* * * * * In a private laboratory improvised in his apartment, Philip Dunbar was hard at work. Motors buzzed about him; tubes and wires were woven intricately across the room; while dark hissing vapors and spouts of steam issued from numerous valves and retorts. Piled deep in one corner, were dozens of great torpedo-shaped steel tubes, some of them sealed, some of them ending in complicated coils of rubber tubing; and it was to these that the worker gave his chief attention. After several hours, Dunbar paused; sighed; mopped his sweaty brow; turned a switch that sent the motors groaning to a halt; and, after unlocking the door, stepped into an adjoining room. There he was confronted by a girl who, her hands joined behind her back and her teeth biting into her lower lip, had been pacing slowly back and forth. She cast him a scornful glance, and continued ranging the floor. "Listen, Eleanor!" he said. "You don't have to carry on like this. Don't act like a prisoner. Make yourself at home. In that case in the foyer, you'll find some mighty interesting books--" There was fury in her manner as she turned upon him. "Well, what am I but a prisoner? Do you want me to bow down and thank you for keeping me locked here these last seven days?" His tone was quiet, restrained, almost reproachful. "But what do you expect, Eleanor? Surely, you understand the circumstances--" Her blue eyes blazed. He had never before noticed how strong was the curve of her chin, how firm the set of her jaw. "Circumstances?" she derided. "All that I understand is that you drugged me--kidnapped me--brought me here forcibly, with the help of that hireling of yours, the taxi driver--" "I've heard all about that before," he broke in, still without losing control of himself. "I know I've behaved rudely, Eleanor. But, after all, why not give me credit for some things? Haven't I treated you decently here? Have I so much as touched you with one finger, even though all the while I've been burning with love?" She shuddered, and recoiled. "Why do you act as if I were dirt beneath your feet?" he rushed on. "Haven't I done everything to make you comfortable? Haven't I fed you properly? My God, Eleanor! don't you know I love you?" He had pressed toward her, his eyes hot and desirous, while she had backed into the remotest corner of the room. "And you expect _me_ to love a traitor?" she shot at him. "Am I to sit by and adore you for playing Quisling to the whole Earth?" "That isn't fair, Eleanor!" he protested. "Why, most girls would feel indebted to me for life for saving them. You will too, never fear! You're just a little hysterical now, that's the trouble. But come, come, a little kiss is what you need to soothe you!" * * * * *