ne man," said Thorn. "And, since secrecy is
vital, I'm going to ask you, sir, to be that man."

The Secretary smiled; and with that smile he seemed to be transformed
from a great leader of affairs into a kindly, human individual. "I am
honored, Mr. Winter," he said. "Shall we go at once to your laboratory?"

* * * * *

In the great laboratory room, the Secretary glanced about almost
uneasily at the crowding apparatus that was such an enigma to one
untrained in science. Then his gaze returned to Winter's activities.

Thorn was carefully stirring fluids, poured drop by drop from various
retorts, in a mixing bowl. All the fluids were colorless; and they
combined in a mixture that had approximately the consistency of thin
syrup. To this, Thorn added a carefully weighted pinch of glittering
powder. Then he lit a burner under the bowl, and thrust into the mixture
a tiny, specially constructed thermometer.

"You can really make yourself invisible?" breathed the Secretary.

"I can," said Thorn, "if the blisters don't upset my calculations by
making my body surfaces too moist for this stuff to stick to. I'm going
to have you paint me with it, you see, and it was never intended to
cover flesh."

He regulated the burner anxiously, and then began to take off his
clothes.

"Ready," he said at last, glancing at the thermometer and turning off
the burner. He stood before the wondering Secretary, a fine, muscular
figure. "Take this brush and cover me with the stuff. And be sure not to
miss any of me!"

And then the Secretary saw why Thorn had said the colorless paint was
never intended to be applied to human flesh. For it was still seething
and smoking in the cauldron.

"Good heavens!" he said. "Don't you want to wait till it cools a
little?"

"Can't," said Thorn. "It has to be applied hot or it loses its
flexibility."

The Secretary dipped the brush and began to paint the naked flesh of the
scientist. Not a quiver touched that flesh as an almost microscopically
thin, colorless layer formed into a film after the brush strokes. But
the Secretary's fingers shook a little.

"My God, man!" he said finally. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"It's a little like being boiled in oil," replied Thorn grimly. "Outside
of that it's all right. Hurry, before the stuff gets too cool."

* * * * *

The clinging thin shell covered him to his chest, then to his throat. At
that point he