it off.

The barrel caught him at the juncture of shoulder and collar bones. Sent
screaming pain stabbing to the farthest reaches of his brain. Paralyzed
his whole side. He staggered drunkenly.

Again that triumphant leer contorted Vance's hatchet face. Once more he
whipped the pistol barrel down.

And this time his aim was true. This time the heavy gun slammed home
square at the base of the other's brain.

The universe was exploding inside Mark's skull. A crimson universe, with
planets that burst into bloody flame. His control centers went numb. The
life vanished from his muscles. He felt himself falling ... falling ...
falling....

* * * * *

As if in some macabre nightmare, he heard Adrian Vance laugh. Saw the
antiquarian step back and bring the gun in his hand to bear on Professor
Duchard.

"So you're going to force me to bring Elaine back to the twentieth
century!" the rejected suitor mocked. "So you think you still have a
chance to save her from death at the hands of Baron Morriere's
retainers!"

The old man's eyes were like blue steel as he met the antiquarian's
gaze.

"You devil!" he said. "You admit it! You have killed her!"

Vance nodded, his narrow face sinister.

"Of course I admit it. Why shouldn't I? What is there you can do about
it? Or do you think the police are going to hold me on a charge of
subjecting your daughter to involuntary time travel by sending her a
mirror?" He laughed harshly, smoothed his sleek black hair. Then
continued:

"Yes, professor. Go to the police. Tell them all about my hideous
crimes." Again he laughed. "See how long it takes them to put you under
psychiatric observation."

The aged scientist's lips quivered with passion and despair.

"Why do you stay?" he cried. "You have won. Why do you mock us? Go away!
Let us alone!"

"Oh, no." The other shook his head. "I don't want to leave just yet,
professor. There are still some things I have to tell you. Things I
learned while making preparations for Elaine's little trip."

He paused to gloat.

"How thoroughly have you investigated the case of that first Elaine
Duchard, in whose body your daughter now resides, Professor Duchard?" he
demanded.

The white-haired savant did not even answer. He leaned weakly against a
laboratory bench, a broken man.

"Did you know, for instance," Adrian Vance continued, "that Baron
Morriere's men tortured Elaine Duchard before they murdered her?"