ia, whom men
call mad!"

"Not mad, milady. No, Moyen is not mad, save with a lust for power. He
is the conqueror of the ages, already ruling more of the earth's
population than any man has ever done before him--even Alexander!"

But the young lady was not listening to stewards. Wealthy young ladies
did not, save when asked questions dealing with personal service to
themselves. Her eyes devoured the slender man who stood in the prow of
the _Stellar_, while her lips shaped, over and over again, the dread
name which was on the lips of the people of the world:

"Moyen! Moyen!"

* * * * *

Up in the prow, if Prester Kleig, who carried a dread secret in his
breast, knew of the young lady's regard, he gave no sign. There were
touches of gray at his temples, though he was still under forty. He had
seen more of life, knew more of its terrors, than most men twice his
age--because he had lived harshly in service to his country.

He was thinking of Moyen, the genius of the misshapen body, the pale
eyes which reflected the fires of a Satanic soul, set deeply in the
midst of the face of an angel; and wondering if he would be able to
arrive in time, sorry that he had not returned home by airplane.

He had taken the _Stellar_ only because the peacefulness of ocean liner
travel would aid his thoughts, and he required time to marshal them.
Liner travel was now a luxury, as all save the immensely wealthy
traveled by plane across the oceans. Now Prester Kleig was sorry, for
any moment, he felt, Moyen might strike.

He turned and looked back along the deck of the _Stellar_. His eyes
played over the trimly gowned figure of the woman who questioned the
steward, but did not really see her. And then....

"Great God!" The words were a prayer, and they burst from the lips of
Prester Kleig like an explosion. Passengers appeared from the lee of
lifeboats. Officers on the bridge whirled to look at the man who
shouted. Seamen paused in their labors to stare. Aloft in the
crow's-nest the lookout lowered his eyes from scouring the horizon to
stare at Prester Kleig--who was pointing.

All eyes turned in the direction indicated.

* * * * *

Climbing into the sky, a mile off the starboard beam, was an airplane
with a bulbous body and queerly slanted wings. It had neither wheels nor
pontoons, and it traveled with unbelievable speed. It came on
bullet-fast, headed directly for the