diary that Lessman summoned me, for the book was in my pocket when I eventually found myself.
Of this, however, I have no memory. My first recollection is of floating through space on one of those strange exploring expeditions in the Great Beyond on which The Bodymaster so often sent me, several of which are described in my diary. Whether I was just returning, or was on my way, I do not know. I only recall that something seemed to be dragging me back—that my whole thought—if thought I could be said to have had—was to get back to my own body as soon as possible.
My next recollection is of being in the room with Lessman. My body lay back in an easy chair, cold, stark and deathlike. I attempted to enter it. But the will of Lessman held me back.
I could see, I could hear, yet I had no visibility. I was but a wraith—an ego as it were—a thought—a spirit—a vapor!
And I was controlled wholly by the brain of Lessman. Just as the invisible current sent out by a central station causes the tiny submarine miles away to hurl itself here and there, so was his magnetic brain master of my actions.
I knew then—or felt rather than knew. for I do not believe that a wraith is able to think—I felt that it was Lessman's will that I should never return to my body shell. Something—it was his thought—seemed to hurl me back into space. And at the same time another—an even stronger thought—seemed to hold me transfixed.
It was the will power that I had concentrated for weeks past, aided by the desire for help from Avis. Her whole being was calling out for me.
She was in the beast's arms. For once in his career his terrible will had no effect upon his victim. Her golden hair was torn from its coils and lay in a shimmering cloud about her shoulders. Her tiny fists beat a tattoo upon his face; his black, lustful eyes gazed, snakelike, into hers, seeking to charm her with their power.
It was awful! I knew that she was calling me—calling me with every bit of her being. And I was helpless, chained to the floor, unable to regain the cold form which was myself.
Suddenly. she tore herself from his grasp. Her clothing was hanging in shreds: across her cheek was an ugly scratch: upon one white, rounded arm stood a livid red welt where his cruel fingers had seized her. She was screaming madly. The furniture was overturned.
Now he had her cornered. But she fought herself away from him, striking him across the head with the leg of a chair that had been broken in the fray.
He pursued her across the room. . . . . Once more she was in his grasp. I could hear her breath come gaspingly as she put every ounce of her strength into a final effort to free herself. . . . .
The door opened. Meta entered. Her black eyes were blazing. Her mouth worked convulsively. She was a raging demon—a woman scorned—cast aside for another. Like a devil from hell, she threw herself into the fray. Lessman swept her aside with a single motion of his muscular arm.
For an instant she lay there stunned. . . . . She dragged herself to her knees, her lips mouthing curses. . . . . She half rose to her feet and staggered toward them as Lessman dragged his shrieking victim toward the door which led to the other room. He turned toward her, his fiery eyes snapping with uncontrolled anger.
For the moment I was forgotten. . . . . Something snapped. I found myself again within my own body, the lust for battle raging within me. . . . . Lessman, surrounded by his enemies, turned like a stag at bay. . . . . I felt the currents of his power-
