They were trying again--there were fifteen or twenty of them, at least. They went for the windows, and the windows dissolved and rained cherry-red wet glass on them. They tried again through the open frames when the glass was gone, and the frames burst into fire around them, the blue smoke bleached white in the yellow of the flame and the white of the searchlights. They tried singly, by stealth; and they tried in clusters of a dozen, yelling. * * * * * It was hopeless--hopeless for everybody, because they couldn't get in and the Greek could never, never get out; for go away they wouldn't. Not even when, with _poof_ and a yellow flare, the gas tank of one of the cars exploded. All that happened was that the man in the snap-brimmed hat and I leaped out, real quick; and then all the cars went up. But the men didn't leave. And then the guns began to go off without waiting for anyone to pull the trigger; and the barrels softened and slumped and spattered to the ground. But the men still had bare hands, and they stayed. The Greek got wild--or lost control, it was hard to tell which. There was a sudden catastrophic _whooshing_ roar and, _wham_, a tree took flame for roots. A giant old oak, fifty feet tall, I guess it had been there a couple of centuries, but Greco's demons changed all that; it took flame and shot whistling into the air, spouting flame and spark like a Roman candle. Maybe he thought it would scare them. Maybe it did. But it also made them mad. And they ran, all at once, every one of them but my personal friend, for the biggest, openest of the windows-- And leaped back, cursing and yelling, beating out flames on their clothes. Jets of flame leaped out of every window and door. The old building seemed to bulge outward and go _voom_. In half a second, it was a single leaping tulip of fire. The firemen got there then, but it was a little late. Oh, they got Greco out--alive, even. But they didn't save a bit of the laboratory. It was the third fire in Greco's career, and the most dangerous--for where previously only a few of the youthing demons had escaped, now there were vast quantities of both sorts. It was the end of the world. I knew it. * * * * * You know, I wish I had been right. I spent yesterday with Greco. He's married now and has a fine young son. They made an attractive family picture, the two healthy-looking adults, strong-featured, in the prime of life, and the wee toddler between them. The only thing is--Greco's the toddler. He doesn't call himself Greco any more. Would you, the way the world is now? He has plenty of money stashed away--I do too, of course--not that money means very much these days. His brain hasn't been affected, just his body. He was lucky, I guess. Some of the demons hit the brain in some of their victims and-- Well, it's pretty bad.