He almost fainted from relief. He had expected the aliens—and it was only the landlady. Cautiously, he threw open the door.

"Yes?"

"Have you heard, Mr. Haverford? About the invasion, I mean?"

"Yes, I've heard. What of it?"

"I just thought I'd tell you," she said, shrugging. "I know you don't go out much or read the papers, and I thought maybe—"

"I've heard over the radio," he told her stiffly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No—not at all."

"Very well, then. If anyone comes to see me, you can tell them I'm not looking for visitors."

"Yes, Mr. Haverford."

She disappeared into the darkness of the corridor. Haverford slammed the door, shot the bolt home, nailed it fast. So far as the outside world was concerned, he was as good as dead.

He set to work sealing himself in.

Two days passed—two days in which gradually, one by one, his contacts here and there over the globe were silenced. Bentham had gone first, then Bartirone. His two Japanese friends were gone now too; the Orient was overrun by the invaders. South America as well.

Word was coming from the States of alien advances. New York was in Lanthaii hands, and no broadcasts were being made from there. The United Nations delegates had fled to an unnamed city and were continuing to talk—to discuss the situation, no doubt, Haverford thought bitterly.

But talk would do no good. Soon the entire world would be in alien hands, and there would be no stopping them. None at all.

Texas went. Oregon. The aliens were obviously working their way toward the center of North America: so far Chicago had reported no alien attacks, but United States forces in the seacoast states had been driven back.

Haverford ate his frozen foods sparingly, and spent long hours at the radio.

One by one his contacts were snuffed out. He ran down the lists in his code book, calling people he hadn't buzzed in years, just trying to 

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