Chapter XVIII (2)

"I'm positive now that these things control descent and ascent. As nearly as I can figure, the rays work on the principle of an endless belt. If you're up here, you get carried down, and vice versa. As to how wide the belt is, and whether you can move sideways on it, remains to be seen. Anyway, I'm going to take a chance. I'll go first. If my guess is wrong, you--well, needn't follow."

"No, I'm going with you!" she declared resolutely. "We've come this far together. I shan't be left alone now. Let's go!"

And again her soft, warm hand was in his.

Lord, what a girl! How many would be brave enough to take a gamble like that, on a fellow's mere supposition?

"All right--go it is!" he said. "Push your round button, like this." He showed her the way he thought was right, pushed his own. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

* * * * *

Their voices were grave. It was a grim prospect, stepping off into space like that, with only a guess between them and death.

"Then jump!"

They jumped, gripping each other's hands tightly--and instead of dropping like plummets were caught in a powerful field of force and whirled gently downward.

"Oh, you were right!" gasped Marjorie, awed. "See, we--"

Then she paused, horror-stricken, for it was obvious that they were to descend within that lake of molten glass, unless they could change their course at once.

"Quick!" he called. "Hold fast! Now--run!"

Breathless, they raced to the left, across that invisible descending belt.

Too far, Kendrick knew, and they would plunge outside its zone, fall crushed and mangled. Not far enough, and they would meet cremation. It was a fearful hazard, either way, but it had to be taken.

They were almost down, now, and still not quite far enough to the left. The heat of that yawning crater rose toward them.

"Faster--_faster_!" he cried, fairly dragging her along with him.

A last dash--a breathless instant--and they stood there on the ground, not three feet from the edge of doom.

Swooning with the heat, Marjorie swayed against him, murmured an incoherent prayer.

"Take heart!" he whispered, lifting her bodily and bearing her some yards away. "We're down--safe!"

* * * * *

Their safety was but relative, however, Kendrick well knew. Until they could put miles between them and this monstrous disc, they were not really safe. No telling how soon their escape might be discovered. No telling what terrible means Cor might take of curbing their flight.

So as soon as Marjorie had recovered sufficiently to proceed, they headed off across the desert at a fast walk toward Ajo, where he hoped to catch the afternoon train for Gila Bend. From there, they could board the limited for Tucson and points east, when it came through from Yuma that night.

They had tuned out on the escalator rays, but continued on still invisible--for the disc hung above them in plain view and it would have been suicide to let themselves be seen.

Even so, Kendrick soon began to have an uneasy feeling of being followed. He looked around from time to time, but could see nothing. Were some of those invisible little creatures on their trail?

He said nothing to Marjorie of his anxiety, but presently she too began glancing backward uneasily, every few steps.

"They are near us!" she said at length, in a whisper. "I can sense them."

It was more than sense, they soon discovered. Little paddings became quite audible, and once or twice they saw the sand scuffed up, not twenty feet away, as though by a foot passing over it.

* * * * *

Meanwhile they were climbing a rise of ground, broken by many small hummocks and dotted with thorny shrubs. On the other side, at the foot of a long down-slope, lay Ajo.

Once they reached the summit, Kendrick felt sure they could outdistance their pursuers on the descent. Already, if his watch was right, the train was preparing to pull out. It would be a breathless dash, but he was confident they could make it.

So he reassured Marjorie as best he could, and helped her on up the slope.

They were practically on the summit and already in view of the little railroad station and huddle of shacks below--when suddenly he felt himself tripped and flung violently to the ground. At the same instant, his companion emitted a scream, as she felt herself seized by invisible hands.

Leaping to his feet, Kendrick flailed out with solid fists at their attackers. Groans answered the impacts and he knew his blows were taking effect.

* * * * *

Free for a moment he dashed to Marjorie, felt for the midgets who swarmed around her. Seizing one of the invisible forms, he lifted it and flung it crashing to the ground. Another, likewise, and another.

Then he threshed his legs, where two of the creatures clung, trying to drag him down again. They flew through the air, with cries of fright.

"Well, so far, so good!" he exclaimed. "We won't wait to see if there are any more. Come on--let's go!"

"Right!"

Reaching for each other's hands, they raced down the slope.

Halfway there they saw a warning blast of steam rise from the engine, followed by a whistle.

"They'll be pulling out in a minute now!" he gasped, increasing speed. "We've got to make it!--our only chance!"

"We _will_ make it!" she sobbed through clenched teeth, meeting his pace.

Glancing over his shoulder, after another fifteen seconds, Kendrick saw that the disc was no longer visible. Since there was no vibration he realized with relief that it was now hidden behind the slope they were descending.

"Quick--push your button!" he said, pushing his own.

They came out of the influence of the invisibility rays, raced breathless on down the slope--gained the station platform just as the train was getting under way.

Helping the exhausted girl aboard, he mounted the steps himself, led her through the vestibule into its single passenger coach.

Dropping into a seat, they sat there panting as the train gathered speed.

* * * * *

By the time the decrepit but life-saving little local drew into Gila Bend they had somewhat recovered from their harrowing experience.

