vious purpose in
the shower. He looked directly at Mr. Untz with his dark disconcerting
eleven-year-old eyes and said, "Well, Max, what goof-off did you pull
this time?"

"_You!_" roared Mr. Untz, whirling and shooting a finger at the child
star. A focusing point for all his troubles, at last. His jowls shook.
"You, Jimsy LaRoche," he said, "are going to get your first old
fashioned spanking on the bottom! From me, personally!" He advanced
toward the boy, who backed away hastily.

Jimsy began to look a little frightened.

"Now wait a minute, Max," said Harold, stepping forward. "We've got
enough _big_ monsters to think about without worrying about this
_little_ monster too."

Mr. Untz stared at Harold queerly. Suddenly he said, "Why didn't I
think of it before?"

"Think of what?" asked Harold.

But Mr. Untz had already grabbed Jimsy LaRoche's hand and dragged him
through the door.

There were several reasons why Harold Potter did not immediately
pursue. For one thing he stood there for several moments stupified
with surprise. Then, when he did recover, he plunged forward and
promptly tripped on the cream-colored carpet and fell flat on his
face. He tripped again going over the step to the cottage door. He
bumped into a studio policeman rounding the next corner. He snagged
his coat on a fence picket going around the corner after that. But he
kept Mr. Untz and the dragged youngster in sight.

Eventually he came to the door of Sound Stage Six.

Speaking from a police standpoint all laymen had disappeared. A ring
of studio police and firemen, along with some policemen and detectives
from the outside, had been drawn around the monsters and everybody and
his brother was shooting off pistols and rifles at them. With no
result, of course. Nor did anyone dare get too close.

Harold caught up with Mr. Untz about the time a man he recognized as a
reporter did. The reporter was stout, freckled and bespectacled.

"_Untz!_" barked the reporter, with all the power of the press in his
voice, "do you realize this is a national danger? If those monsters
can't be stopped by bullets, what will stop them? Where will it all
end? Where did they come from?"

"Look in tomorrow's paper!" growled Mr. Untz, brushing the reporter
aside. He kept Jimsy's arm in a firm grip. Jimsy was bawling at the
top of his lungs now. Mr. Untz breasted the police cordon, broke
through.

"Max! _Stop!_" shouted Harold. "Max--have you gone mad?"

M