ar
was on his feet, his hard features terrible in fear and anger. "By God!"
he vowed, "I'll lay waste the Americas if harm has come to my son. And
you"--turning to Karl--"I'll reserve for you an even more terrible fate
than the vibrating death!"

The radiovision was wheeled in and in operation. A frightened face
appeared in its disc: the Zar's ambassador across the sea.

"Moreau--my son!" snapped the Zar. "Where is he?"

"Majesty! Have mercy!" gasped Moreau. "Paul has eluded us. He was
skylarking--in the lower levels of New York. But our secret agents are
combing the passages. We'll have him in twenty-four hours. I promise!"

The rage of the Zar was terrible to see. Karl expected momentarily that
the white flame would lay him low, for the anger of the mad ruler was
directed first at Moreau, then at himself. But a quick, evil calm
succeeded the storm.

"You, Peter," he stated, in tones suddenly silky, "shall have that
twenty-four hours--no more. If Moreau has not produced my son in that
time you shall be dismembered slowly. A finger; an ear; your tongue; a
hand--until you reveal the whereabouts of the heir to my throne!"

"Never! You scum!" Karl was on the dais in a single bound. He had the
Zar by the throat, his fingers twisting in the flabby flesh. Might as
well have it over at once. "Fratricide--murderer of my father, I'll take
you with me!"

* * * * *

But it was not to be. The throne room was filled with retainers of the
mad emperor. Strong hands tore him away and he was borne, struggling and
fighting, to the floor. A sharp pain in his forearm. A deadening of the
muscles. He was powerless, save for the painful ability to crawl to his
knees, swaying drunkenly. A delicious languor overcame him. Nothing
mattered now. He saw that a tall man in the purple had withdrawn the
needle of the hypodermic and was replacing the instrument in its case.
Ever so slowly, it seemed.

The Zar was laughing. That horrible cackle. But Karl didn't care. They'd
have their sport with him. Let 'em! Then it'd be over. Lord! If only he
had been a little quicker. He'd have torn the old Zar's windpipe from
its place!

"My word," laughed the Zar. "The sacred word of a Van Dorn. I gave it.
He'll wear the purple for a day. Take him from my sight!"

Karl was walking, quite willingly now. The effects of the drug were
altering. His muscular strength returned but his mental state underwent
a complete change.