I shouted, "Hope will be your queen--The reign of the crimson nobles is at an end!" The wild cheering of the people, in which now the castle guards were joining, surged up to mingle with my words. CHAPTER XII _One Tumultuous Night_ I come now with very little more to record. I returned to my own world. And Derek stayed in his. Each to his own; one may rail at this allotted portion--but he does not lightly give it up. The scientists who have examined the mechanism with which I returned very naturally are skeptical of me. Derek feared a further communication between his world, and mine. He smiled his quiet smile. "Your modern world is very aggressive, Charlie. I would not want to chance having my mechanism duplicated--a conquering army coming in here." And so he adjusted the apparatus to carry me back and then go dead. I have wires and electrodes to show in support of my narrative. But since they will not operate I cannot blame my hearers for smiling in derision. Yet there is some contributing evidence. Derek Mason has vanished. A watchman in an office building near Battery Park reports that at dawn of that June morning he heard splintering glass. He found the office door with its broken panel, and the ax lying on the hall floor. He even thinks he saw a ghost stretched out by the window. But he is laughed at for saying it. And there is still another circumstance. If you will trouble to examine the newspaper files of that time, you will find an occurrence headed "Inexplicable Tragedy at Battery Park." You will read that near dawn that morning, the bodies of three men in crimson cloaks came hurtling down through the air and fell in the street near where several taxis were parked. Strange, unidentified men. Of extraordinary aspect. The flesh burned, perhaps. All three were dead; the bodies were mangled by falling some considerable height. An inexplicable tragedy. Why should anyone believe that they were the three crimson nobles whom Derek attacked with his strange ray? I am only Charles Wilson, clerk in a Wall Street brokerage office. If you met me, you would find me a very average, prosaic sort of fellow. You would never think that deeds of daring were in my line at all. Yet I have lived this one strange tumultuous night, and I shall always cherish the memory. The Stolen Mind By M. L. Staley [Illustration: _The structure, pivoting downward, plunged Quest to his waist in the osmotic solution._] [Sidenote: What would you do, if, like Quest, you were tricked, and your very Mind and Will stolen from your body?] "What caused you to answer our advertisement?" Owen Quest felt the steel of the quick gray eyes that jabbed like gimlets across the office table. "Why does any man apply for a job?" he bristled. Keane Clason gave an impatient smile.