It is not to be supposed that he was uncontested in this progression. Very much to the contrary. He was shot at. Often and with the utmost accuracy was he fired upon. Apparently, however, with no effect for he seemed invulnerable. Not elusive was our Achilles, not wily, not adroit. Not even clever. He was merely invulnerable and clumsily so to boot. He would wade into a mass of stalwart police or soldiers--the militia tried cannons on him--and projectiles would simply bounce away from him. They would explode in the conventional manner. Only no fragments or concussion waves apparently could reach him. After this, the opposition would be scattered like the proverbial chaff. It was a melee, a very horrifying and immensely entertaining mess. Chaos there was and wildness and fantasy and even fanaticism. Yes, even the latter. This last was instanced the time a group of misdirected fans of Achilles misconstrued him, and, in the belief that he was the Almighty, surrounded him in the midst of the pursuit of one of his more stirring enterprises. He misconstrued them, too. They still remain, so far as is known, in the housing he provided their zeal. * * * * * Now we return to the beginning of the story. Not for the sake of confusion, but merely to pick up a most important thread. Remember the Camera Forum scene? And Los Angeles? Los Angeles, if you are following the mood of this story, is mere dust and collapse by now. Nevertheless, we return to the vanished metropolis and to the Forum, the three young men of the FBI, and to the lost-looking scientist with the galvanometer and other trivia--the scientist whom you probably never noticed, having been lost in the spell of her. The lost-looking scientist was happy, too. His happiness lay in that he had come to a conclusion, one affecting Achilles Maravain. His conclusion was that Maravain was scientifically explainable. Not just his feats; not just the decimation he wrought upon police; not just the prisons in which he enveloped prisons. No--more than that--the works. Everything about Achilles Maravain--his personality; his attitude toward life, love and literature--all down to his very kneejerks. First and most important of all, our Achilles had an inferiority complex. Definitely. The proposition that anyone who had actually, with reason, been called John Smith all his life did not have an inferiority complex was fantastic. But the man's actions proved it beyond doubt: he picked on criminals, insane, and the sick because he felt inferior to them, and compensated thus. Amazing logic? Well, everyone thought so at the time, although as you can see, it was really extraordinarily simple.