Marjorie was still pale, however, as Kendrick helped her from the train.

"I may recover," she said with a wan smile, "but I'll never look the same! An old saying, but I know what it means now."

He thought better of a sudden impulse to tell her she looked quite all right to him. Instead, he said grimly:

"I know now what a lot of things mean!"

The Tucson limited would not be through for over an hour, they learned. That would give them time to hunt up the authorities and sound a warning of the ominous invader that was in the vicinity. Perhaps, by prompt military action, it might be destroyed, or at least crippled.

But first they went to the telegraph office, where Marjorie got off a message that would bring joy to her grieved family.

While standing there outside the barred window, odors of food wafting to them from a nearby lunch-room.

"Um-m!" she sniffed. "That smells good to me! I haven't tasted any earthly cooking for ages. Everything on that horrible disc was synthetic."

"Then I suggest we have ham and eggs, at once," he said. "Or would you prefer a steak?"

"I think I'll have both!"

* * * * *

As they walked into the lunch-room, Kendrick told her of the banquet in his honor Cor had promised for that night.

"I guess I didn't miss much," he ended.

"You certainly didn't!" she assured him, with a smile. "It would have opened with a purée of split-molecule soup, continued with an entrée of breaded electrons, and closed with an ionic café."

He laughed.

"I'm just as well satisfied. I was unable to attend! Humble as it is, I think this will prove to be much more wholesome food."

Night had fallen by the time they left the lunch-room. Glancing at his watch, Kendrick saw that they still had better than a half-hour before the limited was due, so they betook themselves to the police station.

It was only a block away and in consequence they weren't long reaching it.

The chief had gone home, the officer at the desk informed them, but if there was anything they cared to report, he would be glad to make note of it.

A big raw-boned westerner, he shifted his quid as he spoke and spat resoundingly in a cuspidor at his feet.

"All right, then--get your pencil ready!" said Kendrick with a smile. "This is Miss Marjorie Blake, daughter of Henderson Blake, of New York. Perhaps you read of her disappearance, a few weeks ago. And I...."

As he introduced himself and told briefly of their astounding experience, the officer's eyes bulged with amazement.

"Say, what yuh-all tryin' to hand me?" he snorted finally. "D'yuh think I was born simple?"

"Press your button!" whispered Marjorie. "Show him how the invisibility ray works. It'll save a lot of argument."

"Right!"

* * * * *

He held up his wrist.

"See this? Now watch!"

Whereupon he pressed the button. But to their dismay, nothing happened.

"Wa-al. I'm still watchin'!" drawled the officer. "Who's loony now?"

Kendrick examined the mechanism in impatience, pressed that little button repeatedly: but still nothing happened.

"Try yours!" he told Marjorie finally.

She did so, with similar results--or lack of them, rather.

"Something's wrong," he said at length. "The ray isn't working."

"Wrong is right!" declared the officer with a contemptuous flood of tobacco juice. "Yuh folks better go catch yuhr train 'fore yuh ferget where it is."

Chagrined, embarrassed, they took their leave, headed back toward the railroad station.

"Of all the utterly silly things!" declared Marjorie, as they walked along. "Why do you suppose it didn't work?"

Kendrick didn't reply at once. When he did, his voice was grave.

"Because the disc has gone!" he said. "We are outside its zone of influence. That's my hunch, at least, and I think we'd better act on it."

"You mean...?"

"I mean our escape has probably caused them to hurry their plans. They're probably over New York right now. I think we'd better get there the quickest possible way."

* * * * *

The result was that when the train came, they remained on it only to Tucson. There they chartered a fast plane and started east at once.

At sunset the following day the plane swooped out of the sky and slid to rest on the broad grounds of the Blake estate at Great Neck.

As Kendrick stepped from the cabin and helped Marjorie down, a tall, distinguished-looking man with graying hair and close-cropped mustache came hurrying toward them.

"Daddy!" she cried, rushing into his arms. "Oh, Daddy--Daddy!"

Even without this demonstration. Kendrick would have recognized Henderson Blake from pictures he had seen recently in the papers.

Now he was introduced, and Blake was gripping his hand warmly.

"I don't quite know what this is all about, Professor," he heard the great financier say. "Marjorie's telegram last night was as cryptic as it was over-joying. But I do know that I owe you a deep debt of gratitude."

"Yes, and you owe our pilot about a thousand dollars, too!" put in the daughter of the house, clinging to her father's arm. "Please give him a check--then we'll go inside and I'll explain all about it."

"A matter very much easier dispatched than my debt to Professor Kendrick," said Blake, complying.

The check was for two thousand, not one, the pilot saw when he received it.

"Thank you very much, sir!" he said, saluting.

"Don't mention it. Good night--and good luck to you!"

* * * * *

The pilot returned to his plane, it lifted from the lawn, droned off into the twilight.

Then they approached the cool white villa that stood invitingly a hundred yards or so away beyond sunken gardens.

As they neared it, a handsome, well-preserved woman whose face reflected Marjorie's own beauty came toward them. Lines of suffering were still evident around her sensitive mouth, but her dark eyes were radiant.

"Mother!"

