the table, he started to read aloud. This was the tenth reading, and he had learned where every inflection of sarcasm could be placed to the best advantage.

Scratched, Walker thought. The car needed a new fender; and fenders cost money—folding money.

However, as the damage to both cars was slight, I don't believe this would be a case for court. I cannot see my way clear to pay you the demanded sum of twenty-five dollars. To put it bluntly, you will not intimidate me into paying you a single cent.

The half-consumed sandwich dropped from Bob Walker's fingers. He sprang to his feet so suddenly that the chair tipped behind him and hit the floor with a crash.

"Mr. J. H. McGillicuddy," he spoke in a loud, oratorical style as though he were addressing the Elks or the Masons at a yearly banquet, "you've reached your verdict. Now I've reached mine."

He strode back into the living room, took the phone book from its place beneath the table and flopped into the nearest chair. Opening it with a speed that indicated a Man Whose Time is Valuable, he thumbed his way down through the classified section.

"J-K-L-Law-Lawyers." His cheeks flushed unpleasantly. "He asked for it, the bum."

He studied the pages of listed lawyers for some time. Then, with a completely baffled expression, closed his eyes, brought his index finger down at random and read the name at the tip of his fingernail.

"Herbert Sells—Criminal Lawyer." At that moment McGillicuddy seemed to be a criminal of the worst type. This guy Sells would give him the works. Look out McGillicuddy, here we come.

Mentally, a shrewd combination of Nero Wolfe and Perry Mason, Walker donned his hat, jotted down Herbert Sells' office address and turned the key on the outside of the apartment door.

Damn the dishes. They'd have to wait. Bob Walker was off to collect twenty-five bucks and see that justice was done.

CHAPTER II. — THE FACE IN THE FOG

HERBERT SELLS seemed to be an important man, Bob Walker thought. He spent an uncomfortable half-hour twitching uneasily in the huge, meticulously furnished waiting room. To make the delay even more uncomfortable, the polished bit of perfume and perfection who decorated the switchboard had evidently decided to make a life time habit of staring at him every time she thought he wasn't aware of her presence.

It developed into a game of hide-and-seek, with Walker wishing he had chosen a better place to hide. At last, unable to stand it any longer, he stared straight at her. She stared back for a moment, then returned her gaze to the more immediate work at hand.

"Pardon me," he asked, "do I remind you of some long-lost worm? Perhaps something you expect to find under a stone?"

"I'm—sorry. You'll pardon me? You remind me of someone I know very well. One of our clients. The resemblance was so startling that I couldn't help wondering...."

"If I'm a twin? I'm a bachelor, twenty-five, free I hope, and I just want to see Mr. Sells. Is he in conference or has he slipped out the back way to a pin-ball game?"

The speech rewarded him with a completely frozen silence. He watched her shoulders stiffen abruptly and realized that although she had an attractive back, it prevented further conversation.

"Mr. Sells will see you now. Go directly in." A slight pause, then; "I'll bet you want him to foreclose a mortgage on your dear old grandmother."

There was big business to be discussed and Walker's full attention returned to the problem at hand. There would be dire revenge for the man who had destroyed his car. Well, anyhow, the fender.

HERBERT SELLS' office was a symphony in pale blue with Swedish modern furniture and chrome fittings. Walker, standing in the opened door, gasped slightly at the setting and wondered for the first time if he had chosen the right lawyer.

Sells didn't acknowledge Walker's presence at once, but remained with his head over a sheaf of papers, a slim panatella cigar gripped firmly in the corner of his mouth.

"Your secretary told me I could come in," Bob Walker said awkwardly. He wondered if his voice would echo in the huge room, but it didn't. "I have a case I want you to handle."

Herbert Sells glanced up slowly, removed the cigar with small, well manicured fingers and smiled. It was the gentle smile of a man who has acquired just the proper amount of everything he wants from life.

There was something odd about Sells' expression. Sells was having the same trouble his secretary had experienced. The lawyer seemed to be one of those men who never forgot his position or betrayed his emotions. Yet, Walker was sure those eyes-were drinking in every detail as they shifted up and down.

"Robert Walker." He had almost forgotten to acknowledge Sells' question. "I guess I ought to know what your fee is before I take up your time."

The steady, brown eyes had stopped wandering now. A faint, slightly sardonic smile twisted Herbert Sells' lips.

He waited until Walker sat down uncomfortably on the edge of a blue and chrome masterpiece.

"My fees vary," Sells sank back behind his desk and applied a lighter to his dead cigar, "depending on the importance of the case. You'll pardon me, Mr. Walker, if I ask you a question before we mention business? Do you know a man named Jim Brawn?"

THE mystery in Walker's mind suddenly cleared. The secretary had stared at him. Sells had studied him carefully. Why the devil hadn't he thought of it before?

"Only through the newspapers," he said. "Before Mr. Brawn retired, I was quite often mistaken for him. I understand he had to give up his business connections and is spending most of his time at home."

Jim Brawn was known to every business man in Chicago. For the past ten years he had been the driving power behind every big manufacturer. He amassed fortunes for dozens of city officials and took the cream for himself. Every deal that Brawn had been mixed up in bordered on the shadows of corruption.

"I imagine the resemblance might have caused you some inconvenience," Sells said evenly. "Mr. Brawn isn't popular with everyone."

"Not trouble exactly," he admitted. "Brawn isn't the type for overalls and grease. I work in a machine shop on Western Avenue. No one ever had any trouble keeping our identities straight."

If Sells had questioned him for a reason, the lawyer was evidently satisfied. He relaxed visibly.

"Here goes McGillicuddy," Walker thought savagely. "Maybe I'll sue him and get a new car out of the deal."

"It's about an accident," he said aloud. "I want to drag a guy into court and lick the hell out of him."

He hadn't expected Herbert Sells to stand up and cheer at the idea. Neither did he expect the expression of complete surprise that came over the little lawyer's face. Sells grunted like a man who ban just had the wind knocked out of him. He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath and grew very red in the face. His voice, when he spoke, was full of something akin to horror.

"Mr. Walker, do you realize who you're asking to fight a traffic case? Have you seen my name in the papers?"

Walker gulped, groped for a fitting reply and remained speechless. The case of Walker versus McGillicuddy was the most important thing in the world right now. It had never seriously occurred to him that a lawyer would refuse to handle it.

Sells opened a drawer and produced a folded newspaper. He stood up, circled the desk and with a flourish placed the paper on Walker's lap.

"James Brawn, owner of half the industrial properties in this city, won his freedom today and left court again triumphant. Brawn, swearing his innocence in what has become one of Chicago's greatest paving-scandals, claimed he knew nothing of the million dollar pay-off received by officers of the Limestone Paving Block Corporation, Harvey, Illinois. The case, marking the sixth attempt to put Brawn behind bars, was handled with perfect finesse by Brawn's lawyer, Herbert Sells. Sells presented a brilliant..."

Bob Walker's voice trailed away into nothingness. He stared at Sells. The little man's chest swelled slightly.

"Of course, you understand why I wouldn't trouble myself with—Dr—traffic cases?"

Walker nodded dumbly and managed to murmur something that sounded like an apology.

"But," Sells was still basking in the warm light of his latest triumph, "if the amount you wish to collect is under a hundred dollars and you can't produce positive proof that you were in the right, I'd suggest you drop the whole matter."

REALIZING that he had, without charge, offered sage words of advice, Herbert Sells retreated to his desk with the feeling that he had spent his day well. He nodded a goodby to Walker as his deflated visitor slipped out of the office with as little fanfare as possible. Walker didn't dare look at the perfection and perfume behind the switchboard. He slammed his hat down savagely on his head and left swiftly.

Damn McGillicuddy anyhow. How could he collect for a hundred bucks; and produce positive proof? Maybe he had been running through a yellow traffic light. McGillicuddy didn't have any right to start his own car so quickly. Just the same, maybe he had been lucky to meet Herbert Sells. The advice was free and he'd have been in a hell of a jam if McGillicuddy managed to turn the evidence against him.

STILL angry about the accident, but vastly wiser, Walker returned to the apartment, the dirty dishes, and the bread knife covered with peanut-butter. If there had been anyone around to argue with, he would have growled a few times, gone to the bathroom and locked himself in with a copy of good detective novel. There was no one to listen to his sad story.

He sat near the window for a while, staring at a neighbor who was running in and out of the building across the street, carrying pail after pail of water to wash a car. Walker counted the trips and wondered if the poor sap had ever heard of a hose. He decided he didn't give a damn.

It started to get dark, and he rose to light the floor lamp. Half way across the room, he staggered and caught himself by clutching the back of a chair.

He held on tightly, closing his eyes; then moved uncertainly to a position to where he could sink into the chair. His head seemed to be spinning at a terrific speed. For an instant, just before the strange feeling hit him, he was sure that a powerful spotlight had shot directly into his eyes. That was fantastic.

He leaned back, eyes closed, his breathing fast and uncertain. What the devil was wrong? His heart was strong enough to power a flying fortress. His health was perfect.

It hit him again, a searing, penetrating flash of white light that sent him toppling back into the chair. This time he didn't cry out. He sat very still, hands gripping the arms of the chair. His eyes closed and his head rolled back against the upholstery. He tried to escape the powerful beam of light.

A thick, impenetrable fog closed over him. He was blind. His head pounded like a pneumatic hammer. He tried to struggle to his feet; but the light seemed to pin him down, preventing him from moving a muscle.

Then into the fog a wavery, uncertain face of a man appeared. It wasn't a terrible face; just the image of a rather kindly, strong featured man. The eyes studied Walker. The face was at first clear, then distorted.

Walker tried to cry out, but his tongue was thick and fuzzy. Fear held him down like a lead weight. Fear crushed him lower and lower, always with the strange, foggy face coming closer to his.

CHAPTER III. — "I'VE KILLED A MAN"

JIM BRAWN wasn't a coward, nor was he a superman. His life had been so packed with action and hazard that he had, at the age of thirty, forced himself into seclusion to ward off unnecessary contacts with the outside world. All this had been done with each move planned well in advance and with every step taken to provide him with luxury and comfort.

Brawn knew every stool pigeon and gangster in Chicago. He had contacts with every citizen of financial importance. They came to him for money and he gave it to them with a share of their life as interest.

In ten years, Brawn had amassed a fortune that would have frightened any half-dozen bankers. He owned a walled-in home which served as a fortress.

He had purchased one of the oldest mansions on North Michigan Avenue and remodeled it completely. This was his hidden Utopia and he lived with a huge fortune as a barrier against the outside world.

No one could point out his mental terrors because they knew so little of him. Yet, fear forced him to install 'electric-eyes' on the wall that surrounded his mansion. These 'eyes' were connected to elaborate burglar alarms and automatically-fired machine guns.

The underworld could tell you that it wasn't gangsters Jim Brawn feared. It wasn't anything that you could put a finger on. Something caused the sickly expression that swept across his face when someone innocently mentioned an incident of the past. There was a grimness about him when he and his wife infrequently appeared in public.

Mrs. Brawn was a pale, mysterious creature who seemed to live in a dream. Regardless of the fine clothing and perfect setting that Brawn provided for her, Mrs. Brawn was lost amid the people she occasionally met. She seemed to be from a world apart.

Perhaps it was an incident involving her life that made Brawn shudder at times and stare behind him when passing through a dark room.

THE phone rang somewhere in the rooms of the luxurious second floor apartment. The sun crept through small windows to tinge the lavish furniture with its color. Carpets, deep and richly woven muffled the sound of the butler's feet as he appeared from nowhere and glided toward the lounge.

The phone rang three times before he reached it, and the man's wrinkled face was clouded with anger at the disturbance. He picked up the instrument.

"His life might depend on it," he said a trifle sarcastically. "Does he value it?"

A new expression touched Ward's face. Something came alive in his eyes. His hand dropped automatically to his coat pocket.

"Don't bother." The voice came from behind the butler. He whirled around quickly. Jim Brawn, sleepy eyed and clad in a royal blue robe, stood in the open door. "I'll take it here."

THE butler moved slowly away. Sells' voice could be heard clearly in the quiet room.

"Sells wants to give you the description of a man," Brawn said in an expressionless voice. "It seems that this person called Sells and said he was, shall we say, angry because my associates trimmed him on a little deal. The deal, he says, was shady and he's after me with a gun. Sells seems worried. I think you should know about it since you're so clever at turning people away from the door."

A cunning smile encompassed Ward's heavy face. The dignity of the butler was gone. The man who took the phone was a killer; a perfect combination of butler and watch-dog.

"Yes sir, Mr. Sells." He spent a moment listening, then said "Spike Zeigler? Yes, I knew him in Saint Louis. Sure! I don't think he'll see Mr. Brawn. We will discourage him."

When he hung up, Brawn had already left the room. Ward drew a stubby automatic from his pocket, polished it lovingly on his sleeve and released the safety catch. Ward had a clear idea of the habits of hunters like Spike Zeigler. He went down to the first floor, into the walled garden at the rear of the mansion and took his place in a canvas chair where he had a clear view of the entire rear wall that bordered the alley.

JIM BRAWN was in a fine mood this afternoon. He had slept late, awakening to remember that Herbert Sells had once more saved him embarrassment and perhaps a prison term. Brawn gloated just a little over his own cleverness at being so well covered in every direction.

The phone call from Sells didn't trouble him greatly. The guns on the walls and the burglar-alarm system weren't for rats like Spike Zeigler. Zeigler was one of the Little Men. Brawn hadn't met him; nor had he met half of the other bums, he pushed out of business. Every once in a while one of them decided to 'get' Brawn. Ward took care of such details. You never asked Ward questions. You paid him three times what a butler was worth and he kept outsiders from troubling you.

Brawn wandered into the gun room in a reflective mood. Odd he thought, how far a man can come in a few years, if he has a start.

HE FROWNED. Every time he felt at peace with the world, the same damned ghost popped up. The pale, spiritless thing he was married to—the protection on the walls—the shadows that pursued him at night—these things had attached themselves to him when he got his start in life. Now he had a fortune, but with it a past that no amount of money could make him forget.

To hell with it! A man can't have everything. If his imagination played occasional tricks on him, that was a small enough price to pay for his material goods.

Brawn's gun room was filled with oddities. He didn't stop with elephant rifles. His imagination went further. On pegs over the stone fireplace rested the stubby machine gun that had knocked hell out of Louie the Mug, one of Chicago's earliest big time gangsters; a sawed-off shotgun, that had killed ten Italians during the Christmas Day riots on Clark Street, hung by its trigger near the window. Brawn enjoyed collecting killer guns. He never mixed with the men or the weapons personally.

They were here, kept clean and loaded by Ward, ready to spit death in an instant. It was that fact that caused Brawn to love his collection. It made him feel more powerful to own the guns that had wiped out some of the city's most powerful mugs.

The tommy-gun fascinated him. He'd have to try it out on the target that Ward had built in the lower basement. Brawn went leisurely to his room, dressed in a loose fitting brown business suit and jammed a brown felt hat down on his head.

The hat was like a part of his body. He grinned as he surveyed himself in the mirror. Damned fool he thought; the minute you dress, you're not complete without a felt on your scalp. Good thing you don't have to be polite to people. They might not appreciate a guy who wears a hat in his bedroom.

He wandered downstairs, started toward the front door, then thought better of it. Better give Ward time to work. Spike Zeigler would be two-thirds stiff and he'd pack a rod. Spike wouldn't be a pleasant companion for lunch.

ANGRY and impatient to think that he had to remain in because a killer was after him, Brawn wandered back to the gun room. He stared into the fireplace for a long time. Ward had left his chair in the garden and was moving stealthily through the well trimmed bushes toward the rear gate. Ward was like a cat. He liked to stalk carefully, then pounce on his victim and make the kill. Brawn wondered what it would feel like to have Ward after you.

Brawn jumped away from the window and stiffened against the wall. Things were happening fast.

"He's got him," Brawn whispered to himself. "Ward guessed right. Zeigler tried to get over the gate."

He stepped boldly to the window, his eyes searching the bushes and the stone walk that led back to the gate.

Glass flew in Brawn's face, showering him with sharp splinters. An oath escaped his lips as he dropped to the carpet.

A cold, unreasonable anger swept through Brawn. He seldom fought. He didn't have to. But if Spike Zeigler was in the garden, Ward wouldn't fire again.

Brawn lay still under the window, his fists clenched, teeth pressed together so tightly that his temples throbbed.

If Zeigler had killed Ward, he'd wish he was living in the comparative comfort of Hell before the day was over.

The sound of a breaking twig came from the terrace. Zeigler thought the shot had found a target. He was coming in.

A wild urge for revenge sent Brawn crawling across the floor to the fireplace. Above him was the tommy-gun. Its round magazine was loaded with death.

He stood up quickly, grasped it in both hands and jerked it free of the peg. There was no emotion left in him; no thought of what might happen if Zeigler fired first.

He walked toward the door of the gun room like a man moving in a dream. He held the gun loosely in both hands, index finger curled lightly over the trigger. Spike Zeigler was outside, staring open mouthed like an idiot, when Brawn reached the terrace. Brawn's mouth worked convulsively. His eyes were cold as death itself. He raised the gun as Zeigler regained his senses and tried to get his automatic into action. Awed, frightened Spike Zeigler never had a chance.

Brawn took a step forward, pressed the trigger and released a rattling hail of death. Fire belched from the barrel of the tommy-gun. Spike Zeigler tipped back on his heels from the impact and sank to the flagstones. He lay on his side, staring up with surprise etched in his round, glassy eyes.

BRAWN looked down at the dead gangster. Smoke curled from the barrel of his gun and its odor stung his nose.

"You poor, damned fool," he said bitterly, "it would take a dozen of you to make up for Ward."

"I think it came from in there, officer. Three shots there was, from Mr. Brawn's garden. Just now, a machine gun."

Brawn turned and walked into the house. He made no attempt to conceal the gun. He immediately went to the phone and dialed his lawyer.

"Hello, Sells?" His voice was calm, unhurried. "Get out here right away. I've just killed a man."

He listened as Sells sputtered and shouted at the other end of the line. Then, remembering that two men lay dead in the garden and that the police were already after him, he changed his mind.

"On second thought," he said, "perhaps this is a tougher problem. The police have been waiting for me to stick my neck into a noose. I'll come to your office."

JIM BRAWN opened the wall safe near the bed and drew out a small satchel. He might be away for an extended visit this time, depending on what the law had to say about the dead men in his garden. It would be well to have a few thousand dollars along to cover expenses.

A small door led from the cellar to the tool-shed, close to the side wall. Through the wall, another door opened into the subway that took pedestrians under Michigan Avenue. It might be well to go out that way. No fuss, and no embarrassing arguments with the police.

CHAPTER IV. — THE SCARLET RAY

PERHAPS he had slept. Perhaps he had staggered forward a few steps and fallen into the white mist that swirled around his body.

When Bob Walker struggled to his feet, the mist was clearing. He felt around him, trying to find a chair, or perhaps the wall. Anything that would be familiar.

There was only emptiness. Then, as the fog vanished, he became aware of totally new surroundings. He stood on a small, raised platform that jutted from the wall of a vast, colorful room. The room was like nothing he had ever seen. The ceiling was high, at least twenty feet over his head and a cool green light radiated from its surface. The platform on which he stood was surrounded by a steel rail, with an open gate at one end.

Gradually, as his vision improved, he saw the blue floor and his eyes travel along it to what looked like a massive microscope. The machine, if microscope it was,-stood ten feet in the air. Under the lens, where the specimen plate would normally be, was a round, glowing globe. He saw that the globe was a perfect reproduction of the world.

The room was absolutely silent. Cool green wavered and splashed pleasantly against the plain walls.

He moved forward hesitantly toward the little gate that led down from the platform. He descended three steps and moved across the floor until he was halfway to the machine.

A blood-red light flashed on suddenly, pinning him in its direct center. He stopped, his body stiffening.

