Blake nodded and said covertly, "Someone tried to heave a knife into me at the space-port. Was that one of O'Toole's mole hills?" Ferrell's body jerked upright, and the muscles in his face stood out tautly. "The hell you say!" "Truth--ask O'Toole." Blake's voice died. His eyes turned to slits. The coach door had opened quickly and a man had stepped inside. He was dressed from head to foot in skin-tight black leather. His eyes were covered with a flashing, silvery mask. Blake's gaze was on the small, ugly electro-gun in the bandit's hand. "A visitor," Blake said laconically. At the same time he pushed his feet far back under the chair and braced them, like bent springs. The masked man crouched at the waist and the gun whipped around, covering the few passengers in the car. "Stand up--all of you." He spoke harshly and with deadly precision. "On your feet, and make it fast." Blake waited. A low monotone of voices protested, died out to a whisper of fear, and the passengers, including Ferrell stood with arms raised. The electro gun came around slowly toward Blake. "Up on your corns," the bandit spat at him. His eyes were black, diamond slits in the silver mask. Blake's gaze never wavered. Silver Mask came toward him slowly. "You heard me." A scorching flame seared Blake's cheek as the electro gun exploded and part of its force burned his skin. Blake's face whitened with rage and he dove desperately forward. Smashing a hard fist into Silver Mask's face, he watched the fellow's body go limp. Two swift reflex actions, one savage and murderously threatening, the other desperately defensive, had brought lightning developments. Blake heard Dauna scream in terror and turned like a flash. But the heavy butt of a new electro gun swept down on his head. There was a sudden sickening jolt and bright flashes of light went tearing into his brain. He pitched forward across the first bandit's limp body, and the car, spinning before his eyes, went blank. * * * * * When Blake came around, he was stretched out full length on the floor, a pillow under his head. He looked up into Dauna's eyes. "If you're wondering about the silver masked man who struck you," she said, "There are dozens of them on the train. They have us all under guard." He sat up a little weakly, felt his head clear. Ferrell and O'Toole sat across from his make shift bed. "They won't let me make a dash for the door, Jeff," O'Toole said in an unhappy voice. "Once in the hall, I could clean up on a snag of those black devils." "And get your head bashed in, like Jeff did," Ferrell added. "You're sitting right here with me, _Mr._ O'Toole until we find out what this is all about." Ferrell turned to Blake.