mulus instead of his will. Sheer anguish twisted him. And
the room filled with a hearty bellow of laughter. The monstrous
whiskered man had turned about and was shaking with merriment.

He picked up a pocket-gun from beside him and turned off a switch at
his elbow. Thorn's muscles were freed.

"Go back, my friendt," boomed the same voice that had come from a
speaker the night before. "Go to der couch. You amuse me and you haff
already been useful, but I shall haff no hesitation in killing you.
You are Thorn Hardt. My name is Kreynborg. How do you do?"

"Where's my friend?" demanded Thorn savagely. "Where is she?"

"Der lady friendt? There!" The whiskered man pointed negligently with
the pocket-gun. "I gafe her a bunk to slumber in."

* * * * *

There was a niche in the wall, which Thorn had not seen. Sylva was
there, sleeping the same heavy, dreamless sleep from which Thorn
himself had just awakened. He went to her swiftly. She was breathing
naturally, though tears from the irritating gas still streaked her
face and her skin seemed to be pinkened a little from the same cause.

Thorn swung around. His weapons were gone, of course. The huge man
snapped on the induction-screen switch again and put down his weapon.
With that screen separating the room into two halves, no living thing
could cross it without either such muscular paralysis as Thorn had
just experienced, or death. Coils in the floor induced alternating
currents in the flesh itself, very like those currents used for
supposed medical effects in "medical batteries," and "shockers."

"Be calm!" said Kreynborg, chuckling. "I am pleased to haff company.
This is der loneliest spot in der Rockies. It was chosen for that
reason. But I shall be here for maybe months, and now I shall not be
lonely. We of der Com-Pubs haff scientific resources such as your
fools haff nefer dreamed of, but there is no scientific substitute for
a pretty woman."

He turned again to the writing device. It clicked half a dozen times
more, and he stopped. A strip of paper came out of it. He inserted it
into the slot of another mechanism and switched on a standard G.C.
phone as the paper began to feed. In seconds the room was filled with
unearthly hoots and wails and whistles. They came from the device into
which the paper was feeding, and they poured into the G.C.
transmitter. They went on for nearly a minute, and ceased. Kreynborg
shut off the transmitte