crowd went wild and charged.

Before Jonathan could make a move to save him, Tom was dragged from the bench. A scream rang out. A black arm reached upward. Then there was only a sound such as pigs make at a trough.

Life, which before had seemed so bitter and worthless, became suddenly sweet to Jonathan. The factory had turned into a howling madhouse, but behind him was the entrance to the mine! He leaped through it and sprinted down the black tunnel.

When he recovered from his hysteria, Jonathan found himself hopelessly lost in a maze of parallels. Controlling his nerves by sheer will power, he crouched in the pitch darkness and waited. Would they forget him? The blood-lust he had seen on those half-animal faces did not reassure him.

He listened ... and could hear nothing but the blood drumming in his ears. Now that it was too late, he realized that he had gone about the whole thing clumsily ... in the outmoded swashbuckling, Empire building fashion. He had tried to do, in a few weeks, a job which required years ... decades ... perhaps a lifetime. He should have started by winning Jock's confidence ... or, if that couldn't be done, he should have killed the monster outright. Without Jock's influence the others might well return to sanity in a short time.

Might what? He shook his head to clear his wandering thoughts. The heavy, gaseous air was choking him. His mouth had become dry and gluey. Red spots danced before his eyes.

What was that? He leaped to his feet, remembering that the miners needed light. A pebble, dislodged by his movement, rattled down the wall with a sound like thunder. Then he laughed shakily. The sound he had heard was the far distant flapping of the factory belt. They had turned on the machinery.

A long time later he thought he heard another sound. Nearer this time! He pressed his knuckles against his lips to keep from screaming. He turned to run. But where? The sound had come again. On the other side now, it seemed.

He picked up a piece of rock and hurled it with all his force.

Nothing! Or was that the echo of a maniac laugh.

"Get away, you hairy devil," he yelled. "I have a gun here."

No answer. Yet the blackness was peopled with horrors. Was he going crazy? He mustn't give 'way. Britishers have been in more 

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