DOCTOR LANS RETURNED TO THE hospital later in the day, after seeing his wife and daughter safely settled in a first class hotel. It was an extravagence, in view of his uncertain prospects as a refugee, but they had enjoyed no luxuries for years back _there_--he didn't consider it his home country--and it was justified this once. He inquired at the office of the hospital for his second patient. The clerk looked puzzled. "But he is not here...." "Not here?" "Why, no. He was moved at the same time as His Excellency--back to your country." Lans did not argue. The trick was obvious; it was too late to do anything for poor Samuel. He thanked his God that he had had the foresight to place himself and his family beyond the reach of such brutal injustice before operating. He thanked the clerk and left. THE LEADER RECOVERED CONSCIOUSNESS AT LAST. His brain was confused--then he recalled the events before he had gone to sleep. The operation!--it was over! And he was alive! He had never admitted to anyone how terribly frightened he had been at the prospect. But he had lived--he had lived! He groped around for the bellcord, and failing to find it, gradually forced his eyes to focus on the room. What outrageous nonsense was this? This was no sort of a room for the Leader to convalesce in. He took in the dirty white-washed ceiling, and the bare wooden floor with distaste. And the bed! It was no more than a cot! He shouted. Someone came in, a man wearing a uniform of a trooper in his favorite corps. He started to give him the tongue-lashing of his life, before having him arrested. But he was cut short. "Cut out the racket, you unholy pig!" At first he was too astounded to answer, then he shrieked, "Stand at attention when you address the Leader! Salute!" The trooper looked dumbfounded at the sick man--so totally different in appearance from the Leader, then guffawed. He stepped to the cot, struck a pose with his right arm raised in salute. He carried a rubber truncheon in it. "Hail to our Leader!" he shouted, and brought his arm down smartly. The truncheon crashed into the sick man's cheek bone. Another trooper came in to see what the noise was while the first was still laughing at his wittcism. "What's up, Jon? Say, you'd better not handle that monkey too rough--he's still carried on the hospital list." He glanced casually at the bloody face. "Him? Didn't you know?" Jon pulled him to one side and whispered. The second man's eyes widened; he grinned. "So? They don't want him to get well, eh? Well, I could use a little exercise this morning--" "Let's get Fats," the other suggested. "He's always so very amusing with his ideas." "Good idea." He stepped to the door and bellowed, "Hey, Fats!" They didn't really start in on him until Fats was there to help. THE END the phantoms _by_----Joseph E. Kellerman