Her feet, unaccustomed to dancing, did a pointless little step. Her eyes sparkled, iris wide even in the morning sunshine, for Earth One had no eternal light in the sky to keep a dazzling brightness day and night. She pirouetted once and the sleek silk frock whirled and clung to her legs. As she stopped, the weight of the automatic in her bag hit her and reminded her of a job to be done before all this could be hers. Bronson must be stopped--somehow! Virginia knew how. With a fetching smile on her face Virginia entered the police hospital and asked for the police physician. Doctor Mason came and was a bit set back by the obviously high quality of his caller. "You're--?" "Virginia Wells. I'm a friend of Mr. Bronson." "Indeed? A peculiar case, Miss Wells," he observed gravely. "Not at all," she said with a smile. "Mr. Bronson, as a hobby, has been writing fiction and we got into an argument as to whether high authority could hear a rather bizarre tale without thinking the story teller was insane. I won." "So that's it," grunted Doctor Mason. "He sounded sincere enough to me." Virginia shrugged shapely shoulders and hurled at him the dazzle of her smile. "After all," she said in an entrancing contralto, "he is a successful author even though he doesn't work at it one hundred percent of the time. He should be able to concoct a story that would hold water, and he should be convincing. Why, that's his business!" "Um." Mason left the office for a moment and came back with Bronson at his heels--dressed. * * * * * Virginia gave Bronson a warning look and then laughed at him. "Like spending the night in the clink, Ed?" she asked brightly. "No!" he snapped. "You needn't have," she said with a smile. "All you had to do was tell them the truth. Why, they'd have thrown Orson Welles into jail for the Martian Invasion if he hadn't been famous." Bronson started. The Orson Welles affair had taken place a long time ago--before either of them were born, in fact. This rather glorious girl was trying to tell him something. "Yeah," he drawled, stalling for time. "All right, so you lost," she told him. "And now, if you don't have to stay here for playing pranks, we can go on home and write it up." Bronson looked at Mason. Mason shrugged. "What's the pitch?" he asked. "As for me, no--we don't want you though I'd like to have you reprimanded for wasting time." "Come to think of it, Doctor Mason, how should a man try to tell high authority of some impending form of outrageous doom?" asked Virginia. "Why--" stammered Doctor Mason, "I--" "Yes," snapped Bronson angrily. "Tell us!" "Why?" "Because," said Virginia, sweetly, "some day someone is really going to come up with invaders from outer space or some other unbelievable little item and, while the big bright brass is psychoanalyzing the discoverer, the invasion or the doom will take place." "Why--I'm--"