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Consternation, awe, flashed into the brutal faces of the Easterners. Jung Sin reeled back, his saffron hands rising. Allan’s weapon swept slowly along the line of staring men. “If one of you moves I flash.”

He bent to the girl, keeping his eyes on the Easterners, and his weapon steady. He had hung the wire coil over his shoulder, leaving his left hand free to fumble for and untie the cords around Naomi’s wrists. He got them loose.

“Can you get your feet free, Naomi?”

“Yes, I can manage it.” Her voice was steady, but there was a great thankfulness vibrant in it.

“Then do it and get out on the ledge. Quick.” He straightened, and the blaze of his eyes held the yellow men, and the black, motionless.

Naomi, at the window behind him, gasped. “I know it looks tough,” he encouraged her, “but you can make it. Don’t look down. Go to the left. And keep clear of that wire.”

“I’m all right, Allan. But you–“

“Never mind about me. Go ahead.”

Jung Sin jerked forward, driven by the madness that twisted his face into gargoyle hideousness. But Allan’s ray-gun stabbed at him, and he halted.

“I’m out, Allan.”

Dane’s foot felt back of him for the sill, found it. He lifted, facing his enemies inexorably, caught the lintel with his left hand, and was crouching outside. A sidewise flick of his eyes showed Naomi just reaching the other window.

He pulled at the wire till it was gently taut. A moment’s compunction rose in him at what he was about to do. Then the black roll of the Easterners’ crimes rushed into his mind. Naomi’s safety, his own, and that of the little colony that had endured so much to preserve humanity, cried out for their extinction. Allan jerked the metal thread, and the faucet nozzle in the corridor opened.

A black stream gushed forward, reached the fire, and the room was a roaring furnace. Allan saw the forms of his enemies silhouetted against the blaze for a fleeting instant, then they were flaming statues. One only, Jung Sin, nearer than the rest, leaped for the window and escaped the first gush of flame. Allan pressed the trigger of his ray-gun. But no blue flash answered that pressure. The weapon’s charge had leaked out, was gone!

* * * * *

Allan tore himself loose from yellow hands that clutched at him, his fist crashed into Jung Sin’s fear twisted visage, and the crazed Oriental fell back into the roaring blaze.

But Allan himself was thrust backward by that blow, was swaying on the very edge of the chasm. His hand went out for a saving hold on the window sash; flame licked at it. He was toppling, against the strain of his body muscles to resist the inevitable fall, and death reached up from depths for him. Then an arm was around him, was drawing him back to life. Naomi had darted back, defying the terror of that height, the surge of heat. She had reached him just in time–a split-second later and his weight would have been too much for her puny strength. But in this instant, the merest touch was enough to save him. They crept along the ledge and climbed wearily in.

There was another plane in the hangar, and presently Allan had it rising through the well into clean, free air. He turned to the girl in the seat beside him and pointed at the scene they were leaving.

“Look,” he said.

The city was in darkness beneath them, save for the one staring rectangle that marked a pyre. But dawn shimmered opalescent in the east.

A soft white hand crept into Allan’s. There was a long moment of silence. Then Allan said, softly: “A new day, and a new world for their children.”

A sleepy, tired voice sighed: “For their children and ours, Allan.”