of the Atlantean race whom Quorne had brought to Earth with him.
“You rang, excellency?” he asked, still clinging to the designation Quorne had borne on Jupiter.
“Yes. I’ve verified a suspicion of mine, Nalgo, and I think you should know it. It was not the real Archbishop of Canterbury who married the Golden Amazon and his ex-highness yesterday. It was a synthetic image. This morning I viewed the archbishop as he lay in state after his sudden demise yesterday. I chose an opportune moment to remove a sample of his skin from the fingertip—and my analysis in the laboratory satisfies me that he was never a real human being.
“The Golden Amazon created that archbishop from the original and held him by her mind until she was too far away to do it any longer. Then he collapsed and ‘died’.”
“Might I ask, excellency, why she did this?”
Quorne smiled slightly. “I have never succeeded in divining the intentions of the Golden Amazon, Nalgo—nor, for that matter, do I particularly want to. All we know is that her marriage is not legal, which will probably distress his ex-highness quite a lot if and when he learns of it. However, the interesting thing to us is that we now have a lever by which we can perhaps win popular favour. Suppose I stepped into the scene and brought this archbishop back to life? What would the people think of that?”
“Excellent idea, sir—but do you know where he is?”
“Yes. From the constitution of the synthetic image—which is exact in every detail with its original pattern—it was possible for me to mathematically determine the archbishop’s aura number. After that, the compass showed me where he is. The Amazon has no longer a monopoly over an aura compass, Nalgo. The archbishop is still alive and being kept a prisoner in a lonely house in Cornwall. I assume that several of the Amazon’s most trusted confidants are keeping watch over him.”
“She has taken a risk doing that, excellency. If he should escape, her whole subterfuge will be exposed.”
Quorne shrugged. “Obviously she had some reason for keeping him alive, because she knows the image must ‘die’ with her influence removed. Maybe she even planned as we are planning to restore him from apparent death and strengthen her hold on the imagination of the people. That is by the way: we are going to act while she is away. According to her public announcement, she will not return for two months. We can do much in that time.”
Nalgo asked: “Am I to assume, excellency, that having failed to achieve dominance over the race by destroying the females, you now intend to turn this planet into a scientific workshop for the conquest of the Solar System—and later the Universe?”
Quorne nodded. “We come from a race who hold power above everything, Nalgo. We have knowledge beyond anything these Earth fools ever heard of. We can dominate this planet by the science we possess. Tonight we will rescue the archbishop.”
“Yes, excellency. And then what? The synthetic body is guarded night and day, and will be until the funeral. How do you propose to—“
“We have weapons, Nalgo, which can reduce those guards to suspended animation, their faculties moving so slowly they will have no idea of what is going on around them, and no remembrance of anything when they recover. The body will still be there, but it will be the real one, sleeping, until I am ready to ‘restore’ it. Yes, indeed, I can imagine how these Earth fools will worship it. Anything a little beyond their imagination they call a miracle. They have no scientific intelligence whatever, Nalgo.”
Nalgo nodded. Whatever Sefner Quorne said was law—with good reason. Quorne’s knowledge of science bordered on the uncanny.
“We have much to do,” Quorne said, rising. “You had better come down to the laboratory with me.”
Thus began Quorne’s plan. At nightfall he and Nalgo, armed with queer weapons, drove to Cornwall, guided by the unerring aura-compass, which showed exactly where the missing archbishop was to be found.
The minions of the Amazon guarding the archbishop stood no chance against the sudden electrical onslaught that hit them. One minute they were aware of Quorne and Nalgo making entry into the lonely house; the next they were dead. The archbishop, unharmed, sat in the big main room of the house, gazing blankly at the two men who had wrought such havoc in a few seconds.
“We are friends, Dr. Cranton,” Quorne said. “I much regret this violent intrusion, but it was necessary in order to effect your rescue.”
“Murder is never necessary,” the archbishop retorted.
“You have been the captive of the Golden Amazon. Were you aware of that?”
“Certainly. She informed me that I was in some danger and so transferred me here. Knowing Miss Brant as I do, I am sure her methods were justified.”
“Many things have happened while you have been in captivity,” Quorne murmured, realizing the archbishop had been duplicated without his knowledge. “I shall now escort you back to London.”
The archbishop rose, frowning. “Who are you?”
“My name is Jeffrey Carshaw,” Quorne lied. “Your abduction has been a source of worry to me, hence my decision to rescue you. That these guardian murderers have been killed in the process I regard as irrelevant.”
“And I repeat that—”
“Quite,” Quorne broke in. Then his right hand suddenly came out of his pocket and fired a blunt-nosed instrument. The archbishop found himself enveloped in a pale blue powder, which gravitated toward and settled upon him in a curious fashion.
“Asleep?” Nalgo asked presently, as Dr. Cranton became motionless.
“Atomic dust has many uses, Nalgo,” Quorne answered. “He will not revive until I wish it. When he does, he will not remember what has happened here. Now, bring him out to the car.”
Nalgo moved forward, lifted the motionless body on to his shoulder, then followed Sefner Quorne outdoors. The hardest part of the job had been accomplished. To deal with the men who were guarding the synthetic body in the Abbey would be child’s play. Ahead of him Sefner Quorne saw his master plan unfolding.
* * * *
The Amazon gradually moved, the tips of her fingers rubbing along the cold metal floor. A gradual tide crept over her numbed limbs, the slow return of life after many hours of complete unconsciousness.
She sat up, frowned. Gradually she remembered. The sudden whirlwind acceleration, her inability to stop it, the force that had crushed her into insensibility. Her eyes strayed to the chronometer. It had stopped under the strain.
She got on her feet, swayed dizzily for a moment, then had control of herself. The normal light had expired and the emergency circuit had come into operation. The drone of the power plant had stopped. She went over to it, her face grim. Every trace of the copper blocks, whose atomic energy provided the driving force, had gone from between the massive jaws. As each block had been converted to energy, automatic mechanisms had inserted a fresh block into place, until all the fuel had been exhausted. Then, when all the blocks had been entirely converted into energy, the Ultra had achieved a constant velocity—yet it seemed motionless to the Amazon. As acceleration had decreased to zero she had recovered.
She hurried to the outlook port and contemplated
