pressed his lips
together.

"Or a little acid? This fire-writing does not really hurt? Tell me what
you did with those code-words!"

"No!"

In his absorption Miko did not notice my light. Nor did I have the wit
to try and fire along it. I was trembling. Snap under torture!

As the beam went deeper, Snap suddenly screamed. But he ended, "No! I
will send--no message for you--"

It had been only a moment. In the chart-room window beside me again a
figure appeared! No image. A solid, living person, undisguised by any
cloak of invisibility. George Prince had chanced my fire and had crept
up upon me.

"Haljan! Don't attack me."

* * * * *

I dropped my light connections. As impulsively I stood up, I saw through
the window the figure of Coniston on the deck watching the result of
Prince's venture.

"Haljan--yield."

Prince no more than whispered it. He stood outside on the deck; the low
window casement touched his waist. He leaned over it.

"He's torturing Snap! Call out that you will yield."

The thought had already been in my mind. Another scream from Snap
chilled me with horror. I shouted,

"Miko! Stop!"

I rushed to the window and Prince gripped me.

"Louder!"

I called louder. "_Miko!_ Stop!" My upflung voice mingled with Snap's
agony of protest. Then Miko heard me. His head and shoulders showed up
there at the helio-room oval.

"You, Haljan?"

Prince shouted, "I have made him yield. He will obey you if you stop
that torture."

I think that poor Snap must have fainted. He was silent. I called,
"Stop! I will do what you command."

Miko jeered, "That is good. A bargain, if you and Dean obey me. Disarm
him, Prince, and bring him out."

* * * * *

Miko moved back into the helio-room. On the deck Coniston was advancing,
but cautiously, mistrustful of me.

"Gregg."

George Prince flung a leg over the casement and leaped lightly into the
dim chart-room. His small slender figure stood beside me, clung to me.

"Gregg."

A moment, while we stood there together. No ray was upon us. Coniston
could not see us, nor could he hear our whispers.

"Gregg."

A different voice; its throaty, husky quality gone. A soft pleading.
"Gregg--

"Gregg, don't you know me? Gregg, dear...."

Why, what was this? Not George Prince? A masquerader, yet so like George
Prince.

"Gregg, don't you know me?"

Clinging to me. A soft touch upon my arm. F