meal from the
two they relished. For an hour they sat waiting.

"Here they come again!" exclaimed the doctor. "We are going before the
person I spoke of. Can't you get their thoughts?"

"No, I can't, Doctor. I can understand when I get a command, but aside
from those times everything is a blank to me."

"My mental wave receiver, if that's what it is, must be attuned to a
different frequency than yours, for I can hear them talking to one
another. I guess I should say that I can feel them thinking to one
another. At any rate, they want us to follow. Come along, the road
will be open and level."

* * * * *

The doctor stepped out confidently with Carnes at his heels. For half
a mile they went forward. Presently they halted.

"We are in a big chamber here, Carnes," whispered the doctor, "and
there is someone before us. We'll have some light in a minute."

His prophecy was soon fulfilled. A vague glimmer of light began to
fill the cavern in which they stood. As it grew stronger they could
see a raised dais before them on which were seated three figures. Two
of them were the giant moles. Each of the moles wore a helmet which
covered his head completely, with no sign of lenses or other means of
vision. It was the central figure, however, which held the attention
of the prisoners.

Seated on a chair and regarding, them with an expression of sardonic
amusement was a man. Above a high forehead rose a thin scrub of white
hair. Keen brown eyes peered at them from under almost hairless brows.
The nose was high bridged and aquiline and went well with his
prominent cheekbones. His mouth was a mere gash below his nose, framed
by thin bloodless lips. The lips were curled in a sneer, revealing
yellow teeth. The whole expression of the face was one of revolting
cruelty.

"So," said the figure slowly, "fate has been kind to me. My friends,
Dr. Bird and Operative Carnes have chosen to pay me a long visit. I
am greatly flattered."

The thin metallic voice with its noticeable accent struck a familiar
chord.

"Saranoff!" gasped Carnes.

"Yes, Mr. Carnes, Saranoff. Professor Ivan Saranoff, of the faculty of
St. Petersburg once. Now merely Saranoff, the scourge of the
bourgeois."

* * * * *

"I hoped we had killed you," murmured Carnes.

"It was no fault of Dr. Bird's that he failed," replied the Russian
with an excess of malevolence in his voice. "His method was