"Sure?" snorted Graed Garroway. "Of course, I'm sure! There is no such thing as invisibility! My scientists have proven that time and time again in laboratories. The fabled 'magic cloak' of invisibility is both hypothetically and actually impossible. Where matter exists, there must be either reflection, refraction, or occultation--" The Princess yawned. "I do not understand these high-sounding words," she said, "nor need I. Because, you see, I have met the Galactic Ghost myself." "Nonsense!" fumed her parent. "It was an hallucination you suffered. Sympathetic reaction set up by nervousness. The medical examiner testified--" "Sometimes," interrupted the girl coldly, "you allow your ultrascientific viewpoint to warp your better judgment, my father. You talk nonsense! Could a nervous reaction account for the theft of my jewels, or the shattering of my mirror?" "I am not denying," protested Black Garroway stiffly, "that the ... the Ghost visited you. Possibly he hypnotized you into believing him invisible. As for your broken mirror, that might have happened in a dozen ways--" "The mirror was broken," said Lenore, "by the Ghost! Because I saw him reflected in it!" "Furthermore, it is ridiculous to assume--" The Emperor stopped abruptly, his brow congealing--"Eh? What did you say? You saw--" "I tried to tell you," purred the girl, "at the time. But you were too concerned with the loss of my gems to listen to me. I told you I saw the Galactic Ghost. He was a tall, dark-haired young man--" "Ridiculous!" puffed Garroway. "More hypnosis!" "--with crisp, curling hair," continued the Princess reminiscently, "and a small, triangular scar over his right eyebrow. A very interesting young man--" * * * * * Garroway had stiffened at her words, but this time it was with a tensing of interest. He leaned forward. "A moment, my dear. Did you say ... a small scar above his right eyebrow?" "Why, yes." "A triangular scar? You are certain of that?" "Positive. Why?" "Because if you are right--" The Overlord left the sentence dangling; strode to the wall audio and crisped sharp orders into its metallic throat. Elsewhere in the palace a corps of underlings went into action, collecting swiftly the information demanded by their master. Within minutes there came a messenger, bearing a portfolio. This Garroway pawed through, selecting a photograph which he handed to the girl. "Is this," he asked hoarsely, "the image you saw?" The Princess Lenore took the photo, studied it, and nodded. "It is. I remember him well. Who is he?" Graed Garroway laughed. But now there was a touch of hysteria in his laughter, and his deeprooted fear struck new depths as he answered. "His name is Dirk Morris ... an underling." "Dirk Morris," repeated the girl. "It is a pleasant name to the ears. Well ... now that you know the identity of the Ghost, what are you going to do?"