And as I blinked, the light coalesced into a form! It was, roughly, the form of a man--and from where its head should be there came a strange, strained, hollow voice. "_Ombiggs!_" Then the light flickered, and was gone, and with it was gone the voice and the last vestige of my self-control. I let loose one squawk--out loud!--and dived for the darkness and comparative security of the region under the couch! Not so Hank. He stood stockstill in the middle of the floor. I yelled at him, "Hank, did _you_ do that? Did you touch something on the radio?" There was a faint, puzzled look on his face. "Nope, Jim. I didn't do nothin'. Did you see him, too?" "I saw him. Whoever he was. But who--how?" "I dunno." Slowly. "Leastwise, the only thing I can think of is so durn unlikely--Hey, listen!" The radio music had stopped suddenly. The voice of the announcer was clear, crisp, ominous. "Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this program of dance music to bring you a special bulletin. _Flash!_ Midland University campus. Dr. H. Logan MacDowell, president of this institution, vanished suddenly five minutes ago from the midst of a group of friends gathered at his home to discuss two similar occurrences at Midland within the past week. "Police efforts to solve the mystery were hampered by the ensuing panic. A diabolic plot against the persons of eminent American educators is feared by observers--" The rest was lost to us. Frenzied footsteps beat a tappity-tappity path to the door of my apartment, and nervous hands beat wooden panels. A sweet, familiar voice, now high-pitched in fright, cried, "Jim! Jim Blakeson! Quick--" The door and sheer courage were all that sustained her. As I opened the first, the second gave out. And Helen MacDowell moaned gently and collapsed into my arms! CHAPTER II Unexpected Journey I yelled, "Get some water, Hank! And some brandy!" I carried her to the studio lounge. Hank came back with two glasses. I gulped the brandy swiftly, and held the water to her lips. Pretty soon she spluttered, pushed the glass away, and opened her eyes. "Oh, Jim! The most dreadful thing has happened to daddy. We--_You_!" Hank swallowed convulsively and essayed a grin. "'Lo, Helen." Helen MacDowell's fingers made motions like shears on a rampage. Her eyes roved. She asked thoughtfully, "Jim, where's that paperknife you used to have? The long one? I'm going to stab somebody in the back!" "Look, sugar," I pleaded, "Hank's come to help us. We have more important things to worry about now than your injured ego. After we've cleared up this trouble, you can have him alone in a dark room for ten minutes--" "Is that," she demanded fretfully, "a promise?" But her bitterness subsided; anxiety rekindled in her eyes. That, and the recollection of a shocking moment.