he men watched dully. The women
huddled together in a corner, whimpering. They were a sorry lot after
all, thought Karl. He was no longer Peter Van Dorn, and he thrilled to
the joy of battle.

* * * * *

Leon Lemaire was no mean antagonist. His flailing arms were everywhere
and a huge fist caught Karl on the side of his head and sent him
reeling. But this only served to clear his mind further and to fill him
with a cold rage. He bored in unmercifully and Lemaire soon was on the
defensive. A blow to his midsection had him puffing and Karl hammered in
rights and lefts to the now sinister face that rocked his opponent to
his heels. But the minion of the Zar was crafty. He slid to the floor as
if groggy, then with catlike agility, dove for Karl's knees, bringing
him down with a crash.

The air whistled by them as the ship was drawn upward with ever-increasing
speed. The other passengers cowered in fright as the two men rolled over
and over on the floor, banging at each other indiscriminately. Both
were hurt. Karl's lip was split, and bleeding profusely. One eye was
closing. But now he was on top and he pummeled his opponent to a pulp.
Long after he ceased resisting them, the blows continued until the
features of Leon Lemaire were unrecognizable. The infuriated Karl did not
see that one of the members of the party was creeping up on him from
behind. Neither was he aware that the upward motion of the aero had
ceased and that they now hung motionless in space. A terrific blow at
the base of his skull sent him sprawling. Must have been struck by a
rocket, one of those funny ships that crossed the ocean so quickly. A
million lights danced before his aching eyeballs.

Lying prone across the inert body of his foe, dimly conscious and
fingers clutching weakly, he knew that the cabin was filled with people.
Alien voices bellowed commands. There was the screaming of women; the
sound of blows; curses ... then all was silence and darkness.

* * * * *

It was a far cry to the little book shop off Cooper Square, but Karl was
calling for Rudolph when he next awoke to the realization that he was
still in the land of the living. His head was bandaged and his tongue
furry. A terrible hangover. Then he heard voices and they were
discussing Peter Van Dorn. He opened one eye as an experiment. The other
refused to open. But it might have been worse. At least he was alive; he
co