Then the scanner was the strange machine, Walker thought. He looked again, and saw a man's head rise slightly, from the top of the machine. Then the man stood up and climbed down a short flight of steps to the floor.

"I was busy making sure you had a fast trip. Sorry I couldn't greet you sooner."

The man who walked toward Bob Walker was rather young, and not bad looking. A skin-tight, black suit fitted his body, giving him a stealthy appearance as he moved forward. The quiet face contrasted strangely with watery blue eyes and a mouth that at this moment indicated controlled anger.

"I've waited ten years for you, Jim. Be damned thankful that the scanner didn't break down and leave you half? way between your own plane and the plane of Tebba."

What he couldn't understand didn't trouble Bob Walker greatly. There were a couple of things he did know and they burned him up plenty. First it was Sells' secretary, then Sells himself. Now old 'panther-man', a character from a comic book, was calling him Brawn. Walker's fists tightened and his voice, though carefully controlled, held no brotherly love.

"Look, Bub, there's a mistake somewhere. My name isn't Brawn and I've never had the pleasure of knowing you. Let's get the introduction straightened out, have a beer or two and part company. These foggy headaches don't appeal to me. And they last longer than I like."

HE THOUGHT at first the man in black was going to hit him. He hoped he would try. The guy was about his own age, but the muscles under that fine looking black suit were a little dumpy. Walker was itching for something he could throw a fist at.

"The same old Jim Brawn, I see. You stole my wife. You stole the plans of my greatest inventions. You even destroyed the equipment that brought me here to Tebba, and made it impossible for me to return to earth. Brawn, you've nothing to fear from me for a while. Once and for all get the idea out of your head that you're going to escape."

"God damn it, man," Walker cried, "this is getting serious. I tell you I'm not Brawn. My name is Walker, I live a poor and quiet life and I want to go back to it. Now turn the switches and get me out of this Buck Rogers paradise."

"You're one of the finest actors on earth, Jim. I admit it. Yes, though it may surprise you, I admit that I am weak and helpless when facing you on even terms. I had the brains, Jim, but I couldn't promote my own inventions. I didn't mind losing the inventions. When you took my wife, and when you refuse to press the switches that would bring me home again, I knew I'd have to kill you some day."

Walker was shaking with anger by this time. The damned maniac; hadn't he told him he wasn't Brawn?

"In about two minutes," he howled, "I'm going to make you see the light. In fact, plenty of lights. Have you ever been pasted on the nose?"

"Perhaps I should warn you," he said, "that you are standing in the center of a death-ray. It is a beam of red light that, when mixed with certain other rays, will produce immediate unconsciousness, or instant death. I would show no sign of moving from that beam, if I were you. The results would be immediate."

"My name may not be Brawn." Walker thought, "but it'll be mud if I don't walk the straight and narrow."

"Now wait a minute," he begged. "Let's talk this over. I don't know who you are or where I am; but, I prefer a nice quiet street in Chicago to Tebba, or whatever you call it."

"You will remain here," the man in black said slowly. "I have wasted time talking to you, Brawn, because it pleases me to hear you use childish arguments. That's not like you, Jim. You used to fight hard and not ask for mercy. I'm not going to kill you at once. First, I'll...."

He felt himself plowing into black-suit's stomach with the full force of a hard shoulder.

THEY went down together, rolled over and over on the floor, each trying to get a hold. Black-suit was under him. Walker's fist came down, crashing into his opponent's jaw. The man didn't move again. His jaw was cut. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Walker stood up and ran back toward the platform. How could he go back? There was no retreat. The machine had something to do with it, but he knew nothing of the gadgets in the room.

He turned back, staring at the figure on the floor. Black-suit was sitting up, a sickly look on his face. He held a tiny box in one hand, and with the other, he was turning a small dial.

Then Walker saw the reason for the box. The beam of red light in which they had been standing, was moving restlessly back and forth across the floor. It came slowly toward him.

He remembered black-suit's warning, and turned, running away from the advancing beam.

He was so damned scared that if the wall hadn't been there, he'd keep on running until he dropped. But the wall was there, and the light kept moving onward, searching like a huge, red eye. Walker was cornered. The beam was within three feet of him.

"Your gadget better work, brother," he howled, "or you'll lose your neck this time."

He dashed forward, straight through the beam. At first he was sure he had made it safely. Then, already through the light, a staggering blow hit him at the base of the neck and he went down like a ton of bricks. He felt his chin hit the hard floor. He was out cold before there was any sensation of pain.

CHAPTER V. — CITY OF TEBBA

HERBERT SELLS moved restlessly about his office. The curtains were drawn and the blinds adjusted so no light could escape. He glanced at his watch. It was close to midnight. It had been hours since Brawn had phoned. Hours in which Sells sought for a solution and found none. Jim Brawn was in the soup this time, and it would take more than a clever lawyer to drag him out.

Ordinarily the law wouldn't touch Brawn for knocking off two gunmen like Ward and Zeigler. But this wasn't an ordinary case. Brawn had pushed the city and the state laws around so long that they were just waiting for a chance to clamp him behind bars for good. This was the ideal opportunity. A double murder. Murder which pointed to Brawn with every clue. The cops had gone over Brawn's place with everything but a comb, and they had all the evidence they needed.

Sells swore softly, tossed away a partly smoked cigar and slumped down at his desk. He had aged ten years since morning. He looked as though he had been dumped, clothing and all, into a steam bath, and allowed to soak there all day.

A shadow paused before the glass panel in the door. Sells froze in his chair, waiting. Brawn had his own key.

The door opened quickly and Jim Brawn came in. His has was drawn down over his eyes. His suit, neat and well pressed only this morning, was covered with mud. A sly grin lighted his face.

Brawn moved across the office and sat down close to the wall, where he could watch the door. He found a cigarette, waited as Sells hurried to him with a lighter, then took a deep puff.. Then he tossed the cigarette to the rug and ground it out with his heel. Sells' eyes clouded but Brawn grinned.

"Never mind about the nice rug," he said. "You'll be able to buy a dozen of them when this case is over."

Sells winced. He placed a small hand on the seated man's shoulder and smiled down at him almost pleadingly.

"Do about it? What the hell do I care what you do? Just get me out of a murder rap, that's all!"

"Just like that," he said sharply. "You murdered a man, maybe two, and expect me to produce a miracle."

BRAWN stood very still staring down at the lawyer. His lips were pressed in to a hard, white line.

"No one's mad, Sells, not yet. You've made a fortune handling cases for me. Now the first tough one has come up; you're trying to back down. What's the score, Sells? Do we understand each other, or don't we?"

Sells shrank away from him. He retreated to his desk, slumped down behind it and stared at Brawn.

"Jim, for God's sake, understand me, will you! The other stuff had loopholes in it. I could argue my way out. This time they've got you just where they want you. The police aren't going to slip on anything like this. They'll shoot you in cold blood if they get half a chance."

At the mention of the police, Brawn sobered. He knew Sells was right. Knew that this would be the toughest case the lawyer had ever taken to court.

"What do you suggest?" he asked sarcastically. "Shall I go in and give myself up like a nice little man?"

"I've got to have time to think," he said. "Can't you lay low for a month or two? There are places where you can hide."

"Rub it in," Sells invited bitterly. "Get yourself in a jam and blame the whole thing on me."

Sells didn't answer for a moment. He was staring straight ahead. Then a smile of genuine triumph spread across his pinched face. He leaned back slowly and lifted his feet to the desk top. The old confidence was coming back. His voice was strong and filled with an undercurrent of excitement.

"Maybe I can suggest someone," he said. "You need a place to hide where they haven't a chance in the world of finding you. I think, with a little work, we can change your name to Robert Walker, produce an apartment and a complete history for you which the police won't be able to tear down."

"Walker is living alone in an apartment on the south side. After he was here I made sure the law didn't send him around to check up on me. He lives alone, has a respectable past and would fit the picture nicely."

"If Walker happened to get rubbed out quietly some night, and his body wasn't found, you'd be able to step into his shoes, wouldn't you?"

"I haven't a chance to fight this thing out in court, have I?" Sells shook his head. Brawn stood up.

"Sometimes I think your brilliance approaches genius. I'll take care of Walker. Give me his address."

"Genius come high," he said. "I've forgotten Walker's address, but I'm pretty sure ten-grand would improve my memory."

They stared at each other across the desk. Brawn's fists tightened, and then relaxed again. He smiled admiringly.

BRAWN approached the apartment house cautiously, making sure that he was not seen entering the lobby. It was the usual type, four story building with five entrances off the court.

He tried each lobby, finding Robert Walker's name in the rear section. Choosing a name at random, he punched a bell and waited for the buzzer to let him in.

"I forgot my key," he called. "I hope I didn't bother you?" He stepped inside and waited quietly.

He sighed with relief. So far, so good. Walker's apartment was on the first floor. He moved up the short flight of stairs and along a dim hall to the plain door marked Apt. 6—Robert Walker. .

He knocked lightly and waited. No answer. Someone was running a vacuum on the second floor. A baby was carrying in the next apartment. Brawn tried again. To his surprise, the door moved under the force of his knock and opened a crack. Still no sound came from within.

He pushed the door wide, saw that the room was empty and stepped in. He closed the door behind him and threw the bolt.

On his toes, Brawn moved across a room that seemed a combination of living-room and bachelor's paradise. Magazines, soiled clothes and old papers were everywhere. He placed one hand over his pocket and moved swiftly from the living room to the bath. It was empty. The kitchen was the same; dirty dishes in the sink, a bread wrapper and long knife lying on the table.

Robert Walker was not at home. Brawn made the rounds carefully. Returning to the living room, he came face to face with Walker's portrait which stared at him from the radio.

He studied it. The frown on his face changed to a satisfied smile. The man in the picture might have been his twin.

The desk near the window revealed a billfold. Brawn went through it hurriedly. It yielded ten dollars, several cards of identification, a social-security number and a draft card.

He took his own bill-fold from his pocket, removed the money from it and placed it in Walker's. Then he put Walker's bill-fold in his own pocket.

During the next hour, Brawn went over Walker's apartment carefully, noting with grim satisfaction the trunk full of odds and ends that yielded clippings and photographs of Walker's family and his own life. Walker, it seemed, was alone in the world. His complete life history was in the trunk.

Brawn was content. He went to the bath-room, removed his clothing and put on a frayed, maroon robe that hung behind the door.

He would have ample time to destroy the clothing and his own bill-fold later. Now there was more important business at hand.

As long as Robert Walker was alive, Brawn wasn't safe. He placed a chair near the window where he had a clear view of anyone who entered the court. He took the automatic from his coat and placed it carefully on the table near his elbow.

When Walker came through that door, the silencer on the automatic would prevent other tenants from knowing that he faced death.

FOR the second time in twenty four hours, Bob Walker awakened feeling as though he'd been dragged along the bottom of the Chicago drainage canal. Opening one eye cautiously, he stared around him. There was no one in sight. Rising on one elbow, he felt the ache in his head and flopped down again. He was lying on a small bed. The room was so tiny that it would never had allowed another cot within its walls. The walls, the ceiling, and the floor were of a flat, stone-like stuff, tinted a green color. There was no door, no window.

Walker tried to sit up again, succeeded in getting both feet on the floor and struggled to his feet. He staggered, clutched for support and leaned against the wall.

The walls sent forth a pleasant glow of light, yet he could see no opening through which it came.

"Death rays," he said in a disgusted voice. "Oversized microscopes—supermen—nuts!"

"He says I'm Jim Brawn and I say I'm not." A puzzled expression dawned on his face. "It isn't Chicago. It isn't any place I've ever been before."

"Tebba," he moaned. "Where in hell is Tebba. The way that bum hit me with that light-ray, Tebba must be a suburb of hell."

He was startled by the clear voice that floated in to him, seemingly through the wall.

"I've improved on many of my inventions, Brawn, since you condemned me to stay here." The voice again. "Take the cell you're in for example. Perforated walls, built so well that my voice penetrates them easily, yet you couldn't break out with T.N.T."

"What the hell did you hit me with?" Walker asked in an aggrieved tone. "You oughta look me up in the telephone directory before you push me around. I know Brawn. I'm not him. I can't help it if he looks like me. Can't you be reasonable and talk this over?"

"And give you another chance to outsmart me? No, Jim, you've pulled your last double-cross on Nick Freeman. I'm playing the aces from now on."

Nick Freeman! Nick Freeman, Chicago inventor of ten years back. Nick Freeman who disappeared from Brawn's laboratory one night and whose body was found in the Chicago river. The papers had been full of it. Walker had been interested in Brawn then. He had read all the reports. The startled look on his face must have been visible to the man who talked with him.

Walker sprang to his feet and rushed the wall. It threw him back quickly. His fists were clenched. He waved them like a madman.

"You horse-faced idiot," he howled. "You dime-store superman. I tell you once and for all, my name's Bob Walker. Sure I look like Brawn. Did it ever enter your thick skull that you might be wrong? If all the inhabitants of Tebba are as bull-headed as you are, shoot me and get it over with. Let me out of here, will you?"

"You're nuts," Walker said sourly. "I never tried to trick anyone in my life. I'll convince you of that if you'll let me talk face to face with you."

"Follow the crooked hall," the voice said. "Be careful and proceed slowly. I'll be waiting for you."

The 'crooked hall' looked as straight as a rule to Walker, but he took the voice's advice literally, and started to move down it slowly. A moment later he was glad he had.

Not ten feet from the cell in which he had awakened, he hit an invisible wall with a resounding thump. He swore and started to feel about with his hands. Then the meaning of the 'crooked hall' dawned upon him. He had to move slowly, feeling his way back and forth across it, making a hundred, turns, all because the hall was a maze of invisible inner walls, like an elaborate fun-house.

If his guess about this place was right, if it was a prison where Nick Freeman's enemies were kept, the 'crooked hall' was a wonderful device to prevent them from escaping. No man could travel its length at any speed without breaking his neck.

Swearing sourly at every step, Walker managed to feel his way forward around unseen barriers.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked aloud. "Maybe after the fun-house, you've got a tunnel of love?"

A gasp of surprise escaped Walker's lips. Then Tebba wasn't a phony after all? No one could build a stage set as elaborate as the vast city he saw before him.

The wall was gone. Walker found himself standing on a terrace high above a huge, dream-like city. It reminded him of a composite of all the Cities Of The Future he had seen in magazine advertisements.

Yet, one great difference impressed him. There seemed to be no sky. At least no sky like the one he knew. The entire metropolis of Tebba gave off the same green, glowing light he had seen constantly since he arrived. Above the city, there might have been a huge curtain across the sky. That curtain glowed a pale green so that it looked like a calm, deep ocean turned upside down.

Tebba, at least he assumed the city was Tebba, seemed to have no streets and no travel on the surface. It was a vast series of square buildings, without openings. No birds, not a flying thing marred the perfection of the green sky.

"Oh, oh!" he said disgustedly. "Here we go again. Okay, Superman, tell me more. If I'm changing my name to Brawn just to hear you talk, I might as well get the whole lecture."

NICK FREEMAN, hidden somewhere in the vast stone building, chuckled good-humoredly.

"Sometimes I confess that you're entertaining, Brawn. I know I have to kill you, and yet I admit that I'm weak, as I always was, so far as you are concerned. You ruined my life once, and God help me, I'm on the verge of believing your lies again. It's funny, isn't it?"

"Oh my, yes!" Walker said dryly. "Ha-ha-ha, it's killing me, or it probably will."

"But, back to Tebba," Freeman's voice continued. "Tebba is the largest city in the fifth plane, Brawn."

"Don't you remember? I told you the atom-changer would work when I built it. That night we sat in the laboratory and you promised to work the levers as I directed, I actually passed through the space-wrinkle and landed in Tebba. At that time, I fully expected you to bring me back. After I had been here a while, I knew you'd betrayed me. You had no intention of bringing me back into my own world.

"At first I didn't worry, Brawn. I thought you had failed because of your lack of knowledge. Later, when I became popular here and was allowed to go on with my work, I invented the 'scanner'. Through that, I watched you month after month, as you made love to my wife and finally married her. I watched you use my inventions to build up a fortune. I waited, Brawn, because I intended to bring you here some day and pay you back in full for what you did to me."

"I quite often watched you at Herbert Sells' office," Freeman continued. "I remember how I used to hate Sells when he teased me because I wasn't shrewd like you are. Today you were at Sells' office. I followed you with the scanner to a small apartment. What is it, Brawn, another hideout?"

"You're not Brawn, is that it? I've heard that song before, Jim. You'll be quite happy here in Tebba for a few days. You see, there are two cities, Tebba and Theba. Theba isn't nearly as powerful. They are at war. Since I gave the Tebbans the advantage of my creative mind, they've been so far ahead of the Thebans that no one has worried much."

As Freeman talked, Walker was aware of a subtle change in the color of the sky over Tebba. The green had faded slightly and small, red spots showed like clouds against the green.

"From your balcony," Freeman said, "you see only the face of Tebba. Below those buildings is the heart of a great city. Thousands of people living under the surface. Tebbans are the perfect builders, led by Nick Freeman who supplies them with the imagination they lack."

The red spots were growing larger, brighter. Walker felt fear grow inside him. Somehow those red clouds seemed to foretell tragedy.

Then Freeman's voice seemed to falter and grow more distant. A static broke in, buzzing loudly.

It was Freeman's voice, interrupted by a howling, screaming static. At the same time, the green sky popped wide open and a great curtain of red flame fell downward. The scarlet curtain enveloped the city of Tebba, turning the building crimson. The wall behind Walker started to close.

Walker tore his eyes away from the scene before him and ran swiftly toward the closing wall. The crimson curtain was close to the balcony, leaping toward him like a vast wall of flame. He reached the wall and managed to squeeze through the opening.

It slammed behind him and something hit it a smashing, shaking blow from outside. The building quivered under the impact. Walker stood still, wondering if the force could break through. Waiting for the voice again, to guide him through the strange labyrinth of halls, Walker stood motionless.

Thus far he had only one contact in Tebba. The voice of Nick Freeman. He wondered if the static indicated that Freeman was in trouble? What was the meaning of the smashing, all-enveloping curtain of scarlet?

It was, indirectly, Brawn's fault that he, Walker, was in this mess. God pity Brawn if he ever got his fingers around his neck.

CHAPTER VI. — SECOND VISITOR

CHICAGO sweltered under a burning August sun. The tiny apartment in which Jim Brawn sat was like a furnace. There was no breeze to stir the curtains at the window. Brawn felt like a caged, half-crazed animal. The tray on the table overflowed with cigarette butts. The morning paper lay on the floor with headline exposed:

He had read the front page story over a dozen times, finally flinging the paper away from him in disgust. The police were on his trail. They had traced him to Herbert Sells' office and lost him there. Sells told the law that Brawn had visited him, but did not tell what his plans were. Sells hinted that Brawn had escaped to Canada.

The police were not fooled by Sells. They had dealt with him before. A dragnet had been placed around the city. Brawn's home was under guard.

The thing that troubled Brawn most was that damned automatic lying on the table. For a week he had spent almost every moment in the apartment. The gun, with its silencer, was within reaching distance every second.

Wearing Walker's clothing, he had chanced one trip to the grocery. The grocer had greeted him as Mr. Walker and wanted to know why he hadn't been in lately. Brawn muttered something about being away on vacation, and left in a state of nervous collapse. Normally a cool thinker, Walker's failure to show up had driven him to a state of hysteria.

He tossed another cigarette on the floor and watched it moodily for a few minutes. Then he arose and once more pulled the battered trunk from under the bed.

During the week he had spent in Walker's rooms, he had digested the contents of the trunk a dozen times. He knew Walker's history from the time the man was born. He had letters from Walker's parents in his pocket. He carried Walker's billfold and the valuable data it contained. Once Walker was out of the way, he could change his personality to fit Walker's—could become Bob Walker.

Meanwhile no moment, day or night, brought him any rest. He awakened out of a sound sleep imagining that the apartment door was opening. He feared that Walker's rent might be due. How much did the man pay? How would he deliver the money? Did Walker have any friends in the building who stopped in?

