"In Washington a plane is being prepared. I have given instructions through hours of phoning. They are working night and day. It will contain a huge generator for producing my ray. Nothing new! Just the product of our knowledge of radiant energy up to date. But the man who flies that plane will die--horribly. No time to experiment with protection. The rays will destroy him, though he may live a month. "I am asking you," he told Cyrus Thurston, "to handle that plane. You may be of service to the world--you may find you are utterly powerless. You surely will die. But you know the machines and the monsters; your knowledge may be of value in an attack." He waited. The silence lasted for only a moment. "Why, sure," said Cyrus Thurston. * * * * * He looked at the eucalyptus grove with earnest appraisal. The sun made lovely shadows among their stripped trunks: the world was a beautiful place. A lingering death, MacGregor had intimated--and horrible.... "Why, sure," he repeated steadily. Slim Riley shoved him firmly aside to stand facing MacGregor. "Sure, hell!" he said. "I'm your man, Mr. MacGregor. "What do you know about flying?" he asked Cyrus Thurston. "You're good--for a beginner. But men like you two have got brains, and I'm thinkin' the world will be needin' them. Now me, all I'm good for is holdin' a shtick"--his brogue had returned to his speech, and was evidence of his earnestness. "And, besides"--the smile faded from his lips, and his voice was suddenly soft--"them boys we saw take their last flip was just pilots to you, just a bunch of good fighters. Well, they're buddies of mine. I fought beside some of them in France.... I belong!" He grinned happily at Thurston. "Besides," he said, "what do you know about dog-fights?" MacGregor gripped him by the hand. "You win," he said. "Report to Washington. The Secretary of War has all the dope." * * * * * He turned to Thurston. "Now for you! Get this! The enemy machines almost attacked New York. One of them came low, then went back, and the four flashed out of sight toward the west. It is my belief that New York is next, but the devils are hungry. The beast that attacked us was ravenous, remember. They need food and lots of it. You will hear of their feeding, and you can count on four days. Keep Riley informed--that's your job. "Now I'm going over the hill. If this experiment works, there's a chance we can repeat it on a larger scale. No certainty, but a chance! I'll be back. Full instructions at the hotel in case...." He vanished into the scrub growth. "Not exactly encouraging," Thurston pondered, "but he's a good man, Mac, a good egg! Not as big a brain as the one we saw, but perhaps it's a better one--cleaner--and it's working!"