Murder can be committed with two hands very well, but with four it gives the killer quite a decided advantage indeed— CHAPTER I Warm Welcome AND what do you think of America?" asked Bill Stone, eagerly. "It surpasses my wildest expectations," answered the visitor. "You surpass mine," Stone grunted under his breath. Nevertheless, the reporter scribbled hastily. A knot of his fellow scribes crowded closer around the visitor, waving notebooks and craning necks in unison. "Do you plan a long stay?" "I have accepted the hospitality of Solar Foundation," the soft voice purred. "It is their intention to exchange information with me for a considerable period of time." "Fine. Say—how about some pictures?" It was the signal for clamor. The penthouse of Solar Foundation was filled with arms waving cameras and flash bulbs. "Very well." "Suppose you pose shaking hands with some of the guests?" "Just as you say." Bill Stone took charge. He faced the other end of the penthouse chamber, where scientists and savants stood waiting until the press had its will of their visitor. "Let's see, now." The reporter scanned faces, counted beards, squinted at bald heads. "Mr. Bennet, you'll pose, of course?" A bulky young man in a white laboratory apron rose heavily to his feet and smiled in assent. He elbowed his stout body through the crowd of news-hounds and took his place beside the visitor. "I don't suppose you'd object if we included Professor Champion in the same shot?" "Not at all." Bennet smiled at the scowling, bearded man who bustled towards him. "Hello, Butch," he said. The Director of the Champion Foundation favored the young head of the Solar Foundation with an intent stare in which all the hatred of his bitter rivalry shone. The reporter rattled off the names of the rest. "Changara Dass." A turbaned Hindu bowed low and approached. "Miss Valery." The smiling secretary of Solar took her place with a smile which caused several of the photographers to murmur, "Ah—cheesecake!" in a complimentary fashion. "O.K." said Stone. He turned to the visitor. "Now, if you'll just shake hands with all of them—" "All four at once?" "Certainly." Bill Stone turned again to the photographers at his side and exulted in low tones. "Boy, what a shot!" he whispered. "Never anything like it in the history of the world before. Imagine—the four biggest scientists in the world shaking hands with him. And at the same time, too!" IT was quite a scene at that. There stood the visitor—his four long arms extended from two sets of shoulder blades, his four bird-like claws grasping the hands of the scientists. The visitor's snouted pink face stared affably into the distinguished countenances. Stone's brain was already busy with captions and headlines. MAN IN THE MOON MEETS MORTALS VISITOR FROM VOID PROVES DOWN-TO-EARTH FELLOW LUNAR LUMINARY SHAKES WITH SCIENTISTS Why, the creature was almost human! True, it didn't look exactly like a man. Manlike body, yes—but with four arms. And the face was mostly nose; a mass of pinkish flesh with a slit mouth and two popping blue eyes. Despite this it had a voice of human pitch and timbre, it spoke English, and it certainly seemed at home here on earth. This, and the marvel of the spaceship in which it arrived certainly indicated a mentality equal to any human's. Stone was still lost in musing as the flashbulbs flickered. He was ready to resume the interview when the fat body of Stephen Bennet blocked him off. Young Bennet raised his arms and voice. "Quiet please, gentlemen. I feel our distinguished visitor has had enough excitement for the moment. He will be glad to receive the press again tomorrow. "At the moment I must insist that the reception proceed, so that he be given the opportunity to meet our guests. However, if you like, I'll issue a statement for the papers at this time." The great room was hushed as Stephen Bennet, Director of the Solar Foundation, faced his audience. "I wish my father were here today," said Bennet, softly. "It would have been the greatest triumph in a life filled with triumphs. "You all know the story of Avery Bennet. Solar Foundation was his achievement. He was a great scientist, a great pioneer, a great discoverer. We know that, now. "Yet forty years ago they thought him mad. The world forgot that he had tricked his financial backers into setting up this gigantic laboratory, that his plans for a flight to the moon were fantastic, impossible. When he announced the completion of his lunar surveys and the construction of the ship to undertake the first voyage, he was laughed at. "When he announced that he was taking a staff of research men with him, there was almost a court investigation. Finally, when my mother declared she'd acompany him, public indignation reached its peak. " 'The Mad Noah.' That's what they called my father. You all know the story of how he launched the flight in