Unable to stand the withering heat, he donned a fresh shirt, making sure that Walker's monogram was on the cuff. Tearing open a fresh pack of cigarettes, he went down stairs and out into the stifling sun.

He shrank away from another visit to the grocer, yet it was best that he go only to the places where Walker was known. Reluctantly he entered the Sunland Grocery and faced pudgy Mr. Sunland for the second time. The little man seemed very pleased to see him.

"That's funny," he said. "The employment manager at your plant called me the other day. You remember giving my name when you started working there?"

Brawn nodded. "They wanted to know where you were. Said they called your apartment and you didn't answer."

Brawn hadn't thought of that. Of course, Walker worked for a living. Help was hard to get right now.

"Fill this list and have it sent over to the apartment. Here's enough to cover the bill."

He thoughtlessly drew a fifty dollar bill from his pocket and realized at once that he had made a bad mistake. Too late, Mr. Sunland saw the bill and his round eyes widened.

"My golly," he breathed, "that out of town work pays good, don't it, Mr. Walker?"

"Can't make that much often," Brawn said lamely. "Have the groceries sent over right away, will you?"

Damned nosey Mr. Sunland. Money didn't mean anything to Brawn. He'd have to change his ideas about living, if he was going to pose as a working man.

The sun hit him like a searing flame as he reached the sidewalk. Frightened now, he moved hurriedly toward the corner. A man standing on the far side of the street casually lighted a cigar and tossed the flaming match away. Down the block, a car started up and moved slowly ahead of Brawn toward the apartment.

Brawn started to shiver violently. His neck felt as though some one had dashed ice water down it. He couldn't be sure of the man with the cigar, but the moving car showed every indication of letting him catch up with it.

Another strange thing happened as he moved toward the building. A flash of light hit his face, as if someone were flashing a mirror into his eyes. Each time it hit him, he flinched. The light became steady. He was sure that someone above him was sending the steady rays of the mirrored sun into his eyes.

Odd, because the light came from directly above, while the buildings here were all small, two story homes.

The car gained speed and moved farther down the block. Brawn didn't dare look back at the man with the cigar.

He reached the apartment building and moved into the court. Then panic seized him and he dashed through the court and into the hall. No one was there. He slipped the key into the lock, raced upstairs and fought the terror that clung to him until he was locked safely inside.

He felt better now. Better, that is, except for the damned light that persisted in blinding him. Could fear have affected his eye sight? The idea was absurd, yet he spent several minutes before the mirror, trying to study any change that might have taken place in his eye-balls. There was none, yet the light persisted, making his head ache.

God-damned Walker, he thought miserably. If he doesn't show up tonight, I'll have to take a chance and get out of here.

If the men on the street were from the police department, they'd check up with Sunland and find out about the fifty dollars. Walker wasn't the type to carry that kind of money. Brawn had only a few hours to reach a decision. Hours in which he must watch the door and keep his gun in his pocket. Hours which threatened to be hell because of the strange affliction that affected his sight.

HOW long Bob Walker stood in the crooked hall, he didn't know. The walls around him continued to shake for perhaps half an hour, remaining firm against the terrific pressure from outside. He heard garbled bits of conversation coming to him from all directions, and decided that the walls must conduct sound easily from any part of the building.

Then, as suddenly as the attack started, it was over. The pounding stopped. The building stopped rocking. The hall of many turns was silent once more.

"Do I get a guide again, or don't I?" he asked in a loud voice. Walker wasn't kidding himself that he wasn't frightened. He had every reason now to believe that Nick Freeman told the truth. This was the fifth plane, or at least another part of a world that he had never dreamed of. He couldn't let down now, or show any fear. His bravado had served him well thus far. Freeman was beginning to doubt himself.

His own voice seemed sucked into void. No sound returned. A panic seized him. Perhaps Freeman had been destroyed? What would he do if the Thebans, assuming it was they who attacked Freeman's city, had murdered the inventor? Walker started to make his way back through the crooked hall. To his surprise, the invisible barriers had been removed. The long, wide hall was clear of any obstructions.

He went toward the cell, feeling that he at least knew that much about Freeman's strange building. Reaching the wall, he tried to find a way of getting back into the cell. His efforts were useless. The hall was solid once more, a single, long room without outlets.

For ten minutes he wandered back and forth like a caged animal. Then static filled the place with raucous noise. It quieted gradually and Nick Freeman's voice greeted him.

"Oh, no!" he said. "I like it here. Reminds me of a nightmare I used to have when I was a kid. How about producing a cauldron of oil now and frying me in deep fat?"

"You're sense of humor is improving," he said. "I'm sorry that I frightened you. You see, the puny efforts of the Thebans have produced a poor copy of our scarlet death-ray. However, in stealing my plans, they were not able to produce a weapon which will penetrate the buildings of Tebba. They'll be back for another try, but it will be as useless as all the rest. How would you like to see a group of my people? They've gathered in the city rotunda to express new gratification for what I've given them. Every time the Thebans are thrown back, the Tebbans realize how valuable I am, and pay homage to me."

"Is the man a perfect example of conceit," Walker wondered, "or is he actually magnificent?"

"Anything for a laugh," he said shortly. "I suppose your people will be as startling as the city itself?"

BEFORE he had finished speaking, the green wall changed to a blank silver screen. Walker backed away wonderlingly. A strange, magnificent scene flashed before him. At first he thought he was staring directly into a vast, circular amphitheater. In its center was an immense stone image of Nick Freeman. The image was bathed in pale green light. Kneeling on terraces, arranged about the statue, were thousands of the most powerful looking men and women Walker had ever seen. They were staring at the statue with a reverence that no God could have produced. As he watched, there was no sound. No movement marred the picture. The room seemed without a ceiling, lost in a display of weird, emerald light.

Then it was gone and he knew that by some trick of lighting, he had not been looking at the actual scene at all, but at the solid wall.

"Telo-ray movies," Freeman explained abruptly. "Instead of the antiquated moving pictures of your world, we use telo-rays to project any scene in the kingdom against a flat surface. A tiny and rather simple instrument does it. Wouldn't a telo-ray bring you a fortune if you could steal it from me?"

Walker winced. Freeman's continued reference to him as Jim Brawn was growing serious.

"But, course, you're not Brawn," Freeman went on bitterly, "so you aren't interested in Tebba."

"On the contrary," Walker said, "I'm very interested. I'm wondering how a man who seems to be as brilliant as you can go on punishing me when he should know that it isn't uncommon on earth for two men to look alike."

"Thank you," he said. "First, let me say that I don't believe a thing you've told me. Yet, there is a chance that I'm mistaken. I'm going to give you one opportunity to prove that you aren't Brawn. No one can invent complete history on the spur of the moment without betraying himself. Start talking. Tell me your life story. Leave out no detail. Somewhere you'll tell a lie that will betray you. It's your one chance. Take it."

Walker, eager to be believed, launched into a full story of his life. He left out no detail. He even mentioned the trouble he had had in earlier years because of his resemblance to Brawn. When he finished, he thought Freeman sounded impressed.

Walker explained the automobile accident with McGillicuddy and how he had found Sells' name in the phone book. Freeman chuckled when he told how Sells had been on the verge of throwing him out.

"That sounds like Sells," Freeman agreed. "He's the most conceited fool I've ever talked with." Then solemnly:

"You've convinced me of one thing. You shall have a chance. I will study the scanner. If, by scanning the places where Brawn spends his time, we can find another man of your appearance, I'll bring him here to face you. Is that fair?"

"It's a new way of saying the condemned man ate a hearty meal," he agreed. "At least I've got a chance, even though it is a long one."

WALKER turned quickly. Where a few moments before there had been a wall, now the room he had first visited was before him. He recognized the scanner and the platform from which he had stumbled. Freeman was standing near the machine.

"I can speak to you from any part of the building." He said. "Sound, like light, carries from any part of Tebba when the telo-ray is in use."

He walked to the scanner and mounted the steps to a tiny platform. For several minutes Walker stood silently in the center of the room.

A humming sound came from the machine. The four foot globe beneath the scanner's 'eye' started to revolve. He watched it as the relief map of the United States quivered into place under the 'eye' and then rotated it gently back and forth.

"The globe," Freeman said in a preoccupied voice, "contains powerful radionic tubes. It is, in essence, actually the earth that you see. This globe, tuned perfectly to the actual world, gives me a chance to study any tiny point on earth by adjusting the position and the eye of the machine."

A hissing sound came from the platform behind Walker. It was covered by a dense steamy mist. The mist grew thicker until it blotted out the entire end of the room.

"I have studied Brawns' home," Freeman said in a tired voice. "I have followed a trail to all his familiar haunts. He is at none of them."

Freeman was toying with the levers on the scanner once more. He was silent for some time.

"Wait!" A touch of excitement was in his voice. "Out of curiosity I have returned the scanner to the apartment where I picked you up. I wonder...?"

"In the scanner," he said, "I picked up a man approaching the apartment. I've followed him inside. Brawn, either your the smartest man I've ever met, and I think you are, or someone is a damned fool."

"I'll give you three guesses," Walker said dryly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Your the prize...."

"Be quiet." Freeman snapped. "The man in the scanner is a perfect copy of you. I suppose it is possible that you told the truth? Still, if you did, how did Brawn find his way to your apartment?"

"How did I find my way to Sells' office?" he asked, "Couldn't Sells have told Brawn about me? Couldn't Brawn have wanted to see me for some reason?"

"Hardly," he said. "If Brawn went to the apartment of a strange man, would he be acting as though he owned the place? Would he wear another man's bath-robe and use his shaving equipment?"

WALKER couldn't pretend to understand that. At this moment he didn't care if Brawn carried the whole apartment down the river and tossed it in.

Somehow he had to get Brawn here, before Freeman. He had to prove it was Brawn who was still on earth.

"Could I have told my story as convincingly as I did if I didn't know Robert Walker and his past?" he pleaded. "Didn't you promise to give me a chance, if you could find another man of my physical appearance?"

The argument was too much for Nick Freeman. He leaned tensely over the scanner, studying the vision again carefully.

"You'll get your chance," he said tersely, and yanked a lever down hard. "Get ready to face your double, Brawn. He'll prove you a liar, if I can't."

The mist over the platform started to stir lazily. The room grew dim and the world globe under the scanner started to spin wildly. A figure became visible in the mist on the platform. A man cried out in pain and staggered forward out of nowhere.

He sprawled full length on the floor, eyes wide with fright, staring up into Bob Walker's face.

At the same time, Bob Walker saw the red-ray sweep toward him and felt a powerful sleepiness overtake him. He was aware of Freeman's voice, far away and reassuring.

Then he was drifting, with the sensation of falling but without the pain of hitting anything solid.

CHAPTER VII. — CELL OF THE SILVER SQUARE

THE room was small and without furniture. Walker faced Jim Brawn. He knew that when he left this room it would be as a free man, or a prisoner facing death. He knew, also, that Brawn must recognize Freeman. Thus far, Brawn had played his part well.

What Walker did not know, was that Brawn had already made his plans. He knew Freeman, of course, but had little idea of where he was or how Freeman could be here, safe and seemingly very powerful.

Brawn was clever. He had been unable to speak at first. Now that he had recovered from the shock, he could guess why he was faced with another who seemed to be his identical twin. Perhaps Freeman could have handled the situation more cleverly, but in Freeman's mind one man was already condemned. Bringing a second visitor to Tebba had been a gesture born from his love of fair play.

"You have been drugged and brought here, to awaken in my presence. You haven't spoken to each other. I am interested in finding out which of you is James Brawn."

A crafty gleam showed for an instant in Brawn's eyes. Freeman had tipped his hand. From now on it would be easy.

"Brawn and I have certain things to talk over," Freeman continued. "Robert Walker will go free. I have already heard one story. Now I will hear yours."

He turned toward the real Brawn. The newcomer acted surprised and a little humble.

"I—I don't think I understand. If this isn't some crazy dream, perhaps you will explain? Who is this man who looks like me? Where am I?"

It sounded so innocent, that Freeman smiled, satisfied that he had been right from the first.

"Walker," Brawn said quickly. "Robert Quincy Walker. The Robert came from my father, an Idaho farmer, and the Quincy, from my grandfather."

"Does it surprise you that I know my name and my relatives?" he asked calmly. He didn't add that he owed a vote of thanks to the contents of Walker's trunk. The birth records were all there and if he ever needed the information he had digested, he needed it now.

"Go on," he told Brawn, "your name is Walker. I know that much. Tell me your whole story."

The real Bob Walker was forced to stand silently, unable to argue, while James Brawn quietly gave Walker's family history. Brawn was wrong on a few details, but right so often, that Walker wondered if this was all a farce.

"Enough," he said abruptly. "We are getting nowhere. You two might be twins, so far as the stories you tell are concerned."

"Now see here," Brawn feigned anger, "I've been doing all the talking. Suppose you two start in. What the hell is this all about? Do you realize kidnapping is a serious business? I'll get a lawyer on your tail who'll make it plenty hot...."

"Who the hell wants you to find James Brawn," he cried. "I for one, am satisfied with being just plain Robert Walker. Brawn, whoever he is, can keep his precious name."

FREEMAN was staring steadily at Bob Walker. It was evident that the real Brawn was winning the argument. Somehow Brawn's voice had power over Freeman. A power, Walker guessed, that was working in Brawn's favor now, just as it had so many times in the past.

"I am no longer guessing," he said in a calm, emotionless voice. "I was sure I had chosen the correct man the first time. Now, after comparing your stories, I'm sure the newcomer If Robert Walker. I can only rely on the things I feel, in making the decision. I found you in Herbert Sells' office and your story of how you came to be there sounded foolish. I found the newcomer in his own apartment, acting as a man does when he belongs in a certain place.

"I'm sorry, Brawn, but the last man to come, Robert Walker, will have an opportunity to return to his home, or remain here and help me in any manner he sees fit. There is still room in Tebba for fine men.

"As for you, the punishment I planned has not been altered. I'm sure that you are Jim Brawn. As Jim Brawn, you will pay for what you did to me on earth. Is that clear?"

"It's damned clear, that you're the most bull-headed, addle-brained panty-waist I've ever knocked the tar out of," he howled and sprang forward.

Walker saw the two husky, plainly dressed men who sprang toward him from the door. He tried to check his rush forward. It was too late.

He felt the steel grip on his left arm, turned and aimed a hay-maker at the jaw of his captor. He never landed the blow. His arm was jerked backward by the guard and he fell to his knees with a moan. He was sure his arm was being torn out at the shoulder.

Clawing and kicking, he managed to turn until he could see the smiling, satisfied faces of Nick Freeman and Jim Brawn staring down at him.

"God help you if I ever...." His voice rose to a cry of pain as they twisted his arm higher behind his back. The room reeled around before him and he could see only Brawn's face, leering at him. He jerked once more to free himself and fainted.

"I feel that an explanation is due you. You were brought here to Tebba by mistake. I should have known Brawn would lie to me, as he always did. I will make arrangements to return you to earth at once."

James Brawn had made many decisions during the past half hour. At first, though he recognized Nick Freeman, he had kept his mouth closed. The very fact that both he and Walker were brought here, warned Brawn that Freeman might have made an error.

Now he was safe, at least for the time being. He knew only what Nick Freeman had told him years ago, when Freeman perfected the machine which threw him onto this plane. Brawn had held the power of returning Freeman to Chicago, but he had destroyed the machine.

"This place fascinates me," Brawn said. "It's so strange. You seem able to do whatever you wish here. Is Tebba, I believe that's what you called it, under your command?"

"Tebba," Freeman said with great pride, "is finer than any of the cities on earth. The people were able to grasp my ideas and have produced results beyond anything the world ever dreamed of.

"I have long wished for company here. The ruling building belongs to me and no one is allowed to enter except the servants. At times it's very dull. Perhaps," his eyes were shining eagerly, "you would like to stay and work with me."

Brawn tried to hide the feeling of pleasure that swept through him. This was the chance he had waited for. An easy escape from earth and another opportunity to exploit Nick Freeman. He had done it before. What would prevent him from out-smarting poor, gullible Nick again?

"I'd be very grateful for the chance," he answered. "On earth, I had to work in a factory.. It wasn't an especially pleasant existence."

"I know. Brawn kept me locked behind laboratory doors for hours on end." His eyes grew bitter. "You saw them take Brawn away. He's going to get a taste of the way he made me suffer. Tebba hasn't always been kind to me. I had hard days here at first."

He launched into a complete explanation of how he had followed both men with the scanner and brought them here. Brawn listened closely, thanking his lucky star that he had gone to Walker's apartment and lived as Walker lived.

"I'm thankful that you are a good judge of men," he said when Freeman had finished. "Personally, I don't think I could have made such a decision. We both told the same story. Brawn must have known a great deal about me."

"Brawn is a clever man," he admitted. "Perhaps it was your voice and your mannerisms that convinced me of your innocence. There is something very straightforward, very compelling in your voice."

"Yes," Brawn thought, "I've always had a voice and manner that would sway you, Nick. Thank God it didn't fail this time."

"Thank you," he said aloud. "I appreciate what you've done and I understand why you had to be sure. If you have use for me, I'll be delighted to stay in Tebba."

"And Tebba's secrets will be explained to you. Perhaps," he added with a friendly grin, "you'll take my place one of these days."

"I shall look forward to that day," he said, then under his breath, "and I'll be making plans—very careful plans."

BOB WALKER opened his eyes slowly, then closed them quickly, clutching the uncertain support under him.

Yet, he seemed to be floating in space over the city of Tebba. Nothing but a small, square of silver kept him from falling to his death.

This, then, was Freeman's torture device? He lay very still, eyes closed, almost afraid to look again. Then, opening them, he stared up at the queer, emerald sky that washed in layers thousands of feet above. His hands were flat against the silvery square, his finger tips reaching almost to the edge of it. He turned slowly, and the square remained steady. He stared down and his heart leaped wildly. His muscles grew taut.

Under the silvery square, there was a drop of five hundred feet to the roof of the highest tower. He must be drugged. Must be in a trance that produced this nightmare. Yet, his body obeyed his commands. His eyes were clear. The square under him remained a solid, tangible thing against which he crouched.

Walker lay quietly for several minutes. The sky above was limpid, flowing green. The city, as he had seen it before, resembled many stupendous granite blocks, piled upon each other. There was no sign of life above or below.

He started to shiver violently. It wasn't cold, but goose-pimples stood out on his bare flesh. He tried to think clearly; to analyze his own thoughts. It was useless. His mind kept plunging back to the fantastic little square of silver glass which held him from dropping to death.

What had Nick Freeman done? What weird power enabled him, like a super Mandrake, to suspend Walker in mid-air above the city?

It was impossible to concentrate upon any subject. Try as he might to lie still, Walker found it impossible to do so. Perhaps it would be his own curiosity that would destroy him. A longing to gain knowledge so often proved fatal to others who moved from the beaten track.

In spite of his fear and helplessness, Walker had to know if this were a freak of nature, or if Nick Freeman had perfected some way of defying gravity.

Perspiration stood in beads on his forehead. His arms were wet and his muscles felt as though they were being drawn on the torture rack. Slowly he felt toward the edge of the silver square.

His fingers went beyond the visible edge, and yet they touched something with a hard surface, and did not slip off.

How far did the substance reach? How far could he move before plunging downward? He turned carefully on his side. He felt ahead of him and started to crawl from the square.

The moment he left the visible floor, he suffered from a terrible dizziness. It was like crawling on your hands and knees, across a clear spot in the sky. He backed to the square once more and sat down.

He choked back his anger and tried to reason it out. What manner of inhuman device was it? He wished he had devoted at least a portion of his life to science. Popular Science was as far as his education in the field had ever gone. There hadn't been any mention in his favorite magazine of a man being suspended in mid-air. It was the most amazing thing he ever dreamed of.

