went out. And as it disappeared there were the
sounds of running footsteps. Only they did not run properly. They ran in
great leaps. Impossible leaps. Monstrous leaps. A man might run like
that on the moon, with a lesser gravity. A creature accustomed to much
greater gravity might run like that on Earth. But it would not be human.

It got away.

There was a waiting car. They got into it. They pulled out from the
airport with other cars close before and behind. The cavalcade raced for
the city and the shoreline surrounded by a guard less noisy but no less
effective than the Greek motorcycle troopers.

But the Greek general said something meditative in the dark interior of
the car.

"What's that?" demanded someone authoritatively.

The Greek general said it again, mildly. This latest attempt to seize
them or harm them--if it was that--had been surprisingly inept. It was
strange that creatures able to travel between the stars and put
regiments and tanks out of action should fail so dismally to kill or
kidnap Coburn, if they really wanted to. Could it be that they were not
quite sincere in their efforts?

"That," said the authoritative voice, "is an idea!"

They reached the waterfront. And here in the darkest part of the night
and with the moon near to setting, the waters of the Bay of Naples
rolled in small, smooth-surfaced, tranquil waves. There was a Navy barge
waiting. Those who had come by plane boarded it. It cast off and headed
out into the middle of the huge harbor.

In minutes there was a giant hull looming overhead. They stepped out
onto a landing ladder and climbed interminably up the ship's metal side.
Then there was an open door.

"Now," said the American colonel triumphantly, "now everything's all
right! Nothing can happen now, short of an atomic bomb!"

The Greek general glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. He said
something in that heavy accent of his. He asked mildly if
creatures--Invaders--who could travel between the stars were unlikely to
be able to make atom bombs if they wanted to.

There was no answer. But somebody led Coburn into an office where this
carrier's skipper was at his desk. He looked at Coburn with a sardonic,
unfriendly eye.

"Mr. Coburn, I believe," he said remotely. "You've been very well
staged-managed by your friends, Mr. Coburn. They've made it look as if
they were trying hard to kill you, eh? But we know better, don't we? We
know it's all a build-up for you