are watching the streets like a pack of hounds since the theft of the Princess’ jewels."
Hardesty said staunchly, "They can’t blame that on us. We were all at work when it happened. Still…I’d like to know who did it. I’d like to know what became of them, too. Disappeared into thin air, the Princess claimed—"
"The jewels," said a familiar voice, "have been distributed where they will do the most good. Their wealth has been converted into food to fill the bellies of those who hunger. "
All occupants of the refuge spun as one, seeking in vain the speaker. Neil Hardesty cried:
"Dirk! Then Brian was right! But…where are you?"
The voice from nowhere chuckled.
"That is what Garroway would like to know. I am beside you, Neil. Reach out your hand."
Hardesty did so. Briefly he felt a strange, warm tingling…then his hand met and gripped the hand of Morris. Tears sprang to the Group leader’s eyes. He choked, "Dirk! Thank the gods you have returned! We thought you were—"
He hesitated over the word. Morris supplied it.
"Dead? I am, Neil…so far as you are concerned."
All members of the listening party stirred uneasily. Vurrth grunted, and Brian Shaughnessey husked, "You see? I guessed it. A ghost—"
"That’s right," laughed Morris in most unwraithlike tones. "A ghost. A galactic ghost…free to roam the System without hindrance or bar. Fleshless at will…but with a body if I so desire."
"You…you mean," choked Neil, "you can make yourself visible if you wish?"
"Not visible to your eyes, no. But I can render myself solid when it is necessary to do so. It was thus—" Morris laughed—"I stole the tax-collector’s gleanings and the Princess Lenore’s jewels. Thus, too, I helped Brian destroy the munitions dump."
"I’m afraid," said Hardesty humbly, "I’m afraid I do not understand, Dirk. You are fleshless…yet you can make your body solid. You are alive, yet you call yourself ‘dead so far as we are concerned.’ What does it mean?"
"I’m not sure," answered Morris, "that I understand it myself, completely. But here is the explanation as it was told me—"
*
He told them, then, of that which had followed his "execution" in the teleport. Of his meeting with Ptan Slador and Rima, and that which had transpired between them. To a group such as this, untutored and unlettered, it was vain to speak in technical language; he told his story as simply as possible.
"—thus," he concluded, "though the laws of Nadron forbid our using that adjacent world as a gathering-spot for our forces, the Ptan Slador and his fellows are sympathetic to our cause. They, therefore, instructed me in the use of their visor, as well as in the employment of certain strange faculties developed in me by my passage through the teleport.
"I am, you see, no longer simply a man of Earth, but a creature of two worlds. Through the machination of the teleport, my atomic vibration was altered to that of Nadron’s galactic universe. But in the greater continuum of Space-Time, there remains a life-path which is mine, and typically mine.
"To this ineradicable life-path I am always free to return. Could you see me, you would note that I wear two odd bits of apparel. One, a pair of visor-spectacles secured to my eyes; the second, a force-belt which enables me to give my invisible body substance when such is needed.
"To reach any given spot on Earth, I have but to go to its matching spot on Nadron, then turn the stud upon the force-belt. This sends a magnetic flux through my body, diverting it from Nadron’s vibration to that of Earth…and placing me on my home planet. But as for visibility—" He shook his head sadly—"that I can never be again…to you. There are limits to the diversion of matter. My only real existence now is upon Nadron; my visits to Earth can be made only as a tangible and vengeful wraith."
"Then we can never see you again, Dirk?"
"Not on Earth. On Nadron, perhaps. The Ptan Slador has promised that when we have rid Earth of its tyrant, intercourse may be opened between our two worlds. Not before, though." Dirk pondered briefly. "There is one other way," he said. "A way which I did not know of myself until a few hours ago. But I shall not mention it, even to you. It was an accident which happened in the Princess’ boudoir. I must ask the Ptan about it when next I see him. Meanwhile—"
"Yes?" said Brian eagerly. "What do we do, Dirk?"
"You," ordered Morris sternly, "get out of sight and lay low! All of you! The incidents which have occurred today are but a mild beginning to what is to come. There is about to burst loose a reign of terror such as Graed Garroway in the depth of his infamy never dreamed possible…and I am its originator!
"When this begins, Garroway’s first logical move will be to herd all known living members of the Group together for questioning. You know the manner of his interrogation. You must be spared the pleasures of his rack and brand.
"So…hide! Go where you can, as swiftly as you can, and forget you have heard from me. But spread the word to all freedom-loving men that the time approaches when Earth and the solar system will rid itself of Garroway’s shackles. You can do this from concealment?"
"We can," said Hardesty eagerly. "We can and will, Dirk. The hearts of millions are with us. If you will but tell us when and where to strike."
"You will be told from time to time. When word does not come, you will know to strike where a weakness has been driven in the enemy’s defenses."
The voice of Dirk Morris was not pleasant now. It rang with the bitter hardness of forged steel.
"I will strike Garroway hard, and often, and everywhere! Where least he expects attack, there will I strike him. His armies will be robbed of leaders, stores, strongholds. I will make Earth a boiling hell for him. And when Earth becomes too hot a cauldron for his tasting, to the far planets of the System I will pursue him inexorably. This I vow by the bond of comradeship we have pledged!"
Hardesty asked, "Far planets, Dirk? You can leave Nadron, then?"
"Yes. There is no time for further explanation now, though. You must get into hiding immediately. For tonight begins the vengeance we have so long waited. Until happier days, then, my friends—"
The voice dimmed with the final words. An electric tenseness left the air, and somehow the assembled listeners knew their visitor had gone. Neil Hardesty shook himself.
"Goodbye, Dirk, and…good luck!"
Then, to his companions, "Well…that’s all. Now we know what to expect. Come on…let’s get going! There’s a lot of work ahead of us, as well as Morris."
*
Already back on the fair soil of Nadron, Dirk Morris had retraced his wanderings to the home of the Ptan Slador. He approached its "doorway," marveling again—as he had when first the Ptan revealed the entrance to his domicile—at the ease with which the portal merged itself into the surrounding landscape.
Homes on Nadron, Dirk had learned, were underground! That was why the eye beheld nothing but the beauties of nature when the horizon was scanned. The functions of living were carried on in cleverly constructed subterranean dwelling-places, leaving the entire surface of the planet a playground for the pastoral race.
The Ptan was awaiting his return, eager curiosity in his eyes. He looked up as Morris entered.
"Well, my friend?" he asked.
Dirk smiled grimly.
"Very!" he replied. "It has been a day Graed Garroway will long remember…if I give him a chance to do so."
"Your plans were successful?"
"Perfectly. I assisted one of my erstwhile comrades in the destruction of a vital munitions storehouse, robbed a tax collector of his monies and the Emperor’s own daughter of her jewels, and distributed these where