"Go after her, Phil! Got her bound and gagged, have they? Going to marry
her to this Perona? Like the Middle Ages?"

I had never seen this side of Hanley.

"Get her if you want her. Get her out of there. Take her to Markes--No,
I wouldn't trust anybody in Nareda! Take her into the uplands behind the
village. But keep away from that mine! Have you got flash-fuses?"

"Yes."

I was within sight of Spawn's house. The street was dim and deserted. I
was running again.

I panted. "I'm--almost at Spawn's!"

"Good! When it's over, whatever happens up there at the mine, then
signal the patrol."

"Yes."

I reached Spawn's front gate. The house and front garden were dark.

"Use your fuses, Phil. What colors?"

"I have red and blue."

"I'll talk to the patrol ship again. Tell them to watch for you. Red and
blue. Two short red flashes, a long blue."

"Right, Chief. I'm here at Spawn's, cutting off."

"Come back on when you can." His voice went anxious again. "I'll wait
here."

"All right."

I cut silent. I ran through the front doorway of Spawn's inn. The living
room was dim and empty. Which way was Jetta's room? I could only guess.

I had a few minutes, perhaps, before my pursuers would arrive.

* * * * *

I reached the inner, patio garden. The moon was well out from under the
clouds now. The patio shimmered, a silent, deserted fairyland.

"Jetta!" I called it softly. Then louder. "Jetta!"

Spawn's house was fairly large and rambling. There were so many rooms.
Jetta was gagged; how could she answer me? But I had no time to search
for her.

"Jetta?"

And then came her voice. "Philip?"

"Jetta! Which way? Where are you?"

"Here! This way: in my room."

A window and a door near the pergola. "Jetta!"

"Yes. I am in here. They tied me up. Not so loud, Phil: father will hear
you."

"He's gone out."

I reached her garden door. Turned its handle. Rattled the door. Shoved
frantically with my shoulder!

The metal door was firmly sealed!

_(To be continued)_

[Illustration: _One of the men rolled free and came Lurching toward
us._]

The Terrible Tentacles of L-472

_By Sewell Peaslee Wright_

It was a big mistake. I should not have done it. By birth, by instinct,
by training, by habit, I am a man of action. Or I was. It is queer that
an old man cannot remember that he is no longer young.

[Sidenote: Commander John Hanson of the Special Patrol Service rec