the corridor. And was blotted out in the green darkness
as he turned the other way, to avoid me if I struck.

A silence. The shadow of Jetta was behind me. I stood with poised
knife, listening, straining my eyes through the faint green darkness.
De Boer was here, knife in hand, fallen now into craftly, motionless
silence. He might have been close here down the corridor. Or in any
one of these nearby cubby doorways.

I slid forward along the wall. The corridor was solid black down its
length: the green radiance seemed brighter at the control room behind
me. Had De Boer gone into this solid blackness, to lure me?

* * * * *

I stopped my advance. Stood again, trying to see or hear something.

And then I saw him! Two small glowing points of light. Distant stars.
His eyes! Five feet ahead of me? Or ten? Or twenty?

A rustle. A sound.

His dark form materialized as he came--a huge, black blob overwhelming
me, his arm and knife blade striking.

I dropped to the floor-grid, and his blade went over me. And as I
dropped, I struck with an upward thrust. My knife met solidity; sank
into flesh.

I twisted past him on the floor as he fell. My knife was gone: buried
in him.

Words were audible; choking gasps. I could see his form rising,
staggering. The open porte was near him; he swayed through it.

Did he know he was mortally wounded? I think so. He swayed on the wing
runway, and I slid to the door and stood watching. And was aware of
the shadow of Jetta creeping to join me.

"Is he--?"

"Quiet, Jetta."

He stood under the wing, swaying, gripping a stay. Then his voice
sounded, and it seemed like a laugh.

"The craven American--wins." He moved a step. "Not to see--me die--"

He toppled at the rail. "Good-by, Jetta."

A great huddled shadow. A blob, toppling, falling....

Far down there now the crags and peaks of the Lowland depths were
visible. The darkness swallowed his whirling body. We could not hear
the impact.

CHAPTER XIX

_Episode of the Lowlands_

There is but little remaining for me to record. I could not operate
the mechanism of invisibility of De Boer's X-flyer. But its pilot
controls were simple. With Jetta at my side, trembling now that our
gruesome task was over, we groped our way through the green darkness
and mounted to the pilot cubby. And within ten minutes I had lowered
the ship into the depths, found a landing place upon the dark rocks,
and brought u