secrecy. You all know how the press jeered when he failed to return. "Only Changara Dass, here, believed. He was my father's friend. He fought to keep Solar Foundation legally in my father's name. He waited for a message, for pre-arranged signals that never came. "At the end of six years—but you know that story. The ship that came back; without my father, without the crew. The ship that plummeted to earth in Jersey. The ship in which I was born, en route from the Moon to Earth." HERE, Bennet cast a look of malice at bearded Professor Champion. "Yes, I was born there in space—when my father locked my mother into the compartments and set the controls to chart the voyage back to earth. "What became of him we have never been able to learn. What perils forced him to imprison my mother and send her back to the safety of earth? These questions have remained unanswered through the years. You know my mother died at my birth. It was Changara Dass who took me from that spaceship, reared me in the tradition of Solar Foundation. "For thirty-odd years we have waited here—waited while so-called scientists have jeered and sneered at the story. It was too fantastic for them to swallow. It was all a hoax, they claimed. My father had never reached the moon. He'd hidden out somewhere—sent the ship back to prove his wild story of a flight. For thirty-odd years we have endured these insinuations, endured the malicious libels of men like Professor Champion." Bennet cleared his throat. "My father's secrets, we thought, died with him. We had no access to his plans for constructing a new vessel. He sent back no charts, no journals, no vestige of proof or record of his discoveries. We could not answer our critics. We could only wait. "During those years I have had faith in my father. Changara Dass has had faith. We knew that sooner or later there would be proof forthcoming. "The years have been bitter. I will not hide the fact. The press has made a mockery of my own life. Called me `The Moon-calf.' Ridiculed the way I was educated here in the privacy of the Solar Foundation. Laughed at my habit of hiding from the world, carrying on astronomical and astrophysical research. "Now it is my turn to laugh. Three days ago, when the space-ship landed upstate, the world learned for the first time that my father's secrets had not died with him. That there was life on the moon—as he had always claimed. That this life possessed intelligence, that it had learned from him, worked with him, and created indisputable proof of its own. "Because when the space-ship was entered, we found—our visitor. "He is here today to tell the story to the world. And the world, laughing no longer, is waiting to hear him. "I need not impress you with the importance of this moment. For the world, it means the beginning of a new era in scientific achievement. For me, it means a little more." Bennet's voice softened. "It means that I shall learn at last the story of my father's flight—of his life, and his last days. It means that the name of Bennet will rise from ignominy to shine beside the stars." There was a murmur of excitement from the crowd. "Today you—the great scientific names of this world—are gathered here to meet a man from another world." Lila Valery stepped before the impassioned scientist and pressed his arm with a smile. "Stephen, dear, you're talking too much. Let's get on with the reception." "Guess you're right." Bennet waved his arm. "You'll find drinks at the end of the room. Shall we proceed with a little informal discussion and introductions?" CROWD murmurs swelled to conversational pitch. Bennet, Changara Dass, and Lila Valery moved towards the fleshy pink body of the lunar visitor. The scowling Professor Champion was already deep in conversation, his eyebrows wagging cynically, The pink snout of the visitor flashed up when Bennet neared. "I must see you at once. I have an urgent message for you. You are to come back with me, you know." "What's that?" Bennet gasped. "I cannot delay any longer. I had thought to humor you by attending this —reception, you call it?—and then leave. I see you have other ideas, so I must speak to you at once." "This sounds interesting." Professor Champion gazed intently at the fleshy countenance. But Bennet paled. "Perhaps, if it's so urgent, we'd best step into the other room for a moment. Dass, you come with me. And you, Lila." "Surely you wouldn't exclude a fellow-scientist from these revelations?" Champion's tone was mocking. Bennet gave him a long look. "Come along if you wish," he invited. They retreated discreetly to the doorway of an adjoining chamber. The lunar visitor shuffled along, waving his pinkish arms grotesquely. "All this noise—this excitement—it makes me cold. You know, Stephen." Bennet bit his lip. "Of course. I'd forgotten. Can I get you a cocktail?" "Cocktail?" "It contains alcohol. Warms the blood." "It's