He couldn't stay there. There must be some method of escape. Walker wished he had a story-book character's ability to get out of impossible places. There were no written rules for a man wanting to climb safely through nothing, from a small perch high in the sky. "Click!"

THE slight sound sent chills running up and down his spine. He crouched low, seeking a foothold that didn't exist. Suppose the silver square had cracked? Perhaps Freeman planned for him to hang here until his nerves were shattered, then send him falling to his death.

He listened for a long time, but there were no further sounds. The sky was darkening. Not as night would darken earth's sky, but instead, a deepening of the green color. Dense green clouds rolled down until they were but a few yards above his head. Then for some unexplainable reason, they parted above him and a clear space remained over his head.

His fear gradually grew dull. He had to know how far he could go without falling. To look below him caused an unbearable dizziness. Closing his eyes tightly, he crawled from the square on his hands and knees. His hands, placed well in front of him, continued to contact a hard, glassy substance.' He moved for a short distance, opened his eyes and looked back at the silver square. He wanted to stand up and dash back to safety.

He could sit in that one spot until hell cracked, but it wouldn't help him escape.

Gritting his teeth savagely, he closed his eyes and started to move farther away from the square. He had gone another dozen feet when a feminine voice startled him.

Walker jumped to his feet, lost the contact his hands had given him and started to fall.

A deep, musical laugh made him forget where he was. He stood with feet spread wide apart, a scowl of bewilderment on his face.

The laugh came again. Then before his astonished gaze, a light crack appeared ahead of him. It widened, and became an open door. Behind the door, as though it too were part of the suspended square, was a hall much like the one he had wandered through once before.

Walker had given up trying to understand what this was all about. He did understand that the girl who faced him in the open door was the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

He remembered the strange 'click' he had heard a few moments before. The girl walked toward him quickly.

"For the love of Mike, what is this sky-going torture chamber? I was about ready to apply for a pair of wings."

The girl had moved from the hall into the place where Walker was imprisoned. She carried a covered dish which she placed before him. When she straightened again, her eyes opened wide with amazement.

"You are not a man of Tebba," she cried, "nor are you from my own beloved city."

Walker wasn't interested in her history just then. Since she had first appeared, he couldn't help staring at the slim, well built figure and the perfectly proportioned oval face.

She was clad in a plain, but well fitted brown robe that fell gracefully to her ankles. Tiny feet with painted nails were partly covered with thonged-sandals. Her hair, a chestnut brown, was done about her head in a tight knot, looking as though it might reach her waist, were it released.

"No...." he said falteringly, "I'm not Tebban, vegetable or fish. When does Nick Freeman plan to take me out of here?"

"You don't have to be afraid of talking up here," Walker said a little caustically. "We've got the whole sky to ourselves."

"Yes...," she hesitated, then nodded her head quickly, as though she had made a decision. "Free-Man constructed this tower of torture for those who must be punished. I understand that he is really a gentle man. He can prepare tortures that will do no harm to a strong man, while they completely destroy a person with a weak or guilty mind."

"Be quiet. Others might hear. I don't know why I talk to you. I am told not to speak to the prisoners. Perhaps," she blushed, "it is because you are not a common Tebban. Perhaps, because my heart tells me I have met one who can help us."

"How," Walker asked eagerly. "I'll do anything. Get me down off this flagpole act."

"Be quiet and listen. Soon I must leave. This room is a part of the tower. From the outside of your cell, you will see solid halls and passages to the lower level. The walls of the cell are of rock. Inside, Free-Man has constructed the walls, floor and ceiling of a special glass which he invented. The prisoner can see out in every direction, but no one can see in. The prisoner is placed on the silver square. If he is guilty, he becomes frightened and his mind weakens. He goes mad before he dares leave the square."

"Of three dozen men placed on the silver square, you are the first to dare leave it. If you were a Tebban, Free-Man would release you at once. He must hear some special malice toward you. He has sent food. In a few hours, you will be placed in another cell."

"And," Walker added, "compared with the second, the silver square has been duck-soup. Is that right?"

She nodded, then came close and placed a cool hand on his arm. Her nails bit into his flesh. Her eyes were troubled and uncertain.

"I came the hard way." He said. "Freeman yanked me in by the scruff of my neck. I didn't come because I wanted to."

The servant girl sank to her knees, head bent forward, clutching the cuff of his trousers.

"You are an enemy of Free-Man and a man from his world. Would you escape, if I arranged it?"

"Look here," he gulped. "Sure I want to escape. Get up, will you? I'm not accustomed to being treated like a God."

"We have planned an invasion. We had only to wait for another person like Free-Man to guide us. If we help you escape from the city of Tebba, will you lead us?"

"I have never seen the All-Powerful Earth. Free-Man has spread its wonderful doctrines among us."

Her eyes blazed with hatred. She stood very still, arms at her sides, chin tilting proudly.

"I am a prisoner. A servant girl, Princess Lonna Arnoo of Theba. Plans are completed to return me to my own people. Will you escape with me?"

WALKER remembered Nick Freeman's exact words, when Freeman spoke to him about the unsuccessful attack of the Thebans on Tebba.

"The puny efforts of the Thebans—they'll be back for another try, but it will be useless. Every time the Thebans are thrown back, the Tebbans realize how valuable I am and pay homage to me."

Perhaps, Walker thought, the Thebans aren't so dumb after all. Freeman said the people here were splendid at copying ideas. That their weakness lay in originating new products and machines.

It would be worth a lot to get a chance to kick Nick Freeman in the seat of his pants.

Walker's thoughts were drawn back to the girl suddenly. She was regarding him with thoughtful eyes. He remembered how she had gone to her knees before him, and blushed.

"I'll escape with you," he said quietly. "I'll do the best I can to help the Thebans."

She was gone. The door closed, leaving Walker with a strange feeling of being suspended in the air once more. He stared downward for a long time at the gradually darkening roofs of Tebba. For the first time since the strange meeting in the room that housed the scanner, he felt that he had a chance to live.

Nick Freeman's torture chamber wasn't so bad, now that he knew He couldn't fall. At least he had one friend in this strange place, and probably many of them.

Although he was to wait for the sound of the twelfth bell, he hadn't heard anything, much less a ringing bell, since he awakened in this open-air sanitarium.

He returned to the silver square and sat down cross legged. He waited silently for what seemed many hours, yet there was no break in the intolerable silence.

In centuries past, men had been driven crazy by the sound of a huge bell ringing slowly in their ears. Was Freeman trying the opposite method?

Perhaps the girl had been sent here by Freeman himself. Perhaps she had been told to inform Walker that he must listen for the tolling of a non-existent bell.

He was getting jittery. What would happen to a man who sat hour after hour, day after, day, listening for a sound that never came?

Freeman was clever. Damned clever. Walker dreamed of the lovely servant girl and finally added another name to his list of people who deserved a poke in the puss.

Princess Lonna, was she? More likely one of Freeman's little playmates, sent for the deliberate purpose of adding another inch of hell to his short life.

So Freeman thought he was strong, to resist the punishment of the invisible cell? Well, he'd damned well find out that his prisoner wasn't going to lay awake for a week listening for a bell that didn't ring.

Walker rolled over on his side, tried to find some comfort on the hard floor and closed his eyes.

He sought sleep, but it was useless. His mind was conjuring up all the bells that he had ever seen. The silence was so terrible that he imagined church bells, school bells and factory bells, all clanging in unison.

He tried to work off his anger with choice oaths, but it was impossible. He couldn't escape the nightmare of sounds that sleep brought. He tossed and turned uneasily on the silver square; while night, deep and velvety, closed over him and the city of Tebba.

CHAPTER VIII. — "THEY HAVE ESCAPED"

JIM BRAWN relaxed comfortably in Nick Freeman's finest chambers. He lay very still, staring up at the ceiling. The room, one of six which Freeman had presented him, was at least fifty feet square. Its center was occupied by a huge bed, large enough to hold half a dozen normal sized men. The mattress was of soft fluffy material that promoted comfort almost beyond imagination.

Brawn could testify to the perfection of the bed, for he had spent hours on its broad surface. Refreshed and able to think clearly once more, he tried to plan the opening of his campaign.

Freeman was lonely. He had given Brawn the best of everything. Brawn chuckled, reached for his hat on a nearby table and hauled it tightly over his eyes. Now he could concentrate.

The suite in which he lived covered an entire floor of Freeman's building. By walking through certain ultra-violet contacts and breaking the steady beam, Brawn could step to numerous balconies from which he had perfect views of all parts of Tebba.

"One of my plans has been to provide complete comfort," Freeman explained. "If you are to stay with me, Walker, I want you to have the finest Tebba can give. These rooms, the bath, the bed, the lounges, are different than anything you have ever seen. Why not? I have sprawled my living quarters over much space, because the space was here and I longed to live as one does in a dream, without anything to hold me in cramped quarters."

Brawn chuckled. Freeman always had a horror for small places. His mind didn't function well in small rooms. Brawn knew that he must learn much more about Tebba before he dared act upon his own initiative. Complete freedom to wander about as he wished was a necessity. The huge rooms were a fine start. Next, he must see Tebba and understand more of its people.

The soft clicking of an outer door disturbed him. Sitting quietly, he waited. Footsteps crossed the outer room and hesitated at his door.

He looked up in amazement to catch the bewildered eyes of a lovely servant girl. She seemed about to drop the tray of fruits which she carried. Staring at him steadily, she caught her breath and crossed the room to the divan. While Brawn stared in open admiration, she placed the tray at his side and backed away.

"Don't hurry," he begged. "I haven't seen anything as lovely as you for a long time."

Brawn grinned and chose an apple from the tray. He polished it on his sleeve and took a large bite. Chewing slowly, he studied the girl from head to foot.

"I'm a new boss around here," he said with a grin. "I suppose Freeman told you to take care of me?"

The little devil was persistent. Brawn rolled over lazily, let his hat fall to the floor, and stood up. He started toward her, but she backed to the door.

"Look here, baby," he said. "How I came here is none of your damned business. If you want to know, I came in a white coach, drawn by sixteen pink elephants. Now, will you be nice and tell me your name?"

He had never seen such horror written on a human face. She knew that he was making fun of her and her eyes blazed.

In Brawn's mind something cleared. No wonder the kid was startled. He hadn't seen her before, yet she thought they had met. Walker was still around somewhere. The solution was clear.

"Sure," he said easily. "I like to kid little girls. Make a pleasant habit of it, in fact. Now, are we friends?"

"Freeman is my best pal," he said, "probably one of the finest friends I've ever had."

"Hey! Wait!" Brawn started to follow, then stopped. She had already disappeared into the hall. "Well, I'll be damned. What's eating her?"

FAR under the last of the seven levels of Tebba, hidden among the giant pipes that conducted power for the protector-ray, was a small, miserable hut. Down from the seventh level, hundreds of feet from the surface, came the slaves of Theba. There were only a few of them who had been captured during early raids against Tebba, and thrown into service for Free-Man.

The tall, battle-scarred son of King Arnoo had served longer than the rest. His name was Tanner, and it was he who had conceived, the plan for the escape.

The trip from the seventh level was made through a maze of pipes, across muddy earth, to the hut that had once served as headquarters for the builders.

Tanner was here, lean and whip-marked. Tanner, the finest warrior of Theba, held in slavery because his race did not have the mentality to invent weapons that matched Free-Man's.

Tanner was seated in one corner of the room, his back to the wall, heels dug into the earth floor. Around him, their faces eager in the lamp-light, were his followers.

"Tonight we will escape!" Tanner's voice held a spirit that had not been evident for months. "The boats are ready. Our men wait for us at the edge of the fire-desert. We wait only for Lonna. As soon as she comes...."

The low whistle of the fire-bird came from among the pipes outside the room. Tanner sprang eagerly to his feet.

The men about him arose quickly and left the room. Outside, only the eerie splash of water filled the cavern. The power pipes, interlaced with each other, ran away in all directions, to lose themselves under tons of muck and debris.

Along the single trail from the upper level, Lonna came. She was swathed from head to foot in heavy, brown cloth. Her step was light and swift. Behind her came the last guard, lantern held in his hand.

There was no smile of triumph on her face. Only a sadness he had not expected to see.

Her voice startled him. He placed a lean finger under her chin and drew her face up until it was plainly visible in the dim light. At once his voice was concerned.

She drew away from him hurriedly and went across the opening to where men were busy removing a large, flat section from the top of a pipe. They worked feverishly. When Lonna arrived, the section slipped off and fell.

FROM behind the hut, men carried two long, poorly-fashioned boats. They were built of odd bits of wood and fabric and shaped like scows. One after the other, they slipped into the pipe, hung there, swinging against the current at the end of long thongs.

"We return to our people, but it is useless. Tonight I thought I had salvation in my hands. Now, it has slipped away again."

"It is nonsense; but for a while, I thought the white man would come with us; thought he would fight for Theba."

Tanner scrambled up the pipe and grasped her arm roughly. He drew her near to him, his eyes glowing fiercely.

"Tanner, sometimes I think you are a fool. No! It was the prisoner in the tower who wanted to escape. He promised to help us in our battle."

"He betrayed me. He pretended to be a friend. Later I found him resting in Free-Man's finest apartment."

"Wait." Tanner sat down on the pipe and drew her down to his side. "There is something here that sounds wrong. Tell me the entire story. And don't hesitate to make it the truth. I want to know."

The girl told him of her meeting with Robert Walker and of the promise he had made. Tanner kept nodding eagerly. When she spoke of her visit to Jim Brawn's rooms, Tanner clenched his fists and swore softly.

Tanner turned. The guard who had waited for Lonna stood on the pipe near the opening to the boats.

"I was in the building of the Free-Man today when he condemned the prisoner to the tower," the guard said excitedly. "There are two of them."

"Don't you see, Highness? Two men who look alike. One of them is Free-Man's friend and the most trusted assistant. The prisoner that Princess Lonna saw in the tower, is truly a prisoner. I'll wager he awaits us at this moment."

THE warmth in her voice convinced him. He did not realize that Lonna had a dual purpose in wanting to see the stranger rescued. The guard's words had given new hope to her. Perhaps, after all, the one who had impressed her so greatly was honest. Was waiting for her.

"Good," Tanner replied hurriedly. "Listen to me closely. The pipe carries water to the power plant. At the ringing of the twelfth bell, it is turned off. For exactly twenty minutes, the current backs up swiftly toward the reserve tank at the edge of the fire-desert. During that time, the boats will drift to safety. After that time, the water lies dormant until morning. Then it will be sucked swiftly back to the power house. If we do not escape while the water flows to the desert, we will lie in the pipe for hours and be sucked to certain death when the day comes again."

"I will take three men and go for the prisoner. If we are not back promptly at the twelfth bell, you are to leave. Understand?"

He chose three men quickly and disappeared into the darkness, up the incline toward the seventh level.

He sat up, startled at the clear, loud sound that swelled until he was sure that the bell had actually sounded and had not been a part of his dream.

He stood up on the silver square, stretched carefully and yawned. He still couldn't make himself wander around the room without that fear of height returning. He knew it was a cell and he knew that there was no danger of falling; but to look down made him dizzy and sick.

Approximately a half hour passed before the sound of the second bell came. Then he knew the meaning of the sound. Evidently time was not recorded in Tebba until night. The first bell had sounded just after nightfall. That would mean, if the bells continued to ring every half hour, he had to be patient until midnight.

The next few hours were the longest Walker had ever spent. There was nothing to relieve the monotony of the invisible room. He had no way of knowing whether or not the girl was coming. There was still a chance that Freeman himself would come at the sound of the twelfth bell, and take him to another torture chamber.

Walker sat very still, ears alert to pick up any foreign sound. Once or twice he dozed. At last, when he had slept for some minutes, the eleventh bell rang. He had never heard a more lonely, desolate sound. The huge bell sent its message across what looked to be a city of the dead.

Walker stared out at the blackened sky, waiting, praying that his hopes would not be in vain.

Footsteps sounded softly somewhere beyond his sight Slow, stealthy footsteps, scraping along a stone floor.

"You are willing to become our ally? You know that death is the penalty if you betray us?"

The door opened. He winced and held his hand over his eyes as the bright light hit his face. Then, able to see again, he studied the youth before him. Tanner was impressive to his own people. To a stranger, he appeared to be a giant of sinew and strength. Flashing adventurous eyes swept eagerly over Bob Walker's figure. When he spoke again, it was with deep respect.

Once in the large, well lighted corridor, Walker breathed a sigh of relief. The invisible cell had been hell, even after he knew for a certainty that he could come to no harm within its walls. Any man, faced by what appeared to be empty space, would probably lose all sense of reason in time.

Tanner still retained his grasp on Walker's arm, pulled him hurriedly along the hall. They hesitated before a series of panels built into the wall. Tanner turned, his eyes suddenly cold as ice, his expression that of a man who faced death and reckoned with it with his brain and his muscle.

"Our only escape to the lower levels," he said evenly, "is in the boxes which rise and fall. The guard in the third box has been disposed of. However, the alarm brings them all up the shafts. We must risk that."

Elevators, Walker thought. Freeman's contribution to Tebba, or one of them, was the boxes that "rise and fall." Tanner pressed the call button. Together they stood well away from the wall, facing the doors. Over the doors, tiny green lights appeared. The light indicated that elevators three, five and six were rising at once.

Walker felt something hard being pressed into his hand. He looked down at a tiny pistol.

"Watch box six," Tanner said calmly. "I will watch the other. If they arrive before three, we must destroy the guards who operate them."

WALKER had never waited so anxiously for an elevator in his life. The green lights continued to flash their warning. Then, with a metallic click, the door to six opened and he faced a slim, pale faced man dressed in the same tight fitting black garment that Freeman had worn at their first meeting. There came a panicky moment when Walker could not force himself to pull the trigger. The guard saw immediately that something was wrong. He lunged forward, a frightened expression on his thin face, trying to draw the heavy pistol from his belt.

Walker pressed the trigger and felt the sudden wrench of his shoulder as a white flame seared the guard's face. There was no time for the man to cry out. He sank down slowly, reluctant to give up life. Walker staggered back, sick at heart, to see the door to number three thrown open. Tanner was behind him, pushing him hurriedly into the car. Walker recognized one of the three men who waited in the car. It was one of the guards who had brought him to the tower.

"Hurry!" Tanner sprang to the controls and jerked the lever around a full turn. "Have you been discovered at the first level?"

"We waited at the bottom of the shaft until a call came from this level," he said. "They will find the dead man soon. It is almost time for the Princess to make her escape."

"I know," he said. "We will go the way we came. One of you will remain until you are sure we are not being followed."

The man who Walker had first seen in Freeman's room, stepped away from the rest. He was a heavy-built, freckled-faced fellow with a mass of red hair that fell about his ears.

The car stopped abruptly and the door opened. Tanner led the way into another hall identical to the one they had just left. They moved along it quietly until they reached the first turn. No one was in sight. Walker wondered at the lack of guards and decided that Freeman depended on the elevators and their operators to protect the place. Ahead of them, about the distance of a block, the hall turned again. Tanner hurried along, Walker close behind him. The red haired man stopped at the first turn and leaned calmly against the wall. One would have thought he made a daily business of such escapes.

They were at the second turn now. Tanner, well in the lead, stopped abruptly. An oath escaped his lips. He halted, waiting for Walker to catch up.

BOB WALKER stopped in amazement. All the courage drained out of him. There, not ten feet ahead, the hall stopped. Beyond it was only space. In a distance were the tops of the buildings of Tebba. They were stranded at the end of a blind alley, perhaps two hundred feet above the city.

"But it cannot be," Tanner said in a puzzled voice. "We came this way. I made sure of the direction."

"Shoot him down and go on!" It was Jim Brawn's excited, angry voice. "There are others. He's protecting them."

Then came the sounds of men, many of them, rushing down the hall toward the warrior Tanner had left behind. The hall was alive with running men. Brawn's voice arose above the others, urging them on.

