Then unseen, hurtling vengeance touched each of the planes in succession. From somewhere in the sylvan terrain beneath, there were three faint pops. A second later, one of the bombers dissolved into a silvery cloud--duralumin and steel. It was the same with the other two planes. They fell apart as though all the cohesive force of the metals from which they were made was suddenly disrupted. The men aboard them hadn't a chance. Perry Wilcox gulped painfully as his eyes searched the wooded hills, trying to orient things so that he could tell just where Murgatroyd's and his fenced enclosure had been. He couldn't see the fence. It was too far off and was hidden by the trees. But he did see a ragged line of peculiar upjutting earthworks. It appeared to follow the contour of the mounted mystery that he had first observed from the air. Shells from man-made cannon splashed against it. Just for a moment a gleaming colossus reared its hunched bulk behind the barrier. It glistened in the late afternoon sunshine as it seemed to take a look about; then like a lizard retreating into its hole, it slid back, from view. But behind it there were sounds like the working of great forges. Columns of smoke puffed up, dyed with the red of molten metal. His attention was attracted to something else. Beyond the partly raised window, and across the street, he could hear a radio in one of the houses there. He bent forward tautly, straining his ears to listen. The voice was unpleasantly familiar: "The latest newsflashes give us little hope. Our attacking forces are being beaten back, or destroyed. But we have great resources. We must be brave. The enemy is a strange one. We must amass more men, conscript money for war materials. Billions of dollars. That is our hope, our one chance. We must have a strong central government. That means the absolute leadership of one man. Obedience must be the key. My whole resources are at the disposal of the nation. We will triumph! We must! The Murgatroyd-Wilcox Horror will thus be destroyed. Be strong, friends. Be strong. That is all for now...." * * * * * Before the brief, artfully worded speech was half delivered, Perry Wilcox knew a good deal of what was spoken between its treacherous lines. The rich, semi-hysterical voice, seemingly overflowing with holy patriotism, had been unmistakable. Lyman Kerwin. But before Perry had time quite to digest this knowledge, someone called from behind him: "Hey, fella, you're supposed to be in bed!" Perry swung about, startled, forgetful of his injured leg. He confronted cool dark eyes with a quiet, half smiling challenge in them. It was Lyssa Arthurs again. Perry was glad to see her for a second, then he remembered. "Well, what do you want?" he blurted sullenly. "I've signed up for emergency work, and I was put in charge of this ward," she responded frankly, making a plain effort to avoid a painful clash of personalities.