a cold drink, though," Lila interjected. "Yes—so it is. Better make it cocoa. Did you prepare some, Dass?" The aged Hindu nodded. "Get a cup and hurry." The turbaned savant withdrew hastily. They stood alone in the antechamber. "And now—" "Spill it, friend." The four-armed moon visitor turned. So did his companions. "How did you sneak in here?" Bennet angrily addressed Bill Stone. The young reporter faced him with a disarming grin. "It's my business to go after news. Something tells me there's plenty of it right in this room." "1 must ask you to leave at once. This is a private matter." "Please." The moon man quavered, hysteria droning through the queer, high-pitched voice. "All this excitement—I am getting so cold—so cold." The long arms were trembling now. The slick, poreless flesh was chafed, and the pinkish glow was queerly dull. "I forgot. Where's Dass with that cocoa?" Bennet made for the door, disappeared. Dass entered with the steaming cup a moment later. Bennet followed, grasped it hastily. "Here you are." "Wait—you're spilling it. Allow me." Champion, grinning in disdain at Ben-net's excitement, grasped the cocoa and offered it to the visitor. One of the four arms extended in a weaving, octopoidal pattern. The claw-like hand closed around the cup and the creature from the moon raised it to his lips, draining the steaming contents. A little sigh of satisfaction bubbled from the fleshy pink throat. Then came another sigh. It wasn't satisfaction. Four arms rose simultaneously. Four claws clutched at a convulsive neck. The tall body trembled in sudden revulsion. "Wait—what's wrong—" Lila Valery stepped forward to face the shuddering moon man, but it was too late for inquiry. With a shrill scream the lunar visitor fell and huddled in a writhing heap on the carpet. As the others watched, the pinkish flesh slowly faded to a dead rose colour, then turned silver as frost. In less than a minute the thing on the floor lay still. Still and— "Dead!" Changara Dass felt for a pulse forever stilled. "Dead and—cold." Champion drew his hand away from the neck with a shudder. "Cold as ice." "Oh!" Lila Valery hid her eyes with her hands. For the white body was quite silver now—silver and shining, like the moon that gave it birth. They stared. All but Bill Stone, the reporter. He made the door in three strides. "Got my story," he panted. "And what a story! THE MAN IN THE MOON IS—MURDERED!" CHAPTER II The Strangler from the Sky IT was Lila Valery who stopped Stone. The fact that the reporter allowed himself to be persuaded was a tribute to her eloquence—or perhaps to her brown eyes. "Don't you see?" the girl pleaded. "It would create a scandal that would ruin Solar Foundation. We can't let those people outside know." "Got to notify the police anyway," Stone argued. "Why? Are you sure it's murder? It might be shock—exhaustion—anything. You can't print such a story until you have proof." "But—" Champion intervened. "I think she's right. Let me go out and dismiss the guests. Tell them our visitor needs rest. Then when we're alone, I'll see to it that you get your story. I'm interested in going to the bottom of this affair myself. I'll take this cooca, with Bennet's permission, and analyze it for poison. You'll get your story, I promise you, and shortly." Champion flung a baleful glance at Stephen Bennet, who shrugged. "Go ahead," he mumbled. "Does that suit you, Stone?" The reporter answered, but he looked at Lila Valery. "I suppose it's worth waiting for." Champion stalked out. In a few moments he returned. "They're leaving," he announced. "Now, if you will excuse me for a few moments, I'll make use of your excellent laboratories, Mr. Bennet. Perhaps Changara Dass would accompany me to verify my report?" Dass rose silently. His brown hand closed around the cup. He scooped it from the floor where it had fallen. A few drops of brownish liquid still rested in the rounded side. Together the scientist and the savant departed. Stone, Lila, and Stephen Bennet remained. It was Stone who drew a couch-cover over the silent silver monstrosity on the floor. Bennet and the girl were, huddled in the corner. The stout young man was trembling as he rocked to and fro, head bowed. "Don't—Stephen," Lila whispered. "I can't help it," sighed Bennet. "Don't you realize what this means? Here, at the very moment of triumph, all that I've worked for and lived for has been snatched away. The clearing of my name, and my father's name. The research and knowledge that could have been ours. Gone now. Because he died before he could speak!" "Dou you think he was—murdered?" Lila whispered. "I don't know. I can't think. Dass carried the cocoa. I handled it. And Champion gave it to him. If it contained poison, we're the only suspects. And none of us has a motive." "Perhaps not." Stone thought aloud. "You haven't, Bennet. But Professor Champion is your