"We can only hold out until Waunu is killed," Tanner whispered. "They'll rush us in the open hall."

Walker thought only of escaping; and if possible, helping the man they had left behind.

"The Free-Man is clever," he groaned. "Somehow he confused us on the number of levels we traveled. It must have been below here that we came in. To jump from the end of this hall would be sure death."

Something in Tanner's reference to Freeman started a line of desperate thought in Walker's mind.

Freeman was clever. So was Brawn. Somehow Brawn had learned of the planned escape. It was he who led the force of guards against them. As he stood there, trying desperately to think, Waunu backed slowly toward them. He was limping badly, continuing to send a steady beam of flame back through the hall.

"Quick!" Walker cried. "Your fire-gun. Aim directly ahead of us into space and release your full power."

He raised his own weapon and pulled the trigger desperately. Tanner, without questioning him, fired in the same direction. Waunu, his red hair waving like a battle flag, turned away from his enemies and ran toward Tanner.

Under the fire of the two guns, Tebba seemed to fade, then crumple before them.

Then, with a loud crash of glass, the barrier fell and the hall stretched onward, an empty route to safety.

"It's like the cell of invisibility," Tanner shouted. "Another of Free-Man's tricks."

He ran forward, hurdling the mass of rubble, with the others at his heels. Walker turned and sent a searing flame of death behind him into the approaching mob. Then, sure that the red-head Waunu was safe, he ran with the little strength that remained in him.

They reached the end of the hall and Tanner threw open the huge door that led out into the darkness. Now the tower was alive with guards. Somewhere in the halls they had left, a bell sounded and swelled until it could be heard for miles.

THEY were on a wide, well-lighted street, and Walker knew it was hidden under one of the buildings he had seen from the sky. A small, covered cart stood in the shadows of the tower. Tanner ran toward it. Still badly shaken, Walker couldn't avoid noticing the wide streets which led away from the tower in all directions. The flow of pedestrians had suddenly halted at the sound of the warning bell, and were milling about excitedly. Tebba was a magnificent place but not for them, at this moment.

To Walker's surprise, Tanner hurried him into the cart. Walker, crouching under the dirty covering, wondered what was to come next. He heard Tanner's voice, speaking low, close to his ear.

"You are in a junk-cart. We are slaves and it is our task to clear the streets and carry the rubbish to the lowest level. Be quiet and do not show yourself."

Walker crouched close to the wooden floor. The wheels started to turn slowly on the pavement. He could picture Tanner and his men pushing the cart, hoping that they could reach safety before the guards recognized them. For a long time Walker did not move. All about him the sounds of the excited mob grew in volume. Then they reached a quieter section of the city. The cart stopped. Cautiously he peeked from under the cover. They were all there, a brave group standing before a door like the elevator entrance in the tower. The door opened and Walker could see the interior of the car. It was about fifteen feet square, battered and dirty inside.

He heard Tanner's voice, speaking so low he could not distinguish the words. Then the door closed and the cart was dropping.

The car halted and the cart jolted backward. Down here it was dark. No ray of light penetrated the cover under which Walker was hidden.

Walker climbed stiffly from the cart. They were in semi-darkness, somewhere far below the street levels of Tebba. All about him were huge containers. Square, box like things that were filled to the brim with rubbish. It was toward one of these that Tanner ran. He climbed upward and jumped into the center of the stinking mass of junk. The others followed. Walker had no choice but to do the same. To his amazement, Tanner was on his knees, digging quickly into the stuff. Then, slipping downward, Tanner disappeared from sight.

At the bottom of the container was a small, square hole cut through solid rock. Below was a pit of silent blackness. Walker leaned forward, pushed his feet through the hole and let go. He felt the sudden painful snap of his knees and his head jerked forward as his feet hit solid earth.

"Help him find his way to the pipe." Tanner called back. "I will try to delay Lonna and her men."

Walker felt a hand on his arm and moved forward through the murky darkness. His eyes were gradually accustoming themselves to the darkness. He could make out shadowy, spidery pipes which crossed and recrossed in this amazing underworld. They were on a path now. Water penetrated his shoes. He slogged forward, hearing the men ahead, still depending on the hand that grasped his arm.

He heard Tanner cry out somewhere. There was a quality of utter dread in Tanner's voice which stopped Walker in his tracks.

The tiny group stood on the water pipe, staring down at the surging water beneath them.

"Lonna was waiting with the boats." Tanner said. "Now we have no way to escape through the pipe. They will discover us before tomorrow night."

Tanner's face mirrored his bewilderment. He looked quickly at the others, then back to Walker for an explanation.

Walker's heart sank. "You—can swim, can't you?" Tanner shook his head. "We don't know the meaning of the word." Walker tried again. "Can't we build another boat?"

WAUNU shook his head. "The water will lie dormant in a few minutes. Tanner will tell you."

If they stayed here, Walker thought, they'd die anyway. There was still a chance.

"Listen," he said eagerly, "swimming isn't necessary. If we can take advantage of the current, you can paddle with your hands and keep your heads above water."

"None of us have ever thought of trusting ourselves in water," he said. "I am willing to try."

"Without a word, Waunu stepped forward and jumped into the opening at the top of the pipe. Soundlessly, he was swept away in the swirling, angry water.

Without an instant's hesitation, Tanner followed Waunu. The others ran past Walker and fell into the water.

Walker took a quick breath and jumped. Water, like liquid ice, came up around his body. It threatened to knock the breath out of him. He was moving forward swiftly, paddling to keep his head up. There must be six feet of roaring water under him. It reminded him of a grim tunnel-of-love. He wondered if the others were still safe.

It seemed an endless journey. Once he heard someone ahead of him gasp for breath. Then five minutes passed, with the torture of hours. Forced forward by the current, he wondered at what moment he would lose his breath and plunge to the bottom, end over end, to death.

Then the inky darkness faded and far ahead he saw light. It was a reddish, dull glare that looked like fire. He hoped that the guards had not discovered the door to the pit and figured out where they had gone.

A dark head became visible ahead of him. Then two more. He tried eagerly to spot a third. Yes, there was Tanner, bobbing up and down, gone for long seconds below the surface of the flood. Then Tanner's head failed to come up, and Walker's spirits sank.

He felt a cold, groping hand under him and clutched it desperately. Tanner had been hurt. Walker held the inert body under the arm pits and drew it to the surface. Tanner's face, close to his own, was white and lifeless. He held on, fighting to keep them both above water.

Waunu's carrot top swept out into open water ahead. The red-head thrashed about, trying to fight his way to the edge of the reserve tank. Then the remainder of them floated into the light, fighting for breath. Walker fought with his little remaining strength, to save Tanner's life.

Blinded by the red glare, Walker could not mistake Lonna Arnoo's joyous, triumphant voice.

He heard something splash into the water close to him and lashed out toward it with his free arm. It was a rope. Holding on, fighting for a last breath, he felt himself drawn upward to the safety of a cold rock wall.

Strong, dry arms were around him. He was lifted to a sturdy shoulder and the last strength fled from his exhausted body. Walker closed his eyes. He could fight no more.

CHAPTER IX. — TWO KINGS FOR THEBA

WHEN Bob Walker awakened, he stared about at the room in which he lay with ill-concealed delight. His body ached as though he had been crushed under stone. He was lying on a couch, covered with a dazzlingly white cloth which reminded him of heavy silk. He lifted the cover and blushed because a loose suit of the same material hid his body.

He wondered if one of Tanner's men had put him to bed, and fervently hoped so. The room was small, but so spotless and perfectly arranged that he might have been in some Heavenly managed hospital. An arched doorway, leading from his room, opened on a pleasing apartment beyond.

Walker twisted around quickly to stare at the plump, red-faced little man who sat on the floor at the head of the cot.

Walker was taken completely by surprise. The little fellow stood up, his index finger pressed tightly to a smiling mouth. He was dressed, as was Walker, in glorified white pajamas. He was almost as wide as he was tall.

"Shhhh! I told you conversation is unnecessary. You are an earthman, and that assures you the best possible treatment. You saved my son from death and that is a favor I will never forget."

"I'm hardly Tanner's type, am I," he asked. Then he sighed. "You see, Tanner's mother was a truly magnificent creature."

"I—I didn't expect this," Walker said. "In fact, I didn't expect anything, I guess. To get out of that damned chamber of horrors was all that I had time to think of."

The little man seemed to have recovered from his dream review of memories. A bright smile wreathed his face.

"Then let me welcome you to Theba, the underdog city, and tell you that as King of a doomed people, I offer you what little hospitality remains, until you are strong enough to offer us your counsel."

His shoulder hurt him badly. In trying to sit up, he wrenched it. With a cry of pain, he sank back to the bed again. Immediately King Arnoo was at his side. The king's eyes grew round and his face turned pale with anxiety.

King Arnoo did not answer. When Walker opened one eye to see what had happened to the little man, King Arnoo was sitting on the floor once more, his patient eyes watching the earth-man for any sign of discomfort.

ROBERT WALKER came to the cavern city of Theba in a battered, hand-made boat. He had drifted on the underground river, under the fire-desert, and into the vast cavern which housed King Arnoo's kingdom. His clothing, was the same dirty, torn suit he had worn since Nick Freeman dragged him from Chicago into this strange world.

Now he had fully recovered from his strange experience, feeling fit once more. The more he saw of Theba, the more he longed to help these people who lived in dread beneath the surface of the fire-desert.

Today was the first time he had left the room in which he first awakened. King Arnoo had come personally to watch the seven tailors fit Walker out in fine, blue silk clothing. He wore a robe that swept to his ankles, and under it, a suit consisting of tight jacket and loosely fitting trousers. Around his waist they had strapped a wide belt filled with long, blunt nosed bullets. Into the belt, he had himself placed the fire-gun with its splendid gold handle and glittering barrel.

To Walker's complete surprise, King Arnoo met him outside his own chambers, dressed in identical clothing. On each of their heads, an attendant fitted a blue hat trimmed with a single red feather. In this way, Bob Walker became an equal of King Arnoo, and was acknowledged as such, because Arnoo had dressed him in royal fittings and prepared to accompany him on their first inspection tour.

It had taken Walker several days to recover and he had only seen a few of Arnoo's people.

He tried to conceal his surprise as they left the castle, moving slowly down the broad stairs to the Avenue of Splendor.

Looking back, he realized he had seen only a few rooms of the vast, dreamlike palace in which the royal family lodged. There were other things to take his eyes away from the castle.

Before him the Avenue of Splendor stretched away as far as the eyes could see. A broad, smoothly paved boulevard led to the far reaches of the cavern and above it the rugged jutting walls of the cave roof hung down like ever-threatening storm clouds.

There were thousands of Thebans crowded along the edge of the Avenue. Behind them, the tall windowless buildings rose story on story to the very roof of the cave. Walker judged quickly, as they went together down the steps, that Theba must be about ten miles square. Within that space, if he could guess by the men and women he saw, there must be thousands of Thebans.

A cheer rose below deafening him. King Arnoo's words were lost in the uproar. As they reached the Avenue, a small, open vehicle rolled up and stopped before them. It looked like a large canoe, wheels hidden partially under gleaming red metal, with a wide red leather seat stretching from side to side, near its prow. An attendant, obviously pleased with his duty, opened the door and waited while they climbed in. The door closed. The car moved silently away from the palace. Behind them three other cars fell into line. Turning around, Walker noticed that Tanner and his sister occupied the car behind them. The others were filled with well dressed men, probably ministers of the cabinet.

Tanner flashed him a grateful smile and Lonna nodded pleasantly. She was clad in royal blue. Her fine head carried the brilliant crown of the House of Arnoo. Walker smiled back and was about to wave his hand in greeting. However, at a curt signal from Arnoo, he turned and stared ahead.

"You must be careful not to express personal emotions before my people," King Arnoo said in a low voice. "To them, you are a person from earth, and therefore dwell in a place above and apart from Thebans."

Something in the King's voice told Walker that he should remain silent. He decided to be careful until he knew more of the Thebans and their King.

MUCH of Walker's old spirit returned that day. He had been strangely frightened and depressed since he first faced Nick Freeman in Tebba. The fear was gone. He knew he had been afraid only because he did not understand. Now, with men about him who seemed friendly, he felt almost at home.

The car moved along the Avenue of Splendor and he had to rise several times, at Arnoo's suggestion, and nod toward the people who were struggling to get a glimpse of him. He felt like a monkey in a gold cage. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, and he made the best of it.

The car left the Avenue of Splendor and spent two hours touring the city. Walker guessed that Theba and Tebba were much alike in layout. He guessed that Freeman and his genius for designing new weapons and products, had pushed Tebba ahead until King Arnoo himself admitted bitterly that Theba was the "underdog city" of the pair.

Now that they had seen Theba, the royal car turned to speed away from the remainder of the parade.

King Arnoo lost his royal dignity. He turned to Walker and addressed him humbly.

"Your creative chambers have been prepared," he said. "If you have had time enough to rest, we will go there new, and waste no further time. I am anxious to see progress in our war against Free-Man."

Walker winced. Just what did King Arnoo expect? Walker had a vague idea. Lonna had hinted that, as an earthman, Walker would be able to assist them. It seemed they thought he was another Freeman. Freeman was an inventor. Even on earth, Nick Freeman had been famous. Walker was nothing but a common workman, without any imagination to speak of, who had spent hours over various tools in a grimy machine-shop.

"I guess I'm ready to try my luck." He tugged at his collar. "It—will be quite an experience."

"An experience that will give Free-Man cause to worry," he agreed. "My people will do the work. You must offer the initial idea and explain to them what is needed. While weapons are our prime need, we will welcome any other plans that you may have for the city and its people. Free-Man has given the people of Tebba many objects that have increased their pleasure of living."

The car halted before a long, low stone building. Several men in scarlet cloaks sprang from the open door to stand at attention as they left the car. King Arnoo led the way into the stone structure, followed by Walker, entering a dark, poorly ventilated hall.

Here, he thought, was as far as the likeness between the two cities went. Tebba was cool and well lighted. This building, unlike the palace, was dingy and smelled of perspiration. Yet, the building seemed to have been newly constructed.

Walker followed King Arnoo down the hall into increasing darkness, through a door into a huge loft. Even in the poor light, enough of the place was visible to open his eyes with astonishment.

Before him, spread out haphazardly with seemingly no relationship to each other, was the largest collection of machine-tools he had ever seen. Here in the dusty, strangely dark room were drill presses, great molds, saws and mechanical hammers. Here was every type of machine he had ever seen or dreamed of. One thing puzzled him. The machines, though new in appearance, like the exterior of the building, were unused.

He had entered an entire factory, and what looked like a good one, which manufactured nothing. . Walker turned to King Arnoo. Before he could speak, King Arnoo started to explain.

"I know this is puzzling to the mind of an earth-man," he said with a note of apology in his voice. "You see, my spies have gathered data from Free-Man's factories. They have patiently copied each of his machines, but they have been unable to find the plans for the manufacture of equipment. Freeman hides these plans in his vaults. There lies his power.

"Our people are as clever as the Tebbans. They can copy as well. Yet, without Free-Man's knowledge of how to proceed, these machines are powerless to us."

"And I'm to fill the gap," Walker muttered darkly under his breath. "Little Robert Walker, who flunked every class in High School and worked in a machine shop. The little genius from earth, some to help the Thebans become a master-race."

For no good reason his thoughts turned back to Lonna. Lonna, cool and beautiful, riding in the royal car. And to Tanner, who had risked his life and the lives of his men, to bring him here to safety.

He had to try to help these people. Was it fair to assume that if the Thebans could construct these machines, they might also be able to follow his suggestions? But, what were his suggestions? He had never fooled around with strange machinery. It didn't take brains to run machinery at the shop. He'd done that by pressing a row of buttons and turning off the power when the five o'clock whistle blew.

"You do not seem satisfied," King Arnoo said suddenly. "We will try to please you. I will call the man who is responsible for the plans and the machinery."

Walker thought suddenly that this had gone far enough. He couldn't give these fine people the run-around. He turned quickly, groping for the right words.

"You're—mistaken about me," he said desperately. "I couldn't build a bird-cage with this hodge-podge of machinery."

"Wait," he said. "Speak to the man I'm calling and he will make any corrections you suggest."

The guard left the room hurriedly. In a moment he was back and behind him strode the huge warrior Waunu. Waunu flashed Walker a smile of greeting.

"The earth-man wishes to re-arrange your machines," the King said. "When he is finished he will, at his leisure, outline the first project. Listen to him closely as his mind is far advanced. Do as he says and see that you make no errors. When he wishes, see that he is escorted swiftly to the palace where he can rest."

"Yes, your Majesty," Waunu bowed stiffly. The King turned to Walker and spoke respectfully:

"You will have all the men you need. Six thousand warriors are pledged to give the necessary assistance. I am King of the fighting forces and you are now King over my people, to produce the things which will give us all a happier life."

WITHOUT wasting further words, he bowed and retreated toward the door. His guards went with him, leaving Waunu staring at Walker like a faithful, slightly awed child.

"Here, brother, goes nothing," Walker muttered to himself. "When they find out what a fourflusher they've got on their hands, I'm gonna cook in my own broth."

Walker wondered just what the King had expected. He hoped it wouldn't take much to impress him at first. Perhaps, if he could put some simple objects together, the Thebans would be satisfied until he had time to study a more complicated job. They wanted to make war on Freeman. That would call for cannons and other tools of war. He'd never fired anything more powerful than Tanner's fire-gun.

He couldn't let them down. There was Lonna, the most important of them all. He'd never forgive himself if he had to confess defeat and have her find it out.

Waunu nodded. His eyes started to twinkle. His mind had carried the plans for the shop from Tebba. His instructions had caused the machines to be built. He was anxious to see them at work.

"Yes," he said eagerly. "The Tebbans have to pipe water from the reserve tank which creates power under their city. You remember we escaped through the water pipe?"

Walker nodded, and Waunu continued. "We are more fortunate in Theba. The underground river runs below Theba. I have seen that the Tebban power device has been copied accurately. It is located below this building. At a turn of the power wheel, this equipment will work smoothly."

Walker was intoxicated now with his own dreams. It was a wild plan. A plan that, unless he could remember all the details, might trip him up.

"Badly," he said. "We have not mastered the Tebban art of replacing foul air with fresh. It is indeed unfortunate. The palace has a pipe connection with the clean air near the underground river. It was impossible to run a separate pipe to each building."

"But it wouldn't be impossible to run a large pipe to the center of the city," Walker asked eagerly, "and from that pipe, send out a series of smaller and ever smaller pipes until the last building in Theba was contacted?"

"The air would not travel so far," he said in a sad voice. "We have thought of that."

"That's not the whole plan," he went on hurriedly. "You have a powerful mechanism near the river, creating power to run these machines. Is it powerful enough to turn a fan?"

Waunu seemed slightly more impressed, but the word fan made him stare, blankly again. This time Walker saw his error.

"Come with me," he said, and walked to a long bench that crossed part of the room. He found a slim metal shaving on the floor and used it as a pencil to trace the diagram in the wooden bench. "I am going to show you how to construct a fan, and tell you what it will do."

With Waunu staring over his shoulder, he amazed even himself by sketching a fairly presentable four-armed fan and the gears which would connect it to a motor. As he worked, Waunu drew closer to the design. When he finished, Waunu sighed deeply.

Walker stepped away from the bench and Waunu continued to stare for some time. When he looked at Walker again, all the old faith in the earth man had returned and was visible in his expression.

"It will be done at once," he said. "I will call a thousand warriors at once. If you wish, I will call two thousand!"

"A thousand men will be enough," he said. Then thinking it better to add a little hocus-pocus to impress Waunu, he added: "The large pipe must be several times the size of a man. It must have a wide mouth to catch all the wind created by the fan. You already know about the fan. The small pipes must reach into the bottom of each building, where an outlet will be left at the roof to let the old air escape."

Walker felt as though he'd been dragged through every inch of the pipe Waunu and his men were to build.