"My poor darling!"

They rushed into each other's arms, clung, sobbing and laughing.

Kendrick was glad when these intimate greetings were over and he had met Mrs. Blake.

They were in the drawing-room now, listening to a somewhat more lucid account of their daughter's experiences and those of her rescuer. Marjorie was doing most of the talking, but every now and again she would turn to Kendrick for verification.

"Heavens!" gasped Mrs. Blake, finally. "Can such things be possible?"

"Almost anything seems possible nowadays, my dear," her husband told her. "And you say, Professor, that you have brought back samples of this invisibility device?"

"Yes, we have, but I can't promise they'll work. I'll try, however."

Whereupon, sceptically, he pressed that little square button--and instantly faded out of sight.

"Good Lord!" cried Blake, leaping to his feet. "That proves it! Why, this is positively--"

* * * * *

His remarks were cut short by a scream of terror from his wife.

"Marjorie--Marjorie!" she shrieked.

Wheeling, he faced the chair where his daughter had sat. It was empty, so far as human eyes could see.

"Don't worry Mother--Daddy!" came a calm voice from it. "I'm quite all right--coming back--steady."

And back she came, as did Kendrick, from the empty chair beside her.

His face was grave. The success of the demonstration, which had proved their story to practical-minded Henderson Blake, had proved to him something altogether more significant. The disc, as he had surmised, had rushed eastward immediately on learning of their escape, and was now probably hovering right over New York.

"Marvelous--marvelous!" declared Blake. "But that heat ray, Professor. That sounds bad. You are convinced it is as powerful as they make out!"

"Positively! That blast they let go in the desert would have utterly destroyed New York."

"Hm! Yes, no doubt you're right. I fully realize how the fearful menace of this thing. Do you think the military authorities will be able to cope with it?"

"I don't know. Perhaps, if they are prompt enough."

"And is there no other way--no scientific way?"

* * * * *

Kendrick grew thoughtful.

"I wonder," he said at last. "There's just a possibility--something running through my mind--an experiment I'd like to make, if I had the facilities of some large electrical laboratory."

"You shall have them to-morrow!" Blake promised. "I'm one of the directors of Consolidated Electric. Their experimental laboratory in Brooklyn is the finest of its kind in America. I'll see that you have the run of it."

"That will be very kind," said Kendrick. "But don't expect anything to come from it, necessarily. It's just a theory I want to work out."

A butler entered at this moment and announced dinner.

"Well, theories are mighty these days!" beamed Blake, as they rose, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "You go ahead with your theories--and I'll bring a few facts to bear. To-morrow noon I'll escore some military men and others of my friends over to the laboratory to hear and see something of this menace direct. Meanwhile, and during this crisis, it will honor me to have you as my guest."

"Our guest!" amended Marjorie, with a warm smile.

* * * * *

Next morning Blake motored Kendrick out to the Brooklyn Laboratory of the Consolidated Electric Utilities Corporation and installed him there.

Then he left--to return at noon with the promised delegation of generals, admirals, statesmen and financiers.

They were all frankly sceptical, though realizing that Henderson Blake was not a man given to exaggeration. Nor did their scepticism altogether vanish when Kendrick had ended his bizarre story with a demonstration of the invisibility device.

Murmurs of amazement ran around the laboratory, it is true, but the more hard-headed of his spectators charged him with having invented the apparatus himself. Though they didn't come right out and say so, they seemed to imply that he was seeking publicity.

Annoyedly, Kendrick tried to refute their charges. But even as he was summoning words, refutation utter and complete came from the air.

A low, humming vibration sounded, grew in volume till it filled the room--and as suddenly ceased: The light of midday faded to twilight.

"_The disc!_" gasped Kendrick, rushing to the west windows.

They followed, tense with awe. And there, between earth and sun, its myriad towers and spires refracting a weird radiance, hovered that vast flying city.

"My God!" muttered a famous general, staring as though he had seen a ghost.

A great statesman opened his lips, but no words came.

"Appalling! Incredible!" burst from others of that stunned assemblage.

* * * * *

Their comments were cut short by a broadcast voice, thin and clear, tremendously amplified, a voice Kendrick recognized at once as that of Cor.

"People of America!" it said. "We of the planet Vada have come to conquer your country. You will be given forty-eight hours to lay down your arms. If complete surrender has not been made by high noon, two days from now, New York will be destroyed."

The voice ceased. The humming recommenced--waned in volume till it died away. Twilight turned once more to midday.

Peering fixedly through the west windows of the laboratory, the little assemblage saw the disc swallowed up in the clear blue sky.

Then they turned, faced one another gravely.

Outside, on the streets, confusion reigned. In newspaper plants, presses were whirling. In telegraph and cable offices, keys were ticking. From radio towers, waves were speeding.

Within an hour, the nation and the world knew of this planetary invader and its staggering ultimatum.

Naturally, the government at Washington refused to meet these shameful terms. Military and naval forces were rushed to the threatened metropolis. The Atlantic Fleet steamed up from Hampton Roads under forced draught and assembled in the outer harbor. Thousands of planes gathered at Mitchell Field and other nearby aerodromes.

