"I wish we had feet like snowshoes," he remarked, trying to break the spell of spookiness with conversation. He felt a tug, a spreading, and found himself stepping lightly over the drifts. "Judas!" he said in awe. "If we're dead, which place is this?" * * * * * The confidential agent from Imperial Headquarters confronted the garrison's commandant. "You are a disgrace to the Imperial Army," he snorted. "You have the mentality of an Ainu." "But Excellency--" "Radar station destroyed. Coastal guns useless. Ammunition set afire. Supplies stolen. Sentries killed. But, instead of taking proper measures against these Yankee saboteurs who have very evidently sneaked ashore--due to more of your incompetence--you send us fables to cover your own deficiencies. Ghost hands. Ghost Yankees. All fables. Bah! "That is as absurd as the idea of my own pistol rising from its holster by itself and turning upon me." "Excellency," shrieked the overwrought officer. "Don't say such things on this island!" The agent stared in horror-struck rigidity as his gun jerked itself clear, rose, and pointed. The gun spat twice, then floated rapidly across the room and placed itself gently in the commandant's trembling hand. The headquarters bodyguard rushed in and jumped at conclusions as they saw their superior's body. Their crossfire cut the unfortunate commandant almost in half. The major who was second in command stuck his head in the doorway for one horrified look. But when something unseen in that room of death laughed harshly in triumph he dashed hastily out again, screaming frantic orders.... * * * * * ... Yark was unhappy. The majority reaction was profound shock at the realization that the great Yark was not infallible. "What shall we do?" a mental voice asked. "Destroy him!" The response was overwhelming. Yark recoiled. Erg was his masterpiece, and to destroy him would be to acknowledge utter failure. But his very status as a Great Brain was now in jeopardy. "It will be difficult to reach the real, the actual Erg, submerged as he is beneath his false schizophrenic personalities, but through me it can be accomplished...." * * * * * "... We'd better get some clothes on," Martha said bashfully. She could feel her outlines showing again. For the past couple of days it had become increasingly difficult to maintain complete invisibility. She and Gunnar were both beginning to _flicker_, to appear dimly and then vanish again. "That's right. I'm beginning to feel the cold again, too." Gunnar was a gentleman and spared her modesty. "Whatever it is, it's wearing off."