The cloud-stuff melted to new forms that grew clearer to show him the earth. A distorted Earth--and he knew the distortion came from the mind of the being before him who had never seen the earth at first hand; yet he knew it for his own world. It was turning in space; he saw oceans and continents; and before his mental gaze he saw the land swarming with these creatures of Venus. The one before him was in command; he was seated on an enormous throne; there were Earth people like Sykes and himself who crept humbly before him, while fleets of great Venusian ships hovered overhead. The message was plain--plain as if written in words of fire in the brain of the man. McGuire knew that these creatures intended that the vision should be true--they meant to conquer the earth. The slim, khaki-clad figure of Lieutenant McGuire quivered with the strength of his refusal to accept the truth of what he saw. He shook his head to clear it of these thought wraiths. "Not--in--a--million--years!" he said, and he put behind his words all the mental force at his command. "Try that, old top, and they'll give you the fight of your life--" He checked his words as he saw plainly that the thin cruel face that stared and stared was getting nothing from his reply. "Now what do you think about that?" he demanded of Professor Sykes. "He got an idea across to me--some form of telepathy. I saw his mind, or I saw what he wanted me to see of it. It's taps, he says, for us, and then they think they're going across and annex the world." He glanced upward again and laughed loudly for the benefit of those who were watching him so closely. "Fine chance!" he said; "a fat chance!" But in the deeper recesses of his mind he was shaken. For themselves there was no hope. Well, that was all in a lifetime. But the other--the conquest of the earth--he had to try with all his power of will to keep from his mind the pictures of destruction these beastly things could bring about. * * * * * The chief of this strange council made a gesture of contempt with the grotesque hands that were so translucent yet ashy-pale against his scarlet robe, and the down-drawn thin lips reflected the thoughts that prompted it. The open opposition of Lieutenant McGuire failed to impress him, it seemed. At a word the one who had brought them sprang forward. He addressed himself to the circle of men, and he harangued them mightily in harsh discordance. He pointed one lean hand at the two captives, then beat it upon his own chest. "They are mine," he was saying, as the men knew plainly. And they realized as if the weird talk came like words to their ears that this monster was demanding that the captives be given him. An exchange of dismayed glances, and "Not so good!" said McGuire under his breath; "Simon Legree is asking for his slaves. Mean, ugly devil, that boy!"