rival, after all. He has been the chief critic of you and your father, and he is the head of the Champion Foundation." Surprisingly enough, Bennet bridled. His pudgy features creased indignantly. "Professor Champion, whatever his scientific attitude may be, is a man of unquestioned integrity. Certainly he would never be so foolhardy as to endanger his reputation by so clumsy a trick." "And this Changara Pass?" "Changara Dass is my friend, my father's friend. Today's success meant as much to him as it did to me." LILA VALERY rose and faced the reporter. "I think your hunch is wrong. Our lunar visitor had a chill. You heard him complain of the cold, didn't you? We don't know anything about the physiology of these creatures. Probably he succumbed to his seizure just as he drank the cocoa. I'm willing to wager that Dass and Champion find no trace of poison in that cocoa." "Right you are." Champion's booming voice rose as he entered the room, followed by the Hindu. He faced Stephen Bennet. "We found nothing, absolutely nothing," the Hindu added. His turbaned head nodded slowly as he bent over the cloth-covered object on the floor. "We shall, therefore, proceed with the autopsy at once." "Wait a minute." Bennet was on his feet. "Yes?" "Do you think it's really—necessary?" "If you don't do it, the coroner will." "But the law has no rights over a lunar inhabitant." "Stephen Bennet." The Hindu's voice was soft, grave. "I have known you all your life. Was I not as a father and mother to you?" "Yes, Changara Dass." "Have we not worked together, planned together for this day? Have we not dreamed of the heritage of wisdom which might be ours?" "True." Dass's eyes gleamed. "Today we have met seeming failure. Death has stilled the voice that could have told us all we wished to learn. But with an autopsy, we can perhaps cheat death." "How?" "We can study the physiology of our visitor. The structure, the mechanics of his anatomy. Even if we find no trace of poison, there are things we want to learn, you and I. Is that not true?" Bennet bit his lip. "Yes. You're right. Go ahead with it then, man—but don't talk about it. I don't like to hear you talk about it. I can't stand it." His voice rose, cracked. Lila Valery's arms soothed his huddled shoulders. Silently Dass stooped and gathered the limp, cold body of the moon man in his arms. The dangling silver arms hung bobbing from the folds of the cloth as he carried the corpse from the room. Lila turned to Stephen Bennet. "Lie down. Try to rest," she urged. "It will be an hour or so at least. We'll go down the hall." Champion cleared his throat. "Might as well stick here and see this thing through," he decided. "But I'm not going to sit around. I'm hungry. There's a table full of food in the next room, and that's where you'll find me." IN THE end it was Bill Stone who followed Lila Valery down the twilight-darkened hall to the office. He sat on the desk, swinging his legs, his blue eyes frankly appraising the girl in an admiring grin. "You seem to be the only cheerful person around here," the girl murmured. "This place is like a—" "Morgue," Stone finished for her. "That's what it is, with bodies being dissected, and all the trimmings." "Please, let's not talk about it," Lila whispered. "I'm worried." "Bennet?" "Yes. He's so upset about this thing." "He'll sleep it off and forget it." Stone smiled. "You must be very fond of him—covering him up and everything. Maternal instinct?" "We're engaged." Her voice was low. "Oh. I understand." "Stephen's a brilliant man. But he has to be watched over, always. Changara Dass is like a nursemaid to him. Humors him. Because he isn't like the rest of us, you see." "No, I don't see, exactly." "Well, you heard what he said today about his father—Avery Bennet, who founded Solar, and made the moon voyage. How his mother went along, and how Stephen was born out there in space on the way back. "Stephen has never forgotten his heritage. Never forgotten that he's—well, an outsider, really. Sometimes I think he's really alien to this world at heart. "You know, he's never left this Foundation since he came here?" "Really?" "Changara Dass brought him up. He had a private tutor. He lives here in his own apartments, refuses to go outside. His childhood was hardly—normal. All his life he's hated the world for what it did to his father. He shuns people. Stephen has worked and waited only for the day when proof of his father's discovery would be forthcoming. Not until then, he swore, would he enter the outside world." "You mean he doesn't even go out of the building for a shave?" Stone asked, incredulously. "No. Even the tailors come here for his fittings. He's a recluse. Or was, until I met him. I've tried to wean him away from these eccentricities of his. I think I've succeeded, a little. But even though we're engaged, I sometimes feel that he resents me. He gets