r language.

"But--I can communicate with Denham!"

He began to write feverishly. If he had looked out of the laboratory
window, he would have seen Von Holtz running like a deer, waving his
arms jerkily, and--when out of earshot of the laboratory--shouting
loudly. And Von Holtz was carrying a small black box which Tommy would
have identified instantly as a motion picture camera, built for
amateurs but capable of taking pictures indoors and with a
surprisingly small amount of light. And if Tommy had listened, he
might possibly have heard the beginnings of those shoutings to men
hidden in a patch of woodland about a quarter of a mile away. The men,
of course, were Jacaro's, waiting until either Von Holtz had secured
the information that was wanted, or until an assault in force upon the
laboratory would net them a catapult ready for use--to be examined,
photographed, and duplicated at leisure.

But Tommy neither looked nor listened. He wrote feverishly, saying to
Smithers at the dimensoscope:

"Denham'll be looking around to see what killed those men. When he
does, we want to be ready to shoot a smoke-bomb through to him, with a
message attached."

Smithers made a gesture of no especial meaning save that he had heard.
And Tommy went on writing swiftly, saying who he was and what he had
done, and that another globe was being built so that he and Smithers
could come with supplies and arms to help....

"He's lookin'' around now, Mr. Reames," said Smithers quietly. "He's
picked up a ricocheted bullet an' is staring at it."

* * * * *

The crude-oil engine was running at a thunderous rate. Tommy fastened
his note in the little missile he had made ready. He placed it under
the solenoid of the catapult after Denham's design, with the springs
and rings of metallic ammonium. He turned to Smithers.

"I'll watch for him," said Tommy unsteadily. "You know, watch for the
right moment to fling it through. Slow up the generator a little.
It'll rack itself to pieces."

He put his eye to the eye-piece. He winced as he saw again what the
bullets of his aiming had done. But he saw Denham almost at once. And
Denham was scratched and bruised and looked very far indeed from the
ideal of a professor of theoretic physics, with hardly more than a few
shreds of clothing left upon him, and a ten-day's beard upon his face.
He limped as he walked. But he had stopped in the task of gathering up
weapons to sho