* * * * *

But where was the enemy? He must be miles up in space, Kendrick knew, as he toiled feverishly in the laboratory over his experiment after a sleepless night. For had that flying city been nearer earth, it could not have maintained invisibility without that peculiar humming vibration.

Scout planes urged on by impatient squadron commanders, climbed till they reached their ceilings, searching in vain. They could encounter nothing, see nothing of the invader.

Thus passed a morning of growing tension.

But by noon of that day, with a bare twenty-four hours left before the expiration of the ultimatum, the disc came down, showed itself boldly.

There followed stunning disasters.

One salvo, and the ray shot down--the Atlantic Fleet, the pride of America, burst and melted in flaming hell. Squadrons of planes, carrying tons of bombs, frizzled like moths in the air. Mighty projectiles hurled by land batteries were deflected off on wild trajectories.

Appalled, the nation and the world followed in lurid extras these crushing defeats.

By nightfall of that day, all seemed lost. All opposition had been obliterated. America must capitulate or perish. It had until the next noon to decide which.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in that great Brooklyn laboratory, Kendrick was working against time, besieged by frantic delegations of the nation's leaders. They knew now that their one hope lay in him. Was he succeeding? Was there even any hope?

Face haggard, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he waved them away, went on with his work.

"I will tell you--as soon as I know."

That was all he would say.

Followed a night that was the blackest in all history, though the myriad stars of heaven shone tauntingly brilliant in the summer sky.

At length, as dawn was breaking. Kendrick paused in his labors.

"There!" he said, grimly, surveying an apparatus that seemed to involve the entire facilities of the laboratory. "It is done! Now then--will it work?"

The delegation were called to witness the test.

Henderson Blake was among them, as was Marjorie. She stepped forward, as he prepared to make the demonstration.

"I _know_, somehow, you're going to be successful!" she murmured, pressing his hand, meeting his eyes with a smile of confidence.

"I hope you're right--Marjorie!" he replied, letting slip the last word almost unconsciously.

Her face colored warmly as the stepped back and rejoined her father.

Kendrick's heart was beating fast as he turned to his instruments. How could he fail, with faith like that behind him?--love, even, perhaps! He mustn't fail--nor would he, if his theories were sound.

* * * * *

Addressing the assemblage, he explained briefly the complicated apparatus.

"These towers," he said, pointing to four steel structures about ten feet high, arranged at the corners of a square roughly twenty feet across, "are miniature radio masts. The area enclosed by them, we will assume, is the city of New York. That metal disc suspended above the area represents the invader. It contains a miniature heat-generator such as I was experimenting with recently in the Arizona desert."

He paused, threw a switch. Somewhere in the laboratory a dynamo began to whir.

"I am now sending electro-magnetic waves from the four towers," he resumed. "But instead of broadcasting them in every direction. I am bending them in concave cathode of force over the city. You may picture this cathode as an invisible shield, if you choose, but it is more than that. It it a reflector. If my theories are right, the radio-energetic ray I am about to project upon it from my miniature disc will be flung back to its source as though it had been a ray of light falling on a mirror. The success of the experiment depends upon what the result will be."

* * * * *

Kendrick ceased, moved toward a rheostat.

As he made ready to touch it, a breathless tension settled upon the assemblage. Upon the outcome of what was now to happen rested the fate of America--and the world.

Calmly, though every fiber of his being was at breaking stress, the young scientist opened the rheostat.

For an instant, the ray seared down--then, as it boomeranged back, the disc burst into flame, dissolved, disintegrated. A thin dust, like carbon, slowly settled to the laboratory floor.

Cutting off the current from the radio towers, Kendrick faced them, a light of triumph in his tired eyes.

"You see--it works," he said.

They saw. Beyond a doubt, it worked!

And what Kendrick saw, as his eyes met Marjorie's, made him forget his fatigue.

* * * * *

The rest was a mad scramble of preparation. Only a few brief hours remained, and much was to be done.

The application of the principle that had just been demonstrated involved a hook-up from the Consolidated Electric laboratory with every broadcasting station in the metropolitan area, power being supplied by commandeering every generating plant within a radius of fifty miles.

The city, moreover, had to be evacuated of all but the few brave hundreds who volunteered to stand by their posts at radio stations and generating plants.

As for Kendrick, it was the busiest, most hectic morning he had ever experienced. Only the realization of a girl's love and a nation's trust enabled him to overcome the exhaustion of two sleepless nights.

At length, a little before eleven, all was in readiness. Just two questions troubled the young scientist's mind. Had the people of the disc learned of their preparations to counter the attack? And would the improvised broadcasting apparatus of the area stand the stupendous strain that would be placed upon it if the ray came down?

The first of these questions was answered, staggeringly, at a quarter after eleven.

"Kendrick--oh, my God!" cried Blake, bursting into the laboratory. "Marjorie--they've got her again! Look! Read this!"

He thrust out a piece of paper. Kendrick took it, read:

Your daughter will be my queen, after this noon.

"Where'd you get it?" he gasped.