these bitter moods and I don't understand him. Oh, but why should I tell you this—" "It's been very interesting," Stone protested. "Very. But tell me—what abdut the landing of this space-ship and our late lunar friend? Just what did Bennet expect to learn from all this?" "I don't know, exactly. When the ship came down, three days ago, he and Changara Dass were as surprised as the rest of the world. When they found this creature inside and it asked at once to be taken to Solar Foundation, Stephen knew that it was the expected proof from his father at last. "He told me that it meant a complete vindication of everything he'd claimed. That his father had discovered life on the moon, that he had probably lived on up there for a long time—long enough to establish communication and interchange knowledge with the lunar inhabitants. "Naturally, all this was conjecture. Stephen hoped that the moon man would possess complete information—tell him of Avery Bennet's life and fate, and exchange data. The moon man asked to be brought here to Solar Foundation, as you know; asked for Stephen Bennet, and refused to divulge anything to anyone else." "In other words, he made the voyage especially to see Bennet?" "Yes." STONE pursed his lips. "Miss Valery—Lila—do you recall what the moon man said when we went into the private room? About some message he had for Stephen—about wanting him to come back?" "That's right." "Did he mean that he wanted Stephen Bennet to return to the moon with him?" "I don't know. He did say something like that, didn't he?" "I wonder why." "Perhaps he had news of his father." "Perhaps." Bill Stone dismissed the notion momentarily. He rose, wiped his forehead. "Whew! Don't see how he froze to death. It's hot enough here to boil eggs." "They keep it warm enough here at Solar Foundation. Changara Dass is something of a fanatic on the subject of air-conditioning. He sees to it that the temperature is always up in the eighties and nothing can argue him out of it." "I wonder if the old swami is making any progress?" "Progress?" "Yes, on his little carv—on the autopsy, I mean." The answer came in the form of a sudden buzz from the desk telephone. Stone lifted the receiver. "Mr. Stone?" It was the voice of Dass, a hasty whisper. "Yes." "Mr. Stone, I wonder if you would care to step down the hall to the surgery. It's at the far end, at the right." "Why? Something up?" "I think, Mr. Stone, that I have news for you. Some very startling news." "I'll be right down." The reporter clicked the receiver back. "Lila, you stay here. I'm going over to the morgue—I mean, the surgery." "And leave me here all alone? Not on your life!" The girl joined him. Together, the two moved down the black corridor of the empty Foundation. Once outside, Lila made it evident that she regretted her decision to accompany him. The girl shivered at the shadows, and involuntarily her hand clutched Stone's wrist. "I'm scared," she murmured. "Of what? There's no one here but ourselves." "I can't help it. I have a feeling something's wrong." "Forget it. Dass is waiting for us. Here." Bill Stone pushed open the surgery door. They entered. Lila screamed. Changara Dass was waiting for them. But the turbaned Hindu would wait forever. He slumped forward over the horrible pinkish body of the moon man, his eyes bulging glassily in a fixed stare at the corpse on the slab. His brown skin was very pale indeed, save for one spot around his neck. One spot on Changara Dass's neck—a long, pinkish spot forming the outline of a hand. A hand that had twisted around the Hindu's throat and strangled him to death. CHAPTER III The Lunatic THEY found Bennet on his couch down the hall. Champion dropped his sandwich in the outer chamber a moment later. The four of them were back in the surgery room, trying hard to keep their eyes away from the death that seemed to lurk in the shadows. "The hand," Champion whispered. "Look at the prints. No human hand makes such an impression." "It was his," Bennet muttered. "His." He started down at the pinkish body lying on the slab. "Look at those claws. They did it." "But he's dead," Stone answered. "Dead man can't rise and murder." "Dead men cannot rise," Bennet groaned. "But he wasn't a man. He was a creature from another world, another planet. Who knows what ghastly laws govern such beings?" "You're hysterical, Bennet," scowled Professor Champion. "Look." His hands went to the creature's armpits. "These tendons were severed by the dissecting knife. The thing, even if animated, couldn't raise its arms, let alone strangle a man with its hands." "But it did," Bennet whispered. "Or something did. A ghost, perhaps. Perhaps it was a ghost." "Don't be a fool!" Champion objected. "Let's reason this thing out. Dass called Stone. In less than two minutes Stone and Miss Valery arrived. They found Dass dead." "Dead." Bennet couldn't control himