"But you told Kessler he was probably miles away!" said Beatrice.
"I did. Because I knew Kessler's character. If he knew the man who threatened him was in the building, he'd try to do something like organizing a raid. Fancy a police raid against Doctor Satan! So I lied and said he was probably a long distance off." Keane sighed. "I'm afraid the lie was valueless. I can foretell pretty precisely what Kessler will do. He will have an army of men scattered through the building tonight, in spite of what I said. He will attempt to trace Doctor Satan through collection of the checks—and he will die."
Beatrice shuddered. "By burning? What a horrible way to"
She stopped.
"What is it?” said Keane urgently, at the strained expression that suddenly molded her face.
"Nothing, I guess," replied Beatrice slowly. "Power of suggestion, I suppose. When I said 'burning' I seemed to feel hot all over, myself."
Keane sprang from his chair.
"My God—why didn't you tell me at once! I"
He stopped too, and his eyes narrowed to steely slits in his rugged face. Perspiration was studding his own forehead now.
"It's come!" he said. "The attack on us by Satan. But it wasn't wholly unexpected. The suitcase in the corner—get it and open it! Quickly!"
Beatrice started toward the suitcase, but stopped and pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Ascott—I'm . . . burning up. . . . I"
"Get that suitcase!"
Keane sprang to the desk and opened the wide lower drawer. He took a paper-wrapped parcel from it, ripped it open. An odd array was disclosed: two pairs of things like cloth slippers, two pairs of badly proportioned gloves, two small rounded sacks.
Beatrice was struggling with the snaps on the suitcase. Both were breathing heavily now, dragging their arms as if they weighed tons.
"Ascott—I can't stand it—I’m burning" panted the girl.
"You've got to stand it! Is the case open? Put on the smaller of the two garments there. Toss me the other."
The garments in question were two suits of unguessable material that were designed to fit tightly over a human body—an unclothed human body.
Beatrice tossed the larger of the two to Keane, who was divesting himself of his outer garments with rapid fingers.
"Ascott—I can't change into this—here before"
"Damn modesty!" grated Keane. "Get into those things! You hear! Quickly!"
Both were no longer perspiring. Their faces were dry, feverish. Heat was radiating from their bodies in a stifling stream.
Beatrice stood before Keane in the tight single garment that covered body and arms and legs.
"These gloves on your hands!" snapped Keane. "The sack over your head. The shoes on your feet!"
"Oh, God!" panted Beatrice.
Then she had done as Keane commanded. From soles to hair she was covered by the curious fabric Keane had devised. And the awful burning sensation was allayed.
There were eye-slits in the sacks each wore. They stared at each other with eyes that were wide with a close view of death. Then Beatrice sighed shudderingly.
"The same thing Varley and Croy went through?" she said.
"The same," said Keane. "Poor fel-