"One of the invisible devils thrust it into my hand right out in the street, not five minutes ago," Blake explained, trembling with anguish. "Do you realize what this means, Kendrick? She's on the disc now--and in a scant three-quarters of an hour...."

"Yes, I realize!" his voice came grimly. "And I realize, too, that they don't know their fate. They'll stay. There's forty-five minutes yet. We can't abandon our defense against the ray, not even for Marjorie. But I'll go, I'll rescue her--or die with her!"

And even as Blake mutely reached out his hand to grip that of the determined young man who stood before him. Kendrick touched his wrist mechanism and went invisible.

* * * * *

Once on the street, he pressed the escalator button as well--and by the strength of the vibrations that followed, he knew he must be very close within that mysterious lifting zone.

Running west a block, he found it growing stronger.

Fairly racing now, he continued on toward the river, progress unhampered in the deserted streets. Suddenly, with a thrill of exultation, he felt himself swept up, whirled away toward that great shimmering hulk against the sun.

"What hope?" he was thinking. "What possible hope?" And the answer came: Cor!

Reaching the disc, he switched out the escalator influence and hastened across the city to that monumental structure of jade-green stone.

The mighty little dwarf would be up there in his glittering mosaic apartment, or in his pinnacle laboratory, perhaps, ready to pull the lever that would release that stupendous blast of heat.

Gaining the jewelled door of the monarch's quarters at last, after escaping detection by a hair's breadth more than once, he pressed the button outside, just as the guard had done that first time.

In response, the door opened--and there stood Cor.

* * * * *

He stood there an instant, that is, while the expression on his leathery face went from inquiry to alarm. Then, as Kendrick burst into the room and shut the door, he went invisible.

In that same instant, the young scientist's eyes beheld a sight that caused his heart to leap. There sat Marjorie, bound in a chair, an expression half of hope, half of dejection, on her face.

"It's I--Gordon!" he called. "Take courage!"

"Oh, I prayed so you'd come--and you came!" she murmured as her face lighted. Then, tensely, she added, "The door--look out!"

Kendrick wheeled, and just in time. The door was opening.

"Not so fast!" he called, lunging.

His hands gripped the dwarf, yanked him back, throttled him before he could emit a cry, pushed the door shut.

Cor struggled like a madman, but it was futile. Kendrick's hands cut into his throat like a vice. After a moment or two, he gasped, relaxed.

Releasing his grip then, Kendrick felt for his wrist, stripped off his bracelet--whereupon the dwarf became visible. His face was putty-white. He was either dead or unconscious.

Restoring his own visibility then, he advanced to Marjorie, swiftly freed her.

"Take this!" he said, handing her Cor's bracelet.

She slipped it on.

"Now let's tie him and get out of here. He may be dead, but we can't take any chances."

* * * * *

The dwarf wasn't dead, however, for he groaned and opened his eyes as they lifted him into the chair.

"You win, Professor--but it avails you nothing!" He smiled maliciously. "My capture, my death even, will not prevent the ray. The orders have been given. It will be projected sharp at twelve. You but go to your doom!"

"That," said Kendrick, "is a matter of opinion."

Swiftly they bound him, gagged him.

"And now," he added, "we wish you good day--and such fate as you deserve!"

Then, turning to Marjorie:

"Your hand again!"

There was a new tenderness in its soft warmth that thrilled him.

They touched their buttons, went invisible.

Silently, then, they stole from the apartment. Swiftly they made their way down to the concourse, raced across the city to the amber court, descended to the trap-door.

It must be nearly twelve, Kendrick knew. He couldn't look at his watch, for it as well as himself was invisible. Indeed, even as they stood there, poised for the plunge, a faint whistle rose from below.

Marjorie trembled.

"Steady!" he spoke. "Some of them always blow a minute or two before. Are you ready?"

"Yes!"

"Then press your button--jump!"

Even as they leapt, the sickening thought came that perhaps the escalator ray was no longer running. But the fear was unwarranted. They were caught up, whirled gently downward.

Moving along laterally, as they descended, they were able to land without difficulty in the middle of a deserted street near the Consolidated Electric laboratory.

"Thank heaven!" she sighed, as their feet touched solid ground. They pressed off both buttons, becoming visible once more.

"Echo!" he agreed. "So let's--"

* * * * *

But Kendrick never completed that sentence--for now whistles all over the metropolitan area, rising from the generating plants, announced the ominous hour.

It was high noon. The ultimatum had expired.

Lifting tense faces to the disc, they waited. Would that stupendous ray be hurled back upon itself? Or would it sear through their makeshift defense, plunging them and the whole great metropolis into oblivion?

Suddenly, cataclysmically, the answer came.

There burst a withering whirlwind from the disc. It struck that mighty concave cathode of interlaced waves above the city. There followed an instant's clash of titanic forces. Then the cathode triumphed, hurled it back.

Rocked by a concussion as of two worlds in impact, blinded by a glare that made the sunlight seem feeble in comparison. Marjorie and Kendrick clung together, while the disc grew into a satellite of calcium fire in the sky.

Presently, as the conflagration waned, they opened their eyes. Gravely, but with deep thanksgiving, they searched each other's faces. In them they read deep understanding, too, and a new hope.

