he evening light died away. They were too excited
to strike a light. Shadows crept out of the corners and surrounded
them. At last a faint voice grew in their ears. But again the words
were unintelligible.

"Sounds a little like Greek," puzzled the girl, "but it isn't."

Baron adjusted the direction finder and made scribbled calculations.

"Coming from the southeast and far away," he breathed.

"I caught a word then," gasped the doctor. "'Ganja,' it was."

"What does that tell us?" snapped Jack, his nerves jumping.

"Ganja is the Hindu word for hashish, that's all. My Lord, man, don't
you understand? The station is in India. Those who operate it are
using Andrev's solution as we are. I--"

"Listen!" shouted Jack.

* * * * *

There was a grinding and clashing in the receivers. Then a new voice,
harsh and strained with excitement, almost burst their eardrums.

"Beware! Beware!" it screamed. "Do not trust him. He is a devil and
has put the world asleep. His mind is rotten with hashish. He is a
demon from--" Then came a dull, crunching sound. The voice screamed
and died away.

In the darkened laboratory the faces of the three listeners stood out
like ovals of white cardboard.

"What do you make of that?" stammered Baron at last.

"It looks as if the only persons alive, in New York at least, are
hashish addicts--the most debased and murderous of drug fiends." The
doctor stopped, his eyes dilating with horror. June crept close to him
and threw an arm around his shaking shoulders. "Can't you see? Their
time-sense expanded too. Like us they were unaffected. But unlike us
they use the pure drug. Hashish smokers are without exception
homicidal maniacs, vicious criminals. God!"

"Are they responsible for the end of time?" queried Jack.

"I don't know. Perhaps some master mind among them is back of it--some
engineering wizard who has succumbed to the drug so recently, or who
has such a strong constitution that his intelligence has not been
destroyed."

The little doctor dragged off his headset, disarranging his sparse
gray hair. His face was tired and worn but his jaw thrust forward
pugnaciously.

"We're making headway," he cried. "We know the probable author of the
catastrophe is a drug addict and that he is located nearby. We know he
has no scruples, for the man who warned us undoubtedly was killed. And
I'm convinced those extremely short wave bands hold the secret. Let's
knock