Randall nodded. "Do you have a steward on the Tube Car during the trip?" "Yes," Andrews said wearily. "This is the third we've lost. I don't--" "That's queer," said Randall suddenly. He pointed to the clock on the mantel above the imitation fireplace. "Over two hours slow," he mused, glancing at his wrist watch. "It's a wonder you fellows wouldn't supply the Vator with a good timepiece." Andrews' jaw sagged. "Why, that's the same thing that happened the other two times!" he said in amazement. "The first time it was almost six hours fast. The second time, over eight hours slow. And now, two hours slow!" "Well?" prompted Randall. "There's something queer about that. The last time I radioed the Antipodes and made sure the clock was correct just before the Vator left!" Randall was silent for a moment. "Well," he said at last. "There's only one way to track this thing down. And that's to get the information first hand. Andrews, you can book my passage on your next trip." The Earth-Tube supervisor gasped. "You aren't going in the face of what's happened!" "Someone has to," Randall returned. "I'll go as your steward." II Two hours later Randall stood stiffly at attention in his somewhat oversized steward's uniform while eleven passengers filed into the Diamvator, chattering in excitement over their coming adventure. Randall wondered with a wry smile what their reactions would be if they knew what had happened to the Diamvator's passengers on three preceding trips. The secret agent had not been entirely in agreement with his Chief's orders that the mysteries be suppressed and that passengers still be accepted. But he saw the logic of keeping the trap baited. And Randall realized, with a warm feeling inside, that his Chief depended upon him to protect the eleven lives which were the bait in a trap which he hoped fervently would not close upon those who set it! Slowly the chattering passengers took their places in the comfortable chairs. After the yard-thick door had swung ponderously shut, and the outside bar had been thrust home, Randall cautioned the passengers to keep their seats, then found his own place. There came a sudden breathless drop as the upper lock opened, and the steel arms released the Vator upon the cushioning column of air above the next lower lock. A sibilant hiss sounded through the room as twelve people fought for breath when the Vator floor tried to drop from beneath them. Two women screamed in high thin voices that tore at the agent's ears. The fat traveling salesman from New Orleans clapped his plump hands to his throat, and his eyes looked like pale blue marbles. The bronzed big game hunter looked as if he were face to face with a lion crouched for attack. The white-haired professional gentleman colored as if he had swallowed a chameleon.