* * * * * He lost no time, however, in useless questionings. Realizing that the fugitives must leave by the rear exit, on another street, he raced around the block, in such haste that he bowled over two pedestrians, who were never to know what had hit them. As he approached the rear door, he saw five figures hurriedly emerge, among them a young woman, the sight of whom caused his heart to pound furiously. "Eleanor!" he shouted. "Eleanor!" The girl glanced toward him, and shrieked. Even if she recognized his voice, she thought that it was merely one of the Saturnians imitating him. "Eleanor! Eleanor!" he repeated. "It's I, Ronald! It's I!" But it was doubtful if she even heard. Preceding the four policemen--pushed and shoved by them, for he had never seen men in more frantic haste--she was lost to view inside a black sedan. A moment later, the car had spurted from sight around the corner. Greatly shaken, Gates returned to the Institute. It was much--very much--to know that Eleanor was alive, and apparently not in Dunbar's hands. But to have her flee him as though he were a plague-bearer; to be mistaken by her for one of the Saturnians--that was a new and totally unexpected experience. Now, as never before, he began to curse his invisibility. But there was work to be done--work from which he must not be deterred even by the thought of Eleanor. And at this point, as if by way of compensation, his invisibility served him to excellent purpose. How, considering that the doors were all locked, could he get into the Institute? Contemplatively he strolled around the building, and saw that the one possible entry was by means of an open window facing the fire escape on the third floor. To hoist himself up to the fire escape was, to be sure, no great task for one of his agility; but as it gave upon a main street, where many people were passing, it would have been impossible for any ordinary man to accomplish the feat without detection. As it was, however, he managed the entry with ease. Once within, he felt his way down to the locker room, where he switched on the lights, and turned to his own locker--the combination of which, fortunately, had not been altered. A moment later, the door rattled open. He saw that the interior had been disturbed, as though somebody had entered during his absence and fumbled among the contents; but his pulses leapt with excitement when, safely hidden in a corner, he located a steel-sheathed apparatus of about the size of a large pistol. "Thank heaven!" he muttered. "This little blade may hold the world's destiny!" He placed the instrument carefully beneath his garments, so that it too became invisible; closed the locker; and started away, with the knowledge that he hastened to a battle that could end only in victory or death. CHAPTER XIII The Electric Blade Swings