eeps and fast, Zahooli, as I bet they can be
inflated and made into compression chambers. They have got connections
that plug into something."

We pull on the suits which were too big for the beetleheads and for a
good reason. More bends than there are in the Ohio River are with us
before we plug into the right socket. The suits bulge out until our feet
almost leave the floor. I grin through my helmet at Wurpz.

The sub keeps purring and purring. The altimeter registers four thousand
feet. It is a caution, an altimeter in a sub. Two hours later we shoot
out through a hole deep under the coast of Brazil and I know we are in
the ocean as the monitor shows some old wrecked ships about three miles
from us. We disconnect the Subterro anti-bends kimonos and peel them
off. Agrodyte Hitler is moving two of his arms when we climb toward the
surface.

"Hah, we will make a sucker out of history," I says to Wurpz. "And wait
until we show this creep to Professor Zalpha and Exmud R. Zmorro."

We come to the surface and contact an Earthian Franco-Austro atomic
luxury liner. The skipper's pan registers on the viso-screen. "This is
Septimus Spink," I says. "Commander of Inner Spaceship Magnificent Mole.
I have come from the center of Earth with a captured Subterro submarine
and Agrodyte Hitler, the Neofeuhrer. Over and out."

The universe goes into a cosmic dither when we slide into a berth in
Hampton Rhodus. Thousands of citizens hail us as we ride to Metropolita
in a Supercaddijet. Behind us in a truck trailer made mostly of
transparent duralucite is our captive, the descendant of Adolph Hitler
and three dead Subterro beetle people.

"Well, you won't give up so easy on a Spink from now on," I says to
Zahooli. "We are heroes and will get medals. First thing we have to do,
though," I says to Coordinator One sitting in the jet sedan with us, "is
to take care of the hole Earth has in its head. All we have to do is
drop that new bomb down the tunnel we made and it will wash up all those
subs that are left and most likely cause a flood that will inundate
Subterro. What do you think?"

The brass is still tongue-tied. "One thing I must do and that is see
that a certain insecticide manufacturer gets a plug on Interplanetary
TV," I continue. "Ha, we took the bugs out of this planet. It should
work quite smooth from now on."

"I still believe in reincarnation," D'Ambrosia Zahooli says. "I have the
darndest feeling I've been through almo