"If this dream works out," he said, forgetting that Waunu was still concentrating on every word, "I'll get them to build a distillery and I'll get soused on Theban whiskey."

"You will have to explain the meaning of distillery," Waunu said solemnly. "My brain has thus far caught all the details of your splendid plan. I confess that I'm confused by your last words."

"I was talking to myself," he confessed. "But if I do explain the word to you later, you'll be pleasantly surprised with the results."

"I will try to learn quickly," he promised. "Give me a short time to arrange our first project and I will start at once on the distillery."

"I'll bet you would," Walker answered, picturing a row of Thebans lined up for their first drink of firewater. "Man, wouldn't you be a fighter if you were half soused."

Waunu looked blank again at this statement. He decided that the earth-man was engaged in a personal discussion affecting only himself.

"By all means," Walker urged; and as Waunu passed beyond hearing distance, "I'll start figuring out how I'm going to get out of Theba when the King finds out how I'm using his precious men and money."

But, King Arnoo was not displeased. He had expected the mind of the earth man to conceive just such a plan. In fact, King Arnoo was glad in his heart that the earth man didn't insist on making war machinery. King Arnoo wasn't angry at anyone. As long as the Tebbans stayed at home, he would be glad to do the same. It was the hot, excitable blood of Arnoo's warriors that demanded war.

So, with the proclamation issued that work was to start at once on a mysterious object called fan, two thousand Thebans were put to work on the project. King Arnoo decreed that a vast party would be held at the palace and all Thebans of high rank were invited to meet and converse with the earth-man.

Bob Walker looked forward to the coming banquet with mixed emotions. The fan project was under way. Waunu had presented him with a working model which amazed Walker and put some of his fears at rest. Now, with the King's tailor, Walker was choosing his wardrobe. His clothing was to be identical to Arnoo's.

Although he couldn't understand why he was held in such high esteem he had no choice but to accept the people's praise and make himself a little talking god for their benefit.

It was early in the evening when the tailor packed his materials and left the suite. Walker examined himself carefully in the mirrored dressing room. Although a bit different than the clothing he had worn at home, the royal purple suit, tightly wound red turban and comfortable red shoes didn't make a bad combination, providing you liked rainbows. He hoped that Lonna who had avoided him carefully since his arrival, would acknowledge his presence tonight.

Soon after eight, the King presented himself and accompanied Walker down the winding stairs to the banquet hall. King Arnoo's palace might lack some of the gadgets that Freeman had supplied for Tebba. However, the huge, high ceilinged room into which the Thebans were drifting, was beyond Walker's fondest dreams of luxury. Devoid of the strange green light of Tebba, Arnoo's palace depended on thousands of lighted candles to illuminate the halls. The floor, constructed from red and blue stone squares, made Walker feel as though he were walking across a giant checker-board.

In a pleasant daze, he stood at the King's side and greeted hundreds of guests who entered the room. He knew that every eye was upon him. They considered him in a world by himself.

Every Theban accepting Walker's hand was obviously flattered with the honor. Yet, they carefully avoided any conversation with him, once names had been exchanged.

PRINCESS LONNA came late, looking like something from an intoxicating dream. She swept into the room, her slim vibrant body clothed in shimmering scarlet. Her hair, combed and coiled carefully, sparkled under the candle light. Her eyes flashed when she saw Walker standing at her father's side. For an instant, the grip on her escort's arm loosened.

If Walker was impressed by Lonna, his heart suffered an unexpected blow when he saw the slim, handsome warrior at her side. King Arnoo presented them. "Lonna, you have met the earth-man!"

Walker nodded and took her hand. It was small and so soft that he was almost afraid he might bruise it.

She spoke with a note of sincerity; yet Walker felt that she was staring at him with the impersonal admiration of one who studies a fine piece of machinery. He had to confess that he was jealous of the man who waited respectfully for his turn to be presented.

"A man whom you must meet and consider your friend," he said happily. "My Minister of War, Captain Rons Warre. Also, the nobleman who has consented to give my daughter, Lonna, a place in his home."

Captain Rons Warre stepped forward one pace, saluted stiffly and took Walker's hand. He was a man, from his straight, proudly erect shoulders to the small booted feet.

"I am honored with the introduction," Rons Warre said in a warm voice. "King Arnoo flatters me. It is Lonna who accepted me, and I who am proud and grateful to become her mate."

The four of them stood in a little group and Lonna stared at Walker as though badly puzzled about something she could not mention. King Arnoo was glowing with pride because his finest warrior had met and become a friend of the earth-man.

"This night makes me very happy," the little King said. "Captain Warre will make use of the war instruments that are to come. We ask nothing, and expect the earth man to bide his time in producing such materials. We only hope that our dull minds can grasp his thoughts."

"And now if you will excuse us," his eyes flashed toward Lonna. "The Princess and I wish to dance."

Walker felt a lump in his throat that with any amount of swallowing wouldn't disappear. Lonna, about to throw herself whole heartedly into the evening's entertainment, was already spoken for and seemingly happy with handsome Captain Rons Warre.

Walker muttered something appropriate, accepted the Captain's hand once more and watched them wander, arm in arm, away into the crowd.

SOMEWHERE above the huge room, soft, plaintive stringed instruments were adding a magic touch to the scene. Couples whirled out on the checkerboard floor, dancing a step that was strange to Walker.

Walker pivoted to see father and son embracing each other. Waunu, well dressed but strangely out of place, stood uncomfortably behind the dark-skinned, devil-may-care Tanner. Tanner turned away from the King and walked swiftly toward Walker. He took Walker's hand with great gusto. "Our paths have not crossed for several days. I have waited for the opportunity to thank you for saving my life."

"And who came into a tower filled with Freeman's guards to rescue me from under their noses?"

Tanner reminded him of a spirited colt. The boy was dressed in wide bottomed scarlet trousers, silk shirt and sash. Among the carefully attired ministers of the state, he looked more like pirate than prince.

"But it was an honor to rescue the earth man. He will lead the Thebans to their rightful place in power over the Tebbans. I, Tanner, am only a servant of my father."

He motioned Waunu forward and the red-head stumbled uncomfortably to his side. Waunu took Walker's hand, squeezed it in his huge paw, stepping back to stare at Walker with admiration.

"I am honored to be accepted at the palace." He seemed about ready to choke. Waunu, it was evident, had not been here often. He had dressed carefully in his finest battle clothing. Tight brown jacket, olive green trousers that bulged at the ankle as did Tanner's and a small, scarlet cap with green feather.

"Waunu says he is honored." The King chuckled. "Waunu is our most brilliant and trusted man of industry. Waunu stole the plans and built working machinery. Some day he will be master of every working man in Theba."

Waunu's face flushed to match his carrot-top perfectly. It was obvious that he was stunned, yet very pleased with the compliment.

"And what of the party?" Tanner interrupted. "What of our earth-man who should be made happy tonight? Isn't this affair in his honor?"

CHAPTER X. — WAR COMES TO THEBA

THROUGHOUT the evening, he seemed in a world apart from the Thebans. He tried to convince himself that toasts drunk to him were enough to make him happy.

Lonna, the one bright star in the entire room, avoided any further contact with him.

When Walker had watched the last guest leave, he went to his own rooms with a sinking sensation in his stomach.

Tanner had been fine. Waunu, King Arnoo, even Captain Rons Warre, were all stalwart men and he was proud of his association with them. But somehow, after the first night with Lonna in the invisible cell at Tebba, he could not understand her feelings toward him. After three hours of fighting for sleep, he succeeded only in seeing Lonna's oval, smiling face before him. Bob Walker decided that he was hopelessly in love with King Arnoo's daughter. In love with a girl who was pledged to another man.

Why the hell couldn't Warre be a villain like so many love rivals he had read about? Why did Warre have to be a clean-limbed, likeable fighter? Walker wondered for a long time about the fate that had tossed him here. He gave up finally to dream about a fan that wouldn't work, an angry mob of Thebans who showed him up for a witless fool and sent him out of the city with a coat of tar and feathers.

FIVE days passed quietly after the night of the banquet. The American was moody the day following his disappointing meeting with Lonna. Then, with the knowledge that soon Theba would demand further proof of his ability, he asked for drawing material and spent hours in his room turning out sketches of every imaginable machine he could remember.

From Waunu, who was busy with the fan project, Walker found that the river obligingly ran directly under the palace. He suggested a simple pump. After drawing the diagram of a large bathtub, he put a dozen of Waunu's men to work piping water into the palace itself.

On the sixth day, two great events shook Theba to the very bottom of its foundation. The people of Theba felt the first faint drafts of fresh air pouring up through their dwellings from the underground river. With Walker superintending the job personally, King Arnoo took his first water-bath.

To say that the Thebans were only pleased to find their buildings ventilated, would be doing Walker an injustice. To describe Arnoo's approach to his bath, could not be fittingly done with mere words.

King Arnoo, already jubilant because the fan was whirling steadily below the city, walked down the broad hall, clad only in his robe. Walker placed the bath in his own chambers purposely, wanting to keep the whole thing secret from the King for the moment. The room had been a wardrobe closet. Now one corner of it was occupied by a gleaming, six foot tub complete with water tap.

"It is indeed a wonderful looking monster," he admitted, staring into the tub. "You are sure these water-baths have no ill effect upon the body?"

It might be added, in due respect to the King, that the Thebans had always relied upon a perfumed substance to freshen their bodies.

This pleased King Arnoo. He was much impressed by anything the earth-man endorsed. At Walker's instructions, he discarded the robe and inserted his ample figure in the tub. Walker himself turned the tap that admitted the water.

A rather frightened King retreated from the cold river water. Then, muttering with joy, he became accustomed to the chilly bath and started to splash about delightedly.

"It's—it's wonderful. A definite improvement. I—I feel as though new life were flowing into my body."

Walker noticed that the king's lips were blue with the cold. Goose pimples stood out on Arnoo's white skin. If the King could stand it for a few minutes?

It was an hour later; and because he didn't want to kill the King in one sitting, the earth-man had to use all his argumentative power to remove Arnoo from the new bathtub.

A half day later, hundreds of Theban noblemen passed solemnly through the tiny chamber, each pausing long enough to listen to King Arnoo's description of water's powerful medical quality.

"And I feel ten years younger," the little King insisted solemnly to anyone who would listen. "First the members of my own family will be admitted. Then, as we have not yet made arrangements to supply these tubs for the entire city, you will be admitted with preference to your rank. All of you must try the wonderful tub."

Walker was firmly established in Theba. The King's bathtub and the fan that turned steadily below the city, assured him of cooperation in any hair-brained scheme he undertook.

THE city of Tebba was in a state of upheaval. Free-Man had betrayed his subjects.

It all started with the clever escape of the Theban slaves. Jim Brawn had guessed that such an attempt would be made. His meeting with Lonna, when the girl slave had brought him fruit, set his mind racing back to Walker and the prisoner's probable state of mind.

Brawn had not been a fool. To get rid of Walker would be another step toward his own peace of mind. He had watched the slave girl carefully, found out from another slave that she had been to Walker's cell and made his own plans accordingly.

He pleaded with Freeman to place a special guard near Walker, but Nick Freeman only laughed.

With guards whom he managed to order about without Freeman's knowledge, Brawn made an attempt to capture Walker the night he escaped to Theba.

That gave Brawn his first opportunity to speak secretly against Freeman. Now, hidden in the identical hut Tanner had used as a meeting place, Brawn addressed a small circle of trusted guards from Freeman's building.

Brawn was accustomed to swaying men. The men of Tebba were growing contented and fat under Freeman's guiding genius. Brawn regarded them all with contempt.

"You have come here for the fifth time in as many nights. Now, what is the report?"

A dark-bearded old warrior arose, drawing his slave-robe tightly about him. He was proud to hold a position of importance once more. The Tebbans were getting soft. War was good for a man. It made him remember the days when he was young and afraid of nothing.

"I have gone among the people at the east end of Tebba," he said. "I have five hundred men who will understand that you tried to prevent the escape of the slaves, and that Free Man did nothing.

"You have told us that Free Man is weak and that he does not hate the Thebans. We believe you, being also an earth-man, are better able to lead us than Free Man. Our men are ready to throw the weaker one from the throne and place you in his place."

"Good! Freeman would unite the two cities of Tebba and Theba. He fears war and thinks that you could live together in peace. It is an admission of weakness."

Every man in the group leaned forward intently. They were the lowest class in the city. Slaves who longed for power.

"With Freeman out of the way, you will see a new era. I will conquer Theba and the Thebans will do the work. They will be the slaves and you will become noblemen."

He smiled, knowing how much he must sound like the word politicians back in Chicago. His political experience served him well.

"There are thirty of us in this group. We have a hidden army of fifteen thousand men, ready to turn against Freeman. You will strike at the tenth bell tomorrow night. I will handle Freeman personally."

That last sentence increased their respect for him two-fold. To handle Free-Man was the thing they all dreaded.

Brawn stared at the assorted group of ruffians and a quizzical smile lighted his face.

"That is enough. It is time for us to retutn to our places in the city and prepare for the attack."

They arose and went silently up the trail. Brawn remained behind, staring at the huge water pipe through which Walker had made his escape. At last he shook his head as though satisfied with everything, then followed his men toward the seventh level.

IT WAS after the ringing of the tenth bell when Freeman arose from his desk and walked thoughtfully down the hall to his private suite. Freeman was bewildered. Something told him that all was not well in the city. Freeman was hurt, and a little frightened by his people. He had come here a long time ago; had been a peaceful, industrious man. His mind had created a Utopia which showed signs of crumbling. But why?

He didn't know. During the past several days, his trusted assistant, the man he knew as Robert Walker, had reported mobs milling about in the city. Sudden fights broke out. Tempers were rubbed raw by some malady of the mind.

It never occurred to Freeman to distrust Walker. Freeman had been troubled by Brawn's escape, but he knew that Brawn was ignorant of the fire-desert. He thought that Brawn and the Theban slaves had suffered their just reward on the desert, burned by the searing flames that played across its red-sands.

What Freeman had never known, was that a great underground river ran under the desert. That the river formed a lake beneath Theba, where Thebans could dock their boats and climb to safety.[*]

[* An explanation of Freeman's adopted home should be given the reader. To correctly understand the events to occur, picture Freeman's world as a vast desert which lies cool at night, becoming a searing, fiery world of death during the day. Tebba was protected from these flames by the great curtain of green light that was forced from Tebban power plants, across the sky. When Freeman came, the Tebbans lived below the surface, their bodies and brains cooked by the heat from above.

Freeman pictured a city above ground, without fear of the heat, and a people growing gradually stronger because of the coolness. He constructed power houses and stored water in reserve tanks to turn the power units. Then he spread the protection screen of the emerald ray across the sky to fight off the heat. The ray was his own invention. If it were destroyed, the Tebbans would once more be forced to go back to their cave living, becoming once more a degenerate, doomed race.

Theba, on the other hand, was built in a vast cavern. The desert heat could not penetrate its roof. The river cooled it enough to make life comfortable.

Therefore, the fire-desert was the real enemy of Tebba, and not the Thebans as they imagined.

Freeman retired to his room to prepare for rest. A knock on the door interrupted him and he donned a robe hurriedly. His assistant, the man Walker, came in at his bidding.

"Can you spare a few minutes? Trouble of some kind has broken out in the tower. A slave has escaped from the cell of invisibility."

"I can't help it," he said. "It's your idea. You should have made it escape-proof."

"A slave," Brawn said calmly, "was placed there yesterday. One of the trouble makers. I took the liberty."

THEY entered an elevator and sped swiftly to the level of the invisible cell. Brawn was careful to remain behind Freeman when they reached the cell door. It was slightly opened. Two guards stood just outside. Brawn followed Freeman directly to the cell, and Freeman addressed one of the guards.

"The door," he said, "it was forced from the inside. You should improve the lock."

Freeman pushed the door open and stepped inside. He bent close to the lock and started to feel for a defect. Before he could protest, the door slammed in his face and the click of the bolt sounded from the outside.

Freeman shrank back, suddenly frightened, realizing for the first time who he was dealing with.

Nick Freeman threw his weight against the door. Already a strange dizziness had swept over him. There seemed to be nothing below or above him. He couldn't stand high places.

"Jim?" No answer. "Jim Brawn! For Heaven's sake, let me out! I should have known. You convinced me of your innocence so easily!"

"I always did have that power over you, Nick. Remember how easily my voice could sway your judgment?"

"Brawn, don't leave me here. I'll go crazy. I can't stand this place. It will kill me."

Then silence. Dead, unbroken silence. Nick Freeman turned and sprawled forward, groping for the mock safety of the silver square. Once in the center of it, he lay very still, his breath coming hard. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to think. Tried to throw off the utter horror that was creeping over him.

A VAST change was taking place in the cities of Tebba and Theba. The Tebbans, not usually a warlike people, were torn away from their devotion to Freeman by the constant nagging of Brawn's hoodlums. Brawn himself, silver-tongued rogue, made his people believe that Nick Freeman had planned to betray them to the Thebans. Gradually, Tebba turned from a city of peace into a vast armament plant. Brawn was never satisfied. He drove them night and day, issuing statements which his imagination produced, concerning the coming war with the Thebans.

"The Thebans are ready to attack us. They have vast factories working night and day and will march against Tebba in a short time. The earth-man, who escaped from Tebba, will lead them against us."

Although he spoke in this manner, Brawn had no idea that Walker was still alive and actually doing some of the things he gave him credit for.

THE King's bathtub had been a grand gesture. Now, with Arnoo satisfied, Walker gave Waunu complete instructions for war machinery. Here his imagination came in handy. Knowing little of guns and tanks, he turned to his own training for assistance. Blueprints were made of hand drills. By multiplying their size a dozen times, the Thebans produced boring implements that would break through solid cement walls. The theory of the acetylene torch was known to Walker. Again, by changing the original torch to a machine a hundred times its original size, he created a fire-throwing cannon which would send deadly flame ahead fifty yards, burning anything within its range.

During these preparations, King Arnoo explained to him the theory of the Tebban "sky-curtain" that kept the fiery sun from reaching the upper levels of Tebba.

"We prepared atomic bombs after a formula stolen from Free Man, but they failed to destroy the curtain. Later, while you were in the city, we attacked with huge red-rays, another of Free-Man's secrets and nearly succeeded in destroying the curtain."

And so, with the King constantly at his side, Walker built Theba into a powerful military power and tried to plan an intelligent battle.

It was late at night when Tanner, Prince of Theba, rushed into Walker's chambers and awakened him. It took several moments before Walker was fully awakened. Tanner, his uniform covered with mud, face a mask of dirt, was almost too excited to explain.

"Quickly! We must mass our troops! A spy has come by the river from Tebba. The Tebbans plan crossing the fire-desert to attack us before morning."

Walker was sure that Nick Freeman wasn't a warlike man. It had seemed to be Freeman's purpose to prevent war when possible. He had not spoken of retaliation, even when the Thebans attacked Tebba.

Walker donned his coat, a bitter smile twisting his lips. He owed Brawn a crack on the nose for certain difficulties he had caused. Perhaps this was his opportunity.

The people of Theba were in a state of high excitement. In battle, protecting their own city, they were untried.

Walker's mind worked furiously. As he stood at King Arnoo's side on the palace balcony, he was planning something that had occupied his mind for a long time.

The King gave a stirring speech. Behind them, seated around the circular balcony were Waunu, Tanner and the determined warrior, Captain Rons Warre. Warre would lead the defense, at Tanner's side. Arnoo would remain to take charge of the city and Waunu would see that the war machines worked smoothly.

Walker spoke a few words of encouragement, then amid cheers from below, watched the huge parade of fire-throwers and flame-cannons pass along the Avenue of Splendor, toward the gate of the cavern.

Their task was plainly outlined. The army of Theba must keep the Tebbans from entering the underground city until day came. When the sun hit the desert once more, the Tebbans would be forced to retreat or burn to death on the fire-desert.

