a cylinder in his hand.
The ray from it struck her without power of movement or speech. Her
eyes, terrified, turned to us. Again Georg would have leaped, but
Wolfgar shouted, "Wait! That's death! Don't you understand?"

Argo was leering. "Death? Yes! If you touch that violet light! Death, of
course. But you won't touch it! You will stand and watch--stand silently
for you know that if you shout, the vibrations will bring the beam upon
you. You won't move--you'll stand and watch me kill your Princess
Maida--not quickly--she is too beautiful for that. You, Georg
Brende--you, Wolfgar, traitor from Mars. You shall see your Princess
Maida die--this would-be traitoress to my Master Tarrano!"

With all the strength of his puny body Wolfgar flung Georg
backward--safely away from the deadly violet beam. And then, without
warning, without a cry which would endanger us, the little Mars man
sprang headlong, into and through the violet beam of death.

CHAPTER XVIII

_Passing of a Friend_

Wolfgar was not dead; but when we picked him up it was obvious that he
was dying. The violet beam vanished as his body struck it--vanished with
a hiss and splutter, and a puff of sulphuric smoke that mingled with the
smell of burning garments and flesh.

Georg and I leaped forward. Argo was standing transfixed by surprise at
what Wolfgar had done; and as the beam died, Georg was upon him.

"One moment!"

The quiet, commanding voice of Tarrano. He must have come quickly, when
informed by the finders of Argo's treachery. Yet he stood now at the
arcade entrance, drawn to his full height, frowning with lowered brows,
but wholly without appearance of haste.

"One moment--stand aside, all of you."

Argo cowered. The rest of us moved aside. Elza came toward me, and I put
my arm around her. Poor little Elza! She was shivering with fright.

Tarrano seemed not to need information as to what had transpired. His
eyes, roving over us, saw the lifeless, seared body of Wolfgar lying on
the floor.

"Too bad," he said. Then his gaze swung to Argo.

"Master----"

"Silence!"

There was on Tarrano's face and in his voice an expression, a tone quite
new to me. A quiet grimness. More than that. A quality of deadliness--of
inexorable deadliness which could well have chilled the stoutest heart
that fronted it.

"Come here, Argo." Tarrano stood quite motionless. "Argo!"

"Master! Master, you----"

"Come!"

Argo was on the floor. Shaking wit