"Simple. Just don't let on anything's wrong. Pretend that the wedding's to come off as scheduled. Then tell him that things are in a mess. All the excitement's got you tied in a knot. Because he's such a close friend of Elaine's, you thought maybe he'd be willing to lend a hand." The spark of hope in the professor's eyes brightened to a glowing coal. "I wonder...." he mused. "It might work--" "Of course it'll work. It's got to. It's the only chance we have...." It was nine fifteen precisely when Adrian Vance rang the doorbell. He stepped back. Polished the nails of his right hand on the grey suede glove which still garbed the left. The door swung open. "Good morning, professor." "Good morning, Adrian." The savant stepped aside. "Please come in." Not by the slightest vocal tremor or change of expression did the old man hint of his secret--that if necessary Adrian Vance would never leave this place alive! "It is kind of you to come," he told the antiquarian as he led the way toward the back of the dwelling. "I never knew that a wedding could cause so much turmoil." He chuckled softly. "Of course, I have had little experience in such matters, my wife being dead and Elaine an only child. And my own nuptials were celebrated a good many years ago." Every word, every inflection, was perfect. No actor could have matched that sinister soliloquy. Vance smoothed the sleek black hair that at once crowned and characterized him. "It's a great privilege to be allowed to assist in any way at Elaine's wedding," he observed unctuously. "Anything which I can do to help make this a happier occasion for her is a pleasure." Blue fire flared in the scientist's eyes. He looked away quickly. A moment later his composure was regained. "There are some things in the laboratory I wish to bring to the house," he announced. "If you will come this way--" He opened the back door. Led the antique dealer down the brick walk to the laboratory. Together, they stepped inside. The door swung shut. In the silence its jarring slam echoed like a shot fired in a tomb. Vance cleared his throat. "So this is your laboratory, professor--" * * * * * Mark Carter stepped out of the shadows. His tanned face looked as if it had been carved from the rock of ages. His eyes were pools of sudden death. He spoke: "Elaine's gone, Vance. Through the mirror. We want her back." Just that. Nothing more. But suddenly Vance was shaking. "What are you talking about? I don't know what you mean." Professor Duchard said: "You are lying. I have examined the mirror. I tested with black light. It showed the picture of the first Elaine Duchard." "You're mad," said Vance. "You don't make sense."