A more urgent scheme occupied his mind. If it worked, the Tebbans would return to their own city ready to listen to peace terms.

He asked Tanner and Waunu to remain behind, as Captain Rons Warre went swiftly from the palace to take the lead of his troops. With the two trusted mien in his own room, Walker outlined his plan.

"When we escaped from Tebba, you told me the water pipe through which we came supplied power for the sky-curtain."

Waunu nodded, anxious to be on with the battle, wondering what new scheme was in Walker's mind.

"If that pipe line could be destroyed while the men of Tebba are away, it would create a panic. They would have to retreat to the lowest level to escape the sun's heat. Should our own lines fail, and the Tebbans enter our city tomorrow morning, we would lose everything. Let's assume that the sky-curtain over Tebba was destroyed tonight. The Tebban's would be in as bad a position as ourselves. They'd return to a life as humble as our own would be, if we became Tebban slaves. Am I right?"

"But the pipe is a huge thing. It will be well guarded in time of war. Would it be possible...?"

"Possible, and it will be done!" Waunu's eyes glittered excitedly. "The Tebbans have never guessed the source of their water supply. We will follow the river, as we came, and break the pipe open at the reserve tanks."

"The reserve tanks are open. Without protection and with the surface watched by a detachment of guards. No man could cross without being killed."

"No man, that's true," he said. "But we'll float enough T.N.T. across to blow the city itself off the map. There's bound to be a current drawing water into the pipe...."

"T.N.T.?" Waunu leaned forward eagerly. "The strange substance we worked over yesterday?"

"I've been thinking about this for some time. We need a small boat-like float in which T.N.T. can be packed and remain dry. We'll make three floats. One of them is sure to reach its goal. If the Tebban guards shoot at it while it crosses the tank, God pity them."

The plan appealed to Waunu because he had worked long with Walker and trusted him. To-Tanner, anxious to be in the thick of the battle, Walker's plan did not sound feasible.

"We can stop the Tebbans here at the gates of Theba. I'm willing to rely on our troops and your equipment."

"As much as I appreciate your faith in me," he said, "I'd still like to tackle the T.N.T. idea."

"Tanner is a warrior," he said. "He has to see blood on the sand and hear the shouts of attacking hordes. For myself, I prefer the quiet trip underground."

"Then we'll take that quiet trip together," he said. "I think the most noise will come from the mouths of the Tebbans who remained at home."

PRINCESS LONNA ARNOO was badly worried. She had said goodbye to Rons Warre and watched him march away toward the city's gate.

It was not Warre she worried about though. True, she would take him as her mate in a short week, if he escaped alive from the battle. But now, after she had clung to Tanner and felt him push her away to take his own place with the troops, Lonna wandered about the palace, trying to find peace in its quiet walls.

Tanner shouldn't have told her of the earth-man's plan. Lonna's throat felt dry and very hot as she stood at the top of the stairs which led to the ball-room, watching Waunu follow Bob Walker from his own suite, across the magnificent court, away toward the factory.

There was something in Walker's step; something about the way he carried himself, that made him the greatest Prince of them all in her eyes. Lonna stood alone for several minutes, trying desperately to think only of Rons Warre. She knew it was hopeless. Her heart was with Bob Walker.

Princesses didn't marry gods. They looked up at them with worshipping eyes. Then, remembering their place in society, they go on living among their own kind, even though it breaks their heart.

With the rumble of war fading from the city, a vast curtain of silence fell over Theba. Women and children retreated to their homes waiting, trying to be brave.

They had waited for a leader. Now, under his guidance, there arose a doubt making them want back the peace they had had. A doubt which grew until, in their worried minds, they held Bob Walker responsible for the life of every Theban warrior.

Lonna wondered what would happen to Tanner and to her fat, lovable father. She did not hold Walker responsible. She wanted to be near him. Once she had saved his life, only to see him grow famous among her people, and become a great unfilled desire in her own heart.

When the last warrior's feet had sent wisps of dust floating up from Theba's roads, Lonna Arnoo made a decision. Tanner had said that Walker and Waunu would go by the underground river. A long time ago, Lonna had hidden her own boat in the black shadows of the river below the palace.

She donned a dark robe, covered her glistening hair with a tight fitting hood and found her way swiftly to the door which led down to the river.

THE trek across the desert was not a long one. To Brawn, his pulses quickening at the thought of victory, the sound of Tebba's rolling cannons was comforting. He had never ridden across any country so completely blotted out by darkness.

From his car, a low slung, tear drop affair with lugs that gripped the soft sand, he tried to see the hundreds of men and machines which were moving ahead of him.

The Tebbans needed no guide. They had been here often and only at night. The sand was still hot; a constant reminder that they must escape its hellish surface before daybreak.

The car halted finally. Brawn, knowing the time had come, drew his coat about him and left the car. For the occasion, he had chosen military boots, whipcords and a flashy crimson jacket. He was aware of his dashing appearance and the Tebbans knew it. They loved him, at least the rabble who had come, because he had made them fighting men. They were dressed in the best and had eaten the finest foods. They were no longer slaves, but fighting men.

BRAWN'S assistant was the old warrior who had spoken for the others in the cave below the seventh level. The man was dressed in a tight emerald uniform and his beard had been trimmed. He approached Brawn silently. His boots kicked up spurts of the warm sand. Twin fire-guns were strapped at his sides.

"We are a half mile from the gates of Theba," he said. "The Thebans have learned of our coming. However, our own spies have not been idle."

Brawn, angry because their plans hadn't been kept secret, was heartened by the Theban's apparently defensive attitude.

"Our spies tell us that the Thebans are prepared for war," the assistant said, "but, they cannot fire any projectiles. They depend on fire as their weapon, and it is effective only at fifty yards or less."

Brawn drew the coat tighter. The air was icy cold while the heat of the sand sent shivers up his legs. He grinned broadly.

"Now isn't that too bad?" he said. "Suppose we just sit right here and pound the hell out of them. They'll either have to charge or be destroyed by our long range weapons."

Under his breath he added: "I'll have to look up Nick when I get back. If he isn't crazy by now, he'll be glad to know that his brain has pulled me through again."

Brawn was satisfied. He returned to the warmth of the car and sat there. Around him he could hear the shouting voices of his men. Cannons rolled by him. They were huge, rapid firing guns Nick Freeman had seen on earth and hidden in his vault in the form of carefully prepared blueprints.

Brawn had the keys to that vault now. In it were enough new and old prints to assure him control of the two cities for all time.

CHAPTER XI. — LOVE—AND A CHARGE OF T.N.T.

THE assault of Theba started with wild, discordant shouting from a thousand lips. The desert was suddenly bright as day with the flash of cannon fire. Beneath Brawn the earth trembled. His eyes grew wide with excitement. The shells were flying high, moving with what seemed incredible slowness out over the sandy wastes. Then came the dull CRUMP-CRUMP as they landed in enemy territory.

War with Theba was a picnic for Jim Brawn that night. The army of Tebba kept up its murderous firing, waiting a little fearfully for the Thebans to attack.

Brawn knew his chief power lay in those cannons. At hand-to-hand fighting, his troops would not have the necessary courage. The fearful expectancy of a counter attack died after a time.

The cannon fire went on, blasting the night into day, shaking the fire desert until it was a swirling mist of sand.

To Bob Walker, the trip to Tebba was almost unbearable. Down here, buried hundreds of yards beneath the surface, everything was silent. Save for the steady drip-drip of water from the oars, the silver that flew away from the surface with every stroke, the river was a dead, sullen thing that moved with a sickening slowness.

Waunu, seated in the center of the craft, plied the oars swiftly. They moved steadily toward their goal. Walker crouched on the bottom of the boat, opening the boxes of powder. He placed murderous charges of T.N.T. within the tiny, well constructed floats. These would drift across the reserve tank.

Waunu, seated in the center of the craft, plied the oars swiftly.

Neither of them spoke. Walker knew that Waunu's heart was in the center of the battle at Theba's gate. Walker worried also for the safety of those he had gradually learned to accept as his own people.

Neither of them noticed the faint, ever present sounds which followed them on their journey. Lonna Arnoo had crouched against the black, earthen wall under the palace and entered her own canoe only when she knew they were well ahead of her. She handled the craft expertly; making sure that her presence would not be discovered.

The underground river opened into the reserve tanks of Tebba. The Tebbans themselves had never followed the river, probably because they feared the darkness. If Nick Freeman knew how easily Theba could be reached, he had not given this information to his people. Nick Freeman did not want war.

Walker looked up from his place over the powder and stared ahead. Light showed faintly. He could see the broad, smooth surface of the reserve tanks far ahead.

"Move more slowly," he said. "I'd like to hide the boat against the bank, close to the entrance."

Waunu dipped the oars cautiously, sending them ahead once more. The light grew brighter. At last, feeling it would be suicide to go further, Walker motioned silently toward the bank.

The boat touched the mud and jarred slightly as it stopped moving. The bank here was flat. The water had been drawn low by the intake pipe until a man could stand outside the boat and by bending double he could still keep his feet fairly dry.

Walker crawled silently out of the boat and Waunu passed him the first float. It was a small object, about two feet long and shaped like a submarine. Weighted by the powder, it sank until only the top was above water.

The sound of voices came from beyond the entrance of the cave. Walker moved forward cautiously. Crouching just inside the cavern, he could see powerful searchlights flashing on the water. Guards were visible, walking along the top of the wall set up like targets on a range.

HE SUFFERED an almost uncontrollable urge to burn them down with his fire-rifle. Then, carefully, so there would be no sound, he lighted the fuse to the first float, closed the small waterproof door and sent it floating into the reserve tank.

He watched it until the current created by the intake pipe, caught the float and dragged it slowly into the center of the pool.

It seemed to him that nothing had ever moved as slowly as that float. Without hesitation, he lighted the other two and pushed them in the same direction.

Then, hugging the wall tightly, he watched the first float as it moved more swiftly toward the intake, and shot from sight into the pipe.

No matter what happened now, he had accomplished what he had come for. He started back toward Waunu and the waiting boat. Then, at a sudden shout of alarm coming from the walls, he froze in his tracks.

One of the guards had spotted the second float. At once their voices rose with excitement.

"It is a bit of debris from the river," one voice said. Their words rang loud and hollow within the cave.

Walker was beginning to worry about the first float. The charge had been set for three minutes. It had taken two minutes for the float to cross the pool. He looked hurriedly at his watch. Two minutes and twenty seconds gone!

The argument among the guards rose to a high pitch. Some of them were frightened.

They had seen the third and last float. Two of them now were bobbing swiftly toward the pipe.

He ran swiftly back toward the boat. As his feet hit its bottom, Waunu pulled away from the bank with all the strength he possessed. The boat shot into the river, hesitated, and turned toward Theba.

The sudden sputter of a fire-gun broke the silence. All the guards started shouting at once.

The explosion rocked the earth around them. The water rolled back into the cavern with the force of a tidal wave. Walker held tightly to the edge of the rocking boat. He was aware of the high screams of pain that came from the walls as they tipped inward and crumbled into the water.

Then a second, dull explosion sounded as the T.N.T. blew up somewhere inside the pipe. Walker knew one second of perfect satisfaction. The roof of the cavern started to crumble about them. Toward Theba, a huge slab of earth fell into the water with a sickening splash.

A terror stricken scream came from the direction of the cave in and Walker stared at Waunu who was still pushing them ahead with strength born of desperation. Waunu nodded grimly and rowed faster.

JIM BRAWN, in his new role, knew that the battle was won. He would be unable to enter the city of Theba before tomorrow night, because already the sky was growing light and red streaks of sunlight sent burning trails across the sand. The cannons were rumbling ahead of him, back toward Tebba.

The Theban army, with its short range weapons, had never fired a shot. The gouging, tearing strength of Brawn's cannons kept up a steady barrage throughout the night. Men who went ahead under cover of darkness, reported that the Thebans had returned to their cavern disheartened and ready to capitulate as soon as the Tebban army could return to invade the city itself.

Satisfied, that is, until, in the early morning light, he viewed his adopted city of Tebba.

At first he noticed that columns of men had halted and were moving about in confusion. Then, with dust arising to mark its approach, a scout-car roared up to his own vehicle. The scout who reached him first was a youth. Incredible horror was written on the boy's dusty face. He leaped from the scout-car and opened the door to speak to Brawn.

"During the night, the main water pipe was blown up. The seventh level crashed down and covered the remains of the pipe to a depth of hundreds of feet. The power house lies idle, and now the sun is rising."

Brawn shuddered at the implication of those words. Without power to generate the sky-curtain, Tebba would be smothering soon under a pitiless, burning sky.

He pulled the boy into his own car, slammed the door and shouted for the driver to proceed at full speed. As he rode he gathered what few details he could.

"Last night the guards at the reserve tank were frightened by strange objects floating into the water from underground. One of them discharged his fire-gun into the water and an explosion followed that destroyed the tank. The water has escaped, disappearing into the desert. A moment later, all Tebba was rocked by another explosion under the city. The power plant had to stop for lack of water. Unfortunately the intake was going at full speed. It was but a short time before the twelfth bell, and the water was flowing inward."

"The people of the city have rushed food to the lower levels of the city. There they await the coming of the heat. Before Free-Man came here, we could stand the heat by retreating below ground. Now that our bodies have changed from good living, it is doubtful if we can survive."

"If I get the guard who did this he'll be sent to the highest point in the tower to sit there while the sun burns him to dust."

"You are powerful but what of Free Man, your prisoner? He was not removed from the tower. He will die in a few hours."

Reminded of Nick Freeman's plight, Brawn felt better. Amid the catastrophe, he was at last feeling the satisfaction of knowing Freeman would die a death more terrible than any human mind could devise.

Nick Freeman was locked in a room that seemed a part of the sky. Nick would see the sun rise over Tebba and have nothing to protect him from its frightening power.

Brawn turned again to the scout, to see the boy's eyes burning with hope. The Tebbans were depending solely on him now for a plan to save their lives.

"The pipe must be repaired," Brawn shouted. "We are within the city now. Tell my leaders to report to me at once. Store as much water as possible below the city. You and your damned Tebbans will have to stand the heat until the pipe is fixed. Then we'll go back and blast the hell out of Theba."

The scout drew away from him. He had never seen an earth-man angry. It took some of the God-like quality from Brawn and placed him in the same class as the frightened Tebbans.

"Freeman remains in the tower," he mimicked the scout's words, leering like a mad-man. "Now get the hell out of here and pass along the instructions."

The car halted. He shoved the scout from the door to watch with satisfaction as the boy fell face down, struggled to his feet and staggered away.

WHEN Bob Walker heard Lonna's voice rising in terror as the cavern roof fell, he felt like a helpless child who is locked in a closet. The cavern was pitch dark and if Lonna hadn't been buried under tons of earth, she might struggle in the water only to drown before they could find her—the thought was horrible.

Waunu had uttered her name once. His huge shoulder muscles bulged and knotted as the boat leaped forward. Waunu rowed with every bit of strength his body possessed, and between strokes, as the boat cut swiftly through the water, they both listened intently for another sound.

It was a matter of seconds, but Walker felt as though hours passed before he heard a gasp of fright and saw a disturbance on the surface of the water ahead.

Then she sank again. Only the splash of the oars disturbed the silence. The boat struck a solid wall of mud. Walker was on his feet, tottering dangerously. Barely six feet from them a head broke the surface. Lonna's white face was visible against the black water.

Without hesitation, Walker dove cleanly into the river. In two strokes he was near her. He clutched her about the waist, feeling her arms groping feebly for him. They were on the surface, their faces close together, her arms tight about his neck.

With Waunu's help, he pushed her into the boat. She crouched tightly against him, her breath coming in pitiful, choking gasps.

"Why did you come?" He wanted to kiss Lonna, or pound the daylights out of her. He wasn't sure which.

"I—knew you and Waunu planned to blow up the pipe," she said weakly. "I thought you might need help."

She started to sob, and Walker, realizing that it was indirectly his own fault that she was here, pressed her head close to his chest.

Lonna, overjoyed that the earth-man showed such concern for her safety, stared up at him with wide, misty eyes. Her lips were slightly parted and her heart beats were fast and uneven.

Walker took her in his arms and kissed her abruptly. To his surprise, she responded passionately. Her arms went about his neck and her lips pressed tighter against his own.

"You shouldn't have come," he said gruffly. "You—you darned lovable little fool."

Waunu cleared his throat noisily and Lonna, startled by the sound, turned, blushing to the roots of her glistening hair.

"I have been studying the wall of earth that fell into the river," Waunu said sternly. "There is room to drag our craft over the top and escape to Theba."

All three of them laughed, and the tension was broken. Lonna's hand sought Walker's and clutched it tightly.

"We'll have to return with all possible speed," she said with a note of anxiety in her voice. "The others may need our help."

Walker's thoughts raced back to the city and the men who had marched away to battle the Tebbans. He had been cut off from them for hours now. It would be morning before they could return.

"I hope that Tanner and your father are safe," he said, then added, "and, of course, Captain Warre."

CHAPTER XII. — GHOST OF NICK FREEMAN

KING ARNOO strode angrily up and down the council room in the palace. A bandage had been wrapped firmly around the little King's forehead and blood seeped through, leaving a brown badge of honor on its surface. Standing about were the leaders of Theba's army.

"While we fight," Arnoo raged, "he, the one who invented our weapons, spent his time rowing about a quiet river, far under the city. It is safe down there."

To understand the King's anger, it was necessary to understand that the Theban army had only been saved by the coming daylight. The weapons, many of them unused, were standing where they had been placed, before the gates of Theba. A thousand men had been killed. The walls were battered to dust by Tebban cannons. The city itself, though intact, lay wide open to invasion when the Tebbans returned.

"And there is no doubt that they will return," Rons Warre said calmly. "Tonight, when the desert is cool again, we will become slaves."

Though his voice was calm, Warre's emotions were keyed to a murderous pitch. He, like the remainder of them, was waiting for the return of their leader.

"He meant well. How do we know that his plan did not succeed? Perhaps, even now, the sun is burning down on a defenseless city of Tebba. Perhaps Waunu and the earth-man are on their way here with the good news."

"Good news?" King Arnoo stormed, then remembering that he had endorsed Walker's every plan, he subsided into a silence that was matched by every soldier in the room.

"Remember that the earth-man knew nothing of Tebban weapons," Tanner pleaded. "Our weapons are fine. They simply cannot be used for long distance assaults."

Rons Warre was a fighting man. He could not forgive anyone who had sent his men into a battle poorly prepared.

"Remember, also," he cried, "that, as an earth-man, and therefore supposedly a much higher type mentally, Walker should have anticipated the Tebban method of war. I think that we can place the responsibility directly on his shoulders."

"All of you were ready to fight when he produced weapons that met with your satisfaction," he roared. "The earth-man saved my life once, and I'm not forgetting that. Wait until he returns. He will offer an explanation which will satisfy you."

BOB WALKER stood just inside the door, his clothing covered with river silt and dripping with water. Beside him, her arm tightly about his waist, stood a forlorn Princess Lonna. Waunu, with a grin that turned his face as red as a tomato, waited behind the pair.

"I have returned," Walker said, "Now, who thinks I purposely betrayed you? Who doubted my intentions?"

King Arnoo sighed with relief. He had been a fool to rage over something he did not understand.

"What happened to you?" He noticed his sister for the first time. "And Lonna? You look as though you'd been half drowned and actually enjoyed it."

If Tanner noticed any change in his sister, he was too occupied with present circumstances to think about it.

"The Tebbans won't return again," Walker said. "We destroyed the reserve tank and blew up the pipe."

"The earth-man sent a good portion of Tebba up to the sky and he also saved Princess Lonna's life." Waunu's voice rose to a wrathful shout. "If there are men here who doubt his power or his sincerity, I will consider it an honor to beat their few remaining brains to a pulp."

