Perry was sick with that intense, burning pain in his right leg. To keep his senses was a struggle. He heard noises from within the Earth--like ragged drumbeats that made the ground shake. Something unknown, crescendoing on to a preplanned purpose. Hands touched him--Rod's hands, covered with thick gloves. Car headlights flared all around in the night, mingling confusingly with the chaos of voices. Perry's rubber-silk outer garment was crumbling away from him like rotten rags. It had been eaten by a virulently active gaseous chemical, all right. Like combustion, the activity had evolved heat. He was still alive only because he was wearing an oxygen mask. He tried to stand, clinging to Rod's shoulders; but the burnt leg, which might still put him in danger of death by an unknown chemical poison, would not bear his weight. He sank down to one knee while Rod tore the remnants of rotted rubber and cloth from his leg, and smeared an unguent on the ragged, blistered injury. "I'll get him to a doctor," someone was saying from very close by. "You can't tell. That's apt to be very dangerous. A physician will know better what to do." It wasn't till then that Perry saw who it was that was holding the first aid kit. Lyssa Arthurs, the girl who had been with Kerwin and his boys. But she'd come back, somehow. Looking up into the confusing medley of light and shadow, Perry saw her curly chestnut hair blowing in the wind. She looked a little bedraggled, and her lips were pursed very tight. "Okay!" old Rod snapped, for this moment might involve the question of life and death for his friend, and there was no time to question the connections of this girl, who had been helpful. "Come on, you!" he added, grasping Perry's arm. "You're out of action for a while!" Perry Wilcox was too dazed to think of all the reasons why he didn't want to be taken away from the scene of action now, and why he didn't want to go with anyone associated with Lyman Kerwin. So his stubborn protests were mostly those of a hard man of action, clinging obstinately to the habit of wanting to be where things were happening. "Can't leave, Rod!" he grumbled like a great obstinate, drunken child. "Everybody's in danger of--God knows what. Gotta stay with you, Rod...." His words were muffled by his mask. A moment Murgatroyd hesitated, then his balled fist shot out and caught Perry on the chin with stunning force. What he'd seen of Troubles Arthurs in the last few seconds made the old scientist like her a lot. But since she was tied up with Kerwin someway, he couldn't trust her entirely with the custody of his pal. So he said: "Thanks, kid. Otto, here, will go along to help." Almost as an afterthought, Rod unsnapped the motion picture camera from Perry's chest. Its record of a mystery would be safer in his keeping. * * * * *