Stripped to the waist, Philip Dunbar worked in the electric glare of the oven-hot laboratory. The throbbing of motors made a dull undertone in his ears as he examined the register connecting with the steel cylinders of compressed air. His dark face had become long and haggard; his eyes glittered with a wild, almost demoniacal light. But a grunt of satisfaction came from between those two thin cynic lips of his as he muttered, "Thank the Lord! At last it's done!" "Thank not the Lord, earthling! Thank us!" a whirring voice sounded from just outside the window. "For many days we have followed your labors. For many days we have assisted. Nevertheless, you are a day behind schedule. A whole day, earthling!" "I have done my best!" sighed Dunbar. "Could I help it if I was sick with the heat for two days, and could hardly work?" "We will forgive you this once, nignig, although on our planet we are not such weaklings as to get sick. After all, you have served us not badly. Tomorrow, with the compressed air to improve our efficiency, we will be lords of this world!" "Tomorrow we will be lords of this world!" another voice, from an invisible source, weirdly repeated. "Earthling, we have one more command," buzzed the first voice. "These casks of compressed air are hard for us to reach through your narrow window. See that they are placed outside on the ground. Have them put there early tomorrow, that we may gather them up with ease." "I shall do so!" acceded Dunbar. And hastily he added, "Then you will not--will not forget your promise?" "Never fear!" a voice of reassurance droned. "When all the rest of your race sleeps in the long Forever, you will be glad to be alive--you, the last man!" "I will be glad to be alive," acknowledged Dunbar. But his voice had a tone of sadness; his long, lean, dark countenance drooped. "One thing more! The female of my race--the girl I call Eleanor--have you not saved her as a reward for my services? Through the wiles of wicked connivers, she has escaped. Once more I ask you, can you not seize her and bring her back?" "Once more I tell you, earthling, the Peerless Red One has changed his mind about the female of your species. In truth, we were not sorry when she got away; and made but little effort to re-capture her, for she drew your mind from your work. The Peerless Red One has decided, if the female of the species is crafty enough to get away, might she not be crafty enough to cause us much trouble? No, earthling! Let her perish with the rest of her crawling species!" Dunbar groaned, and sank disconsolately to the laboratory floor. Had he not learned that nothing was more futile than to argue with a Saturnian? * * * * * The dreary gray of dawn was visible through the stagnant cloud-banks by the time Gates had started toward Dunbar's apartment.