A VAST army of workmen had struggled during the early morning hours, trying to excavate the broken intake pipe below Tebba. It was close to eight o'clock and they had made no visible headway. The explosion had rocked the entire city, breaking away huge portions of the seventh level. In the spot directly above the explosion, five levels had fallen, killing many and making the task of finding and repairing the pipe an enormous task.

Jim Brawn had known what would happen when the sun came, but he could not fully realize just how intense the heat would be.

Brawn had left Freeman's building and taken a supply of food and water with him to the seventh level below the city. Now, careful to retain all possible dignity, he had established himself in the house of a slave and placed a guard around the hut. He sat on a rough cot, smothering with heat and cursing himself for not having better sense.

Perhaps the Tebbans could withstand the heat for a few days. If they were able to get the pipe fixed within a reasonable length of time, the heat would be bearable. Brawn's body already dripped with perspiration. He felt the intolerable warmth creeping over him. Heat swept in waves down the shafts. The repair crews had to leave the site of excavation and retire to their homes. Tebba was beginning to suffer from the tortuous heat of the desert.

Panza was a slave and not a very valuable one. Panza had made more use of his brains, however, than did the usual Tebban. He had worked his way into Brawn's favor. The boy was hardly twenty, yet he had crossed the fire-desert a dozen times during the night, carrying dispatches to and from Tebba.

It was Panza who had brought Brawn news of the destroyed pipe and who had felt the sting of Brawn's boot when the earth-man lost his temper and sent the scout sprawling in the dust.

A terrible change took place within Panza when he arose stinging from the dirt that had scraped his face and horror stricken by the earth-man's insult. For a long time Panza had wondered if it were right for Free Man, the all powerful genius who had made Tebba a dream city, to be hidden away in a torture tower while Brawn took his place. He had questioned Brawn quite honestly, feeling that an earth-man must be beyond the hate and greed of common slaves.

But the earth-man had reacted like a beast and all doubt was gone from Panza's mind.

Panza found the task of getting into the tower a simple one. He had served here for a few weeks, running the boxes which rose and fell in the shafts. The upper city was deserted. The Tebbans had gone below, with the first streaks of light. He ran swiftly through the deserted streets.

PANZA was clever. He knew that the sun-streaks which played about the court would burn him badly if he ventured across them. Carefully, he entered the hall leading to the elevators. They were deserted.

Forgetting caution now, he stepped into the first open door and pressed the control that shot him upward.

For a few seconds Panza hesitated before the door of the invisible cell. He had never been inside before, but he knew the torture was calculated to drive men mad. Shuddering, he threw the bolt and opened the door.

He stopped short at the threshold, his eyes wide with amazement. Before him was empty space. Yet, perhaps twenty feet away, a man was stretched at full length on a small silver square. In spite of the tattered clothing and upturned, bewhiskered face, Panza recognized Free-Man.

Within the mind of the slave boy a terrible conflict between duty and fear raged. Free-Man seemed to be lying above the roof-tops with no support beneath him. As Panza watched with mixed pity and horror, Free-Man moved slightly and his eyes turned toward the door. He tried to cry out—to move. His lips worked slightly but no sound escaped.

Forgetting his own safety, Panza ran swiftly to his master. A little cry of surprise escaped his lips.

The cell was very hot. Sun-rays darted back and forth across the floor. Free-Man's leg was badly burned. His hair had been singed. Panza managed to roll him into a position where he could kneel and gather the pitiful figure in his arms. Panza was glad now that he had defied Brawn. He hurried toward the safety of the hall.

The sun was just blasting its way through the clouds above Tebba. The full force of its heat hit the cell and rolled into the hall like the flames from a blast furnace.

Panza ran down the hall to the elevator. The upper city would be bathed in living flame in ten more minutes. He must find a hiding place deep on the seventh level, and get water for Free-Man.

He cursed Brawn for committing so vile a crime against the people of Tebba. There would be a selection of unpleasant ways for disposing of Brawn. Panza felt that the treatment he had received, gave him a special place in planning and executing proper punishment.

BOB WALKER rose with effort. He watched with tired eyes, trying to understand the various reactions of the men about the council table. He had finished relating his experiences of the trip to Tebba.

"The Tebbans will not return tonight," he promised grimly. "Nor for many nights to come. With the water supply cut off, they face a crisis of their own."

King Arnoo cleared his throat. He watched the faces of Tanner, Waunu, Rons Warre and the others.

"I—I think," he said weakly, "that we were a little hasty in judging the earth-man. Are there any here who still feel that Waunu's challenge should be answered?"

Silence followed his question. Walker shifted from one foot to the other. Then a chair scraped the floor and Rons Warre stood up. He left his place and moved swiftly to Walker's side. His smile was sincere as he faced the earth-man. He held out his hand.

"I was one of the first to condemn you," he said simply. "In the heat of battle I saw many men die, and it turned me against you. Now I see that you turned our work into a victory. We will be ready for the Tebbans if they come back."

"Thanks," he said. "I was a fool to send your army out so poorly equipped. I can only thank my lucky stars that the second plan worked."

"We should all acknowledge the earth-man's genius," he said. "We will be ready for the next battle."

"As they attacked us first, I suggest we meet them at the gates of Tebba, and give them as good as they gave us."

"But I think we can meet them evenly matched," he said. "The Tebbans are hard at work on the pipe. They must be suffering greatly from the sun. It hasn't troubled them for years and they are getting soft."

"There is another earth-man in Tebba," Waunu interrupted sharply. "He is powerful and ruthless. He is capable...."

"At first I hated Freeman as much as you do. Then I realized that Brawn had complete power over him. Brawn's word has always lulled Freeman into false security. I forgive Freeman for what he did to me. I can see now that he hates only Brawn.

"Not once in ten years did he attack Theba, and yet he could have wiped Theba out completely. If you had given him a chance, he could have made both cities rich and powerful."

"But where is Free Man? He is in Tebba. Why does he allow this Brawn to control the army?"

"Brawn always handled Freeman cleverly. My guess is that Freeman is either dead or a prisoner."

"And it is your plan to strike back before the Tebbans can prepare another invading force?"

Walker was surprised, because Warre had asked the last question. There was a note of trust in his voice that Walker felt grateful for.

"I think we can go by the river tunnel, use our fire-guns against the Tebbans and destroy Brawn. If Freeman is alive, I'm sure he'll listen to a reasonable plan for peace. If I'm wrong, you can judge for yourselves. Does that sound reasonable?"

ALONG the torch-lighted banks of the underground river a strange procession embarked. Rafts carried the fire-cannons. Soldiers, armed with fire-rifles huddled in silent groups along the edges of the rafts. Every boat, every bit of material that would float, carried the Theba army down the calm surface of the dark water.

The splash of oars and the hollow sound of voices were loud and unreal. On the largest raft, floating well ahead of the army, were the leaders. Plans were under way for the tunnel that must be blasted open under Tebba. The city must be taken by surprise.

Behind the army, moving slowly, well behind the last raft, was a tiny canoe. In it sat the girl who had not yet learned her lesson. Lonna Arnoo could not let her earth-man venture forth again without being close by if he needed her.

RESTING as best he could under the full impact of the heat, Brawn stretched uncomfortably on the miserable cot. He reached for another glass of water, only to find that the supply was gone. He threw the pitcher across the room. It crashed against the wall and splintered into a thousand pieces. Outside the hut, a low, murmuring conversation stopped abruptly. A guard stared through the open door at the contorted, angry face of the earth-man. He looked neither frightened or worried about Brawn's condition.

Brawn felt a new fear growing within him. There were thousands of men living here beneath the city. It was his job to keep them silent and respectful. If they turned on him for so much as an instant, he was doomed.

Since noon, he had felt the spirit of rebellion growing. There was still some satisfaction in knowing that Nick Freeman was dead. He wished he could have seen Nick frying under the first rays of the sun. There would be nothing left now but a scorched, shrivelled corpse.

Brawn chuckled. He tried to imagine what Nick would look like. He tried to control his laughter but it became wild and he couldn't stop. Curious eyes stared at him through the window. There was no respect written on the faces of his guards.

Brawn lay very still, trying to save his strength and to think clearly. Damn these fire-eaters. They were uncomfortable, but the heat didn't effect them as it did him. It was over a hundred above now and blasts of hellish heat continued to sweep down the air-shafts. His water was all gone. He steadied himself and arose on one elbow.

No one stirred. He staggered to his feet and swore loudly. The effort was too much for him, and he sank back on the cot, panting and sick to his stomach.

"Water!" he shouted. "You damned fools, get water before I shoot the lot of you."

Brawn laughed wildly. Poor old Nick, sitting up there in his fireless cooker. Done to a turn, with no one to turn him.

Brawn closed his eyes and tried to imagine Lake Michigan stretching away in blue coolness from his home. His tongue moved eagerly over parched lips. It was nearly three-o'clock. Nearly three?

Five hours more. Five blistering hours before the sun would go down. Then a hot, miserable night. He would try to sleep, and awaken to face the day all over again.

"In a minute I'm coming out and whip you devils," he shouted. "Bring water. Earth-men are Gods. I'm a God. Do you understand?"

Brawn rolled over, startled by the familiar voice. He stared toward the open door with red, frightened eyes.

A man stood in the door, steadying himself against the wall. His face was covered with a heavy beard. His hands and face were raw and blistered. He stared down at Brawn.

"Nick," Brawn choked. He caught his breath and tried to speak again. "Good old Nick, roasted by the Devil and sent back to haunt me."

He struggled to his feet, and rushed toward the door. Freeman tried to dodge and went down under Brawn's weight.

Brawn kept running. He knew they were trying to trip him. Knew that the guards were close. This section of the seventh level, near the hut, was blasted away. A huge, black pit opened into the mud below. He raced for the edge of the pit, knowing it gave him his one chance for escape. He heard the crowd of men behind him. The ragged lip of the pit was close now. Brawn didn't hesitate. With a desperate bound, he cleared the edge and crashed into the soft mud far below.

He lay still trying to regain his strength. For the moment he was safe. Above, he saw the excited faces of the Tebbans, staring blindly into the darkness. He crawled across the mud on his hands and knees, deeper into the underworld that house the pipes. . He had escaped the Tebbans and the ghost of Nick Freeman.

CHAPTER XIII. — NO FINER REWARD

THE reserve tank had been blown to the sky by Walker's T.N.T. charges. The river now flowed from the cave across the shapeless remains of the tanks, and drained into the desert.

At the end of the cavern, where the river drifted into the sunlight, the army of Theba halted. Fire-cannons were brought up and placed along the banks of the river. Aiming carefully at the spot where the intake pipe showed its dead, empty mouth, the Thebans released a steady discharge of withering fire against the wet clay. While Walker waited eagerly for results, the cannon continued to blast a trail beneath Tebba.

He knew that if the men protected themselves well, and drifted swiftly beneath the city, the sun would have little time to harm them. A half hour passed. Walker's eyes never left the crumbling, deepening tunnel.

A shout of triumph rose from the tunnel. The water started to move sluggishly, then poured forward with renewed power, to plunge out of sight into the newly formed tunnel.

Walker sighed with relief. It would be safe now to follow the river on the rafts.

"Let the light rafts go ahead," he shouted. "The riflemen will attack first, although I think we will take them without bloodshed."

A half-hundred small rafts shots into the sunlight, swirled around and darted out of sight into the new tunnel. Then, a few at a time, the others followed. Walker waited until last, praying that his men would not run into an ambush ahead of him.

They would find a place to beach the rafts and make a trail to the upper levels. The Tebbans were in for a surprise that they didn't expect.

BRAWN was content. He had moved several hundred yards away from the place he had fallen. Now, hidden between two huge boulders, the mud covered him so completely that searching Tebbans had passed close by without suspecting his presence. It was cooler down here, and the mud felt good, packed around his body.

Brawn lay still for almost an hour, gaining strength and planning his escape. He would wait for night and find his way above, to Freeman's building. He was sure that the sun hadn't destroyed Freeman's equipment in so short a time. If he could only find the secret of the scanner, he could escape. Even Chicago was preferable to his hellhole.

His imagination was beginning to play tricks on him. The earth against which he crouched seemed to be grow-' ing warm. He remained still, laughing at himself, until he was sure that the heat grew stronger. The mud hardened on his body and he started to perspire freely. He stood up, staring about in bewilderment. Under the mud he thought he heard a loud, hissing sound.

The mud grew brittle and the hard clay started to crack open. Brawn crouched forward, listening. The sound was louder, like an acetylene torch biting into steel.

Fright swept through him once more. He turned and ran wildly away from the sound. Ten feet to his left a white-hot flame broke through and hissed loudly as water trickled after it. Then another flame, and another. A flood of water swept into the cavern.

Brawn ran away from it swiftly, retreating deeper and deeper under the city. The water followed with a roar, gaining volume by the second.

Behind him a huge section of earth broke away and came heaving forward in a solid wall. White, foaming water twisted and rolled through the opening. Brawn sprang to the top of a boulder and wrapped his arms around it tightly. The water spread out swiftly and started to rise.

Another tidal wave swept in, covered his head and pulled savagely at his body. Brawn was too weak now to fight. A gasp of terror parted his lips, and ended in a gurgle of death as he sank beneath the surface of the flood.

A STRANGE sight greeted Bob Walker as he drifted into the newly formed lake beneath the city of Tebba. The Theban army had beached their rafts, and the fire-cannon were trained in a great opening toward the city above. One blast of those cannons would bring down level after level of the city.

Walker had planned to draw the weapons up to the levels above and cover every street, until the Tebbans surrendered.

The two armies had reached a curious deadlock. The Tebbans had heard the rush of water. As the first rafts swept into sight, they rushed their own weapons around the top of the pit and placed them in firing position. If either army fired, all were doomed. The Tebbans could not shoot at the men below, or a return fire would destroy them.

Walker waited, standing knee deep in the mud beside the lake. A small, exhausted looking man appeared at the rim of the pit. He wore Nick Freeman's clothing, but his body was thin and wasted. He leaned on a warrior for support.

"My men will obey me," he shouted. "Tell the warriors of Theba to leave their weapons and come out of the cavern. There will be no battle."

But Arnoo wasn't easily convinced. He had walked into traps before. The little king was still determined to take no chances.

"It was Brawn who led the attack against Theba," Freeman shouted. "I escaped from the tower where he kept me imprisoned. Brawn tried to escape and fell into the pit. He has drowned by this time. With him gone, the Tebbans are willing to pay a just reward for what they have done. I have no quarrel with Theba. My hatred for Brawn has been revenged."

"I believe him," he said simply. "To look at Freeman is proof that he has suffered at Brawn's hands. I'm going to meet him. Will I be alone?"

He turned and started up the steep slope to a spot just below the rim of the pit. A cheer went up from the Tebbans.

Tanner followed him without hesitation. Waunu shrugged his broad shoulders and left King Arnoo standing with Captain Rons Warre. Warre stared at the King, awaiting his decision. Arnoo turned to the warriors who manned the weapons.

"I'm a fool, perhaps," he called. "But make the best of it. Desert your cannon and, if you fear betrayal, escape with the rafts."

Not a man turned away. The muzzles of the cannon were turned downward. Arnoo puffed slowly up the trail. Rope-chairs had already been lowered and Walker was on his way up. He could see the friendly, anxious face of Nick Freeman smiling down at him from above.

FREEMAN'S banquet was given in honor of the visiting Thebans. His building was open to them all, and it contained wonders beyond their fondest dreams. Perhaps King Arnoo was less impressed by the huge bathtub that Freeman owned, than were some of the others. After all, Freeman and Arnoo were equal in that one respect. Arnoo was secretly grateful to Walker for paying him such a high tribute.

Freeman used the tiny telo-ray to remove dozens of walk on the main floor of the building. One huge room had been created. Hundreds of flashily dressed nobles wandered about, listening with awe to the mechanically produced music that flooded the room from perforated walls.

They, the Thebans, could never hope to possess such wealth as this. But they were fortunate to have two earth-men who would assist them in rebuild-ing Theba and Tebba into twin cities of peace.

"The river," Walker explained, as he stood beside Freeman at the banquet table, "will be a highway between the cities. The reserve tank will be covered to protect it from the sun. Boats will move continually between the cities."

"And swimming?" he asked. "Will you teach us to swim cleverly, as we did in the pipe?"

"You'll have the greatest swimming-pools known to earth-man," he promised. "Huge bath-tubs to hold thousands of people. Lighted like daylight. We'll help you create a civilization beyond the wildest dreams of earth."

They listened with hearts that beat heavily against tightly fitted jackets. King Arnoo offered a speech of gratitude and became so emotionally overcome that tears sprang to his eyes.

"Before we taste the food the Tebban women have prepared," Freeman said, "I wish to speak of my friend, Bob Walker."

"When Walker first came to Tebba," Nick Freeman continued, "I thought he was the man I hated. I committed a grave injustice. I owe him a reward that will erase those terrible days from his memory. I offered to send him back to earth...."

"He promised to stay," he said. "The reward will be infinitely more precious than that. It is something that came here with the invading army. A frail object that drifted down the stream behind the troops."

Freeman turned and clapped his hands together sharply. A room opened at the far side of the room. Two servants entered. They were clad in long evening gowns that Freeman had designed personally.

Freeman had outdone himself in creating her gown. It was low necked and flowed gently downward around her ankles. Gold and silver coins covered every inch of the fabric. A crown of the same material covered her dark hair. Freeman bowed low as she walked gracefully to Walker's side.

"I'll confess that I had little to do with bringing this dazzling creature to my friend," Freeman said with a sigh. "But, is there any man here who would suggest a finer reward?"

Even Captain Warre smiled proudly as Walker hesitated a brief instant, then swept Lonna into his arms. Eyes turned obligingly away as their lips met.

"This is no surprise to me," he whispered hoarsely, "I have known for a long time how expertly the earth-man can make love."

THE END

LEROY YERXA

DOUBLE FOR DESTINY

First published in Amazing Stories, December 1946

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2022
Version Date: 2022-12-03

Produced by Matthias Kaether and Roy Glashan

All original content added by RGL is protected by copyright.

Click here for more books by this author

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. — [UNTITLED]

CHAPTER II. — THE FACE IN THE FOG

CHAPTER III. — "I'VE KILLED A MAN"

CHAPTER IV. — THE SCARLET RAY

CHAPTER V. — CITY OF TEBBA

CHAPTER VI. — SECOND VISITOR

CHAPTER VII. — CELL OF THE SILVER SQUARE

CHAPTER VIII. — "THEY HAVE ESCAPED"

CHAPTER IX. — TWO KINGS FOR THEBA

CHAPTER X. — WAR COMES TO THEBA

CHAPTER XI. — LOVE—AND A CHARGE OF T.N.T.

CHAPTER XII. — GHOST OF NICK FREEMAN

CHAPTER XIII. — NO FINER REWARD

THE END

LEROY YERXA

DOUBLE FOR DESTINY

First published in Amazing Stories, December 1946 This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2022 Version Date: 2022-12-03 Produced by Matthias Kaether and Roy Glashan All original content added by RGL is protected by copyright. Click here for more books by this author

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. — [UNTITLED]

CHAPTER II. — THE FACE IN THE FOG

CHAPTER III. — "I'VE KILLED A MAN"

CHAPTER IV. — THE SCARLET RAY

CHAPTER V. — CITY OF TEBBA

CHAPTER VI. — SECOND VISITOR

CHAPTER VII. — CELL OF THE SILVER SQUARE

CHAPTER VIII. — "THEY HAVE ESCAPED"

CHAPTER IX. — TWO KINGS FOR THEBA

CHAPTER X. — WAR COMES TO THEBA

CHAPTER XI. — LOVE—AND A CHARGE OF T.N.T.

CHAPTER XII. — GHOST OF NICK FREEMAN

CHAPTER XIII. — NO FINER REWARD

THE END

First published in Amazing Stories, December 1946

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2022
Version Date: 2022-12-03

Produced by Matthias Kaether and Roy Glashan

All original content added by RGL is protected by copyright.

Click here for more books by this author