"I think we'd better go and find father," she said at length, quietly.

"I think so too!" he agreed.

As they headed toward the laboratory, a fine, powdery dust, like volcanic ash was falling.

It continued to fall until the city streets were covered to a depth of an inch or more.

Thus passed the menace of Vada.

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_To the Rescue_

Dear Editor:

I hope you can see fit to print this letter in the July
issue of Astounding Stories. This letter is written in
defence of Ray Cummings and in reply to the letter of C.
Harry Jaeger, 2900 Jordan Road, Oakland, California.

Following is an extract of Mr. Jaeger's letter: "Also I like
my authors to make an original contribution to whatever
theory of science they develop fictionally. This, Ray
Cummings does not do in his very interesting story,
"Phantoms of Reality." His beginning is palpably borrowed
from Francis Flagg's story, "The Blue Dimension," which
appeared in a Science Fiction magazine in 1927." Another
paragraph is devoted to explaining his claim. He claims that
Cummings' method of transporting his characters from one
dimension or planet to another is practically copied from
Flagg's story. The method, that is, not the narration. I
hope to prove that if any borrowing was done, it was done by
Flagg. Incidentally, Flagg's story "The Blue Dimension" was
printed in 1928, not 1927, as Mr. Jaeger says.

I have in my possession a story by Ray Cummings named "Into
the Fourth Dimension" and published in another magazine
during the last month of 1926 and first ones of 1927. And in
this story--printed two years before Flagg's story--Cummings
uses almost the same apparatus of passing from one dimension
to another as is used in "Phantoms of Reality." I will not
discuss whether this procedure is to be approved or not.

This letter is not to be construed as an attack on Mr.
Jaeger, or Mr. Flagg, or on either of the two stories under
discussion.

If Mr. Jaeger will let me know I will send him Ray Cumming's
story "Into the Fourth Dimension," as clipped from the
magazines.

I write this letter to the magazine, instead of Mr. Jaeger,
so that if any one was misled by Mr. Jaeger's well meant but
mistaken criticism they will be straightened out.--Donald
Coneyon, Petoskey, Michigan.

_A Wish for Success_

Dear Editor:

I have read both of your first issues. I am writing to say
that I wish you success with your new magazine, which I know
will succeed.

Also to say I wish you would get more of the "Carnes and Dr.
Bird Stories" by Captain S. P. Meek, for I think everybody,
including myself, likes them. I also enjoyed "Creatures of
the Light."--Thomas D. Taylor, 415 So. 7th St., Boise,
Idaho.

_No Kick Any More_

Dear Editor:

I have been a reader of Astounding Stories ever since you
started it, and I guess I'm getting too particular as I
don't get the kick out of it any more that I did out of the
first issues. That is, I don't get the kick out of ALL of
the stories as I did at first. However, "Murder Madness"
sure is a hot one. Why not print a story by Sax Rohmer, H.
G. Wells, or some of them?--H. Elsworth Jones, Box 340, R.
R. 6, Battle Creek, Mich.

_Via Postcard_

Dear Editor:

Astounding Stories is an astounding magazine. It has really
astounding stories. It couldn't be better. There's hardly
room for improvement. May Astounding Stories be more
astounding yet. I like it!--Monroe Hood Stinson, 1742, 12th
Ave., Oakland, California.

_Only Fiction!_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished a story in the February, 1930, issue of
Astounding Stories entitled "Into Space," by Sterner St.
Paul.

I would like to know if it is a true story, if the actions
described in it really happened, or is it merely a story of
fiction.--Dan S. Scherrer, Shawneetown, Ill.

_Perhaps--Soon_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished reading your new magazine, Astounding
Stories. It is the best magazine I have ever read. Keep up
the good work and you will find me a constant reader. I have
only one suggestion to make: Let Astounding Stories come out
every other Thursday.--Harold Kulko, 433 Palmer E., Detroit,
Michigan.

_More Preferences_

Dear Editor:

I have read with great interest the second issue of
Astounding Stories and note your invitation for readers to
express themselves.

I enjoyed the whole magazine, finding the literary quality
surprisingly high. Especially good were "Spawn of the
Stars," and "Creatures of the Light." Harl Vincent's tale
was the best of his I have read; and Captain Meek's are
always good. "The Corpse on the Grating," however, was
merely Poe's "Fall of the House of Usher" done over, and not
half so well.

As for the sort of tales I like, here they are in order of
preference:

1. Tales of weird mystery--Merritt's "Moon Pool" and his
others; Taine's "White Lily."

2. Interplanetary Adventure--"A Columbus of Space," by
Serviss; "The Skylark of Space," by Smith.

3. "Different stories," that defy classification, based on
new ideas of science--most of Wells' short stories are
examples. 4. Detective, Fourth Dimension, and air
adventure--only well done.--Jack Williamson, Box 661 Canyon,
Texas.

_A Brick or Two_

Dear Editor:

For the last three years we have been reading any and all of
the various Science Fiction magazines which have appeared
upon the market. We therefore feel that we are as well
qualified as anyone to offer the criticism and advice that
follows.

First, the stories. We feel that it would be a good idea to
get your stories from the same authors whose work has been
and is being accepted by the other magazines in this field.
In one case you have already done this, and I consider his
stories to be the best in each issue. I believe that you
will be forced to do this eventually, anyhow, because the
people who read this magazine will naturally be readers of
the others also, and will therefore, be used to the
standards set by those publications. Then, you should have
someone who is well qualified to pass upon the science in
the stories.

Second, the cover design and the pictures at the beginning
of each story. Up to this time the cover and inside pictures
have contained many mistakes. The cover of the March issue
was especially atrocious. In the first place a voyager in
outer space would find it jet black and studded with stars,
instead of blue and apparently empty, except for a few
tremendously oversize planets, a moon with entirely too many
craters, and a total eclipse of the sun with a very much
distorted corona visible beside the earth. Illustrations by
your cover artist also appear in another publication, but
these are much superior to the ones in Astounding Stories.
Here also a scientific advisor would be welcome.

Third, I think it would be a good idea to have a department
in which readers could write their opinions of the stories
and suggest improvements in the conduct of the magazine.

Fourth, I think there should be a scientific editorial in
each issue by some eminent scientist. This is also a feature
in the other magazines.

We hope that you take these criticisms and suggestions, as
they were offered, in good faith. We also hope that the
circulation will increase as the magazine becomes
better.--George L. Williams and Harry Heillisan, 5714 Howe
St., Pittsburgh, Pa.

"_Wonderful_"

Dear Editor:

I received your magazine last week, Astounding Stories, and
I think it is wonderful. I am very glad that I subscribed
for it. I can hardly wait to get the latest one which I
hoped to receive to-day and was very much disappointed when
it did not arrive. I hope you will consider a quarterly or
at least an annual in the near future.

I wish you success with this magazine, and hope you will
forgive my writing you so often in reference to your
magazine--Louis Wentzler, 1935, Woodbine St., Brooklyn, New
York.

--_But We Made Our Bow Only Last January!_

Dear Editor:

Last month my boy brought one copy of this magazine home,
and I want to ask you if you would send me the copies from
last January, 1929, up to December, 1929. If you charge no
more than $3.00 would you send them C. O. D.? Do you have
the issues for 1928, too?

I never knew there was a magazine like that on the market. I
never bought one because most of them are no good, and when
one has children one has to be doubly careful.

But this magazine is just right. No silly love stories and
mushy stuff in them. It sure keeps your mind from unpleasant
things. We can get them from the newsstand but I would like
to subscribe for them.

Keep up the good work and please send me the last year's
copies and let me know if I could get 1928, too.--Mrs. M.
Ristan, 4684, No. Broadway, Denver, Colorado.

"_Best One Yet_"

Dear Editor:

The April issue is the best one you have put out yet. Arthur
J. Burks is GOOD. I hope to see much of him in the future.
"Brigands of the Moon," by Ray Cummings, is getting better
with each instalment. The stories of Dr. Bird are always
interesting. I would like to see one in each issue, if you
could arrange for it.

As long as the other readers like the size of Astounding
stories, I will, too, but please cut all edges smooth like
the latest issue of Five Novels Monthly. I would like to see
a full-page illustration with each story, and if possible by
Wesso.

I am glad that you are starting another serial in the May
issue of Astounding Stories. I like serials and I hope that
you will always have two in each issue.

Your schedule for the May issue looks good, and I'm sure it
will be, with such authors as Murray Leinster, Victor
Rousseau, Ray Cummings, Harl Vincent and Sewell P. Wright.

I am still waiting for a different colored cover.--Jack
Darrow, 4225, N. Spaulding Ave., Chicago, Illinois.

_An Enthusiastic Reader_

Dear Editor:

As a reader of long standing of Science Fiction I feel I am
qualified to make some remarks and give my opinion of the
wonderful Astounding Stories magazine lately put out.
Although I read three other Science Fiction magazines none
of them have aroused in me such a wonderful enthusiasm as
Astounding Stories. Before I forget it I want to mention
that I read two quarterlies also.

The reason, or rather reasons, for my enthusiasm I will now
enumerate. (1) The stories are wonderful. (2) The binding is
very strong and efficient. (3) The print is just right, and
soothing to the eyes of one who reads much. The paper is
good, and the size and price of the magazine is just right.
The covers are excellent, and with the addition of "The
Readers' Corner" the magazine becomes absolutely perfect.
Truly a wonderful start. See that it is kept up. The only
thing that can still spoil the magazine is poor stories.
Science Fiction stories that contain no science.

In "Vampires of Venus" the plot was rather weak. Even if the
Venerians knew nothing of entomology, they should have
brains enough to get rid of the vampires the way Leslie
Larner did without having to call an Earthman to help them.
Another thing: the Venerians kept only insects that were not
harmful to the crops. On Earth there are such insects who
help the farmer by eating harmful insects. If the harmful
insects were exterminated--an almost impossible and gigantic
task--the harmless insects would change their diet and
become harmful too. And it seems funny, too, that such a
highly civilized planet as Venus should still depend on
domesticated animals for food, drink and clothing instead of
manufacturing what they need synthetically.

The April cover on your magazine was wonderful.

Before I close I wish to say a word about the Science
Correspondence Club of which I am a proud member. There is
little to say, however, after reading Conrad Ruppert's
letter in the April issue. The membership has increased to
over 300 now, numbering among them quite a number of famous
scientists and authors. All I can say is that I hope every
scientifically inclined person of whatever nationality,
creed, color or sex they may be, will join this wonderful
and rapidly progressing club. I will now close thanking the
publishers of Astounding Stories for issuing such a
wonderful magazine--Stan Osowski, E2, Railroad St., Central
Falls, R. I.

_But--Conniston Was An Impostor!_

Dear Editor:

I read with interest Mr. Ray Cummings' story, "Brigands of
the Moon," in the March number of Astounding Stories. The
tale was a worthy one from the pen of so clever a writer. I
do think, however, that the author might have left out the
point about Sir Arthur Conniston, an English gentleman,
turning traitor. This sort of thing is hardly calculated to
bring about a friendly feeling between England and America,
the two greatest countries in the world. I have the greatest
admiration for the United States, and though we may have a
little fun at each other's expense, there is no ill feeling
meant, but I really hope you will not publish any other
story like that one.--An Englishman, Montreal, Canada.

_Likes the Romance_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished my second copy of Astounding Stories
and I wish to say I have enjoyed every story.

For some time I have been a reader of Science Fiction, but
none will compare to Astounding Stories. These stories seem
to have the proper amount of romance in them to make them
really interesting, and it adds the proper touch.

I have no criticism to make. May I wish you a great success
with this magazine--Frank I. Sontag, 825 Prescott Ave.,
Scranton, Pa.

_High Praise_

Dear Editor:

Allow me to congratulate you upon the establishment of "The
Readers' Corner." I do not know which was the first issue of
your delightful magazine, but I have been buying it
regularly for quite a few months.

I may not be an experienced critic, but it can be easily
seen by anyone that this magazine is one of the best on
sale. I, for one, enjoy your stories more than any other
stories I have ever read.

I have just finished the second part of the four-part serial
entitled "Brigands of the Moon." I thing Ray Cummings is the
best author I have ever met up with in stories. The drawings
are fine, the print is excellent, but I think the paper
could be improved. But by no means change the size of your
little magazine. The size is just right.

In your April issue I read in "The Readers' Corner" about a
Science Correspondence Club. Believe me when I say I'm
sending immediately for an application blank. I think the
idea of this club is excellent.

Truly you have contributed a great gift to Science Fiction
readers in offering this magazine to the receptive
public.--Theodore L. Page, 2361 Los Angeles Ave.,
Pittsburgh, Pa.

"_Don't Do It!_"

Dear Editor:

This afternoon I saw Astounding Stories for the first time
and immediately grabbed a copy, as I have read others of the
Clayton group, and moreover am a Science Fiction fan.

The newsstand has no back numbers, and I simply must have
the March 1930 issue, as I wish to read "Brigands of the
Moon," so here is 25¢, in stamps to cover purchase price and
cost of mailing me a copy of that issue.

Have you a complete file since Vol. 1, No. 1? If so, what is
the cost including charges? I'm sorry that I missed this
magazine before, but you can rest assured that I'll miss no
more.

In the "Readers' Corner" I notice a call from Stephen Takacs
for a change in size. DON'T DO IT! The size and shape are O.
K., and to make it the awkward size of most magazines
(including two of the Science Fiction magazines that I am
now a confirmed reader of), would not improve it a bit.

You have two of my favorite authors in the April number; no,
I see it is three--Burks, Cummings and Meek. They are O. K.,
but don't forget a few others, such as Burroughs, Verrill,
Hamilton, Coblentz, Keller, Quinn, Williamson, Leinster,
Repp, Vincent, Flagg--oh, why continue; you certainly know
all the good authors of OUR kind of fiction; try them all.
Of course, the other Science Fiction magazines that I take
are full of stories by my favorites, but you can get stories
by them too.

From this one issue that I have read I can see only praise
for your publication. Here's to a long life and a happy one.

Don't forget to send me the March issue as fast as the mail
can get it here--Robert J. Hyatt, 1353 Kenyon St., N. W.,
Washington D. C.

"_Worst Ever Read_"

Dear Editor:

Since you invite criticism as well as praise, I am impelled
to state that by far the worst story I ever read in any
Science Fiction magazine was "Vampires of Venus," by Anthony
Pelcher, which appeared in your April issue. It was so
idiotic, so flat and inane, that it might have passed for a
burlesque rather than a straight story, were it not
painfully evident that the author was serious. The yarn was
unworthy of Astounding Stories and did not belong in this
magazine.

The other stories, except for an amateurish attempt called
"The Man Who Was Dead," were deeply engrossing and of
unusual merit.--Sears Langell, 1214 Boston Road, New York.

"_The Readers' Corner_"

All Readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everything that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.

Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this is a department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make full use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses, brickbats, suggestions--everything's welcome here; so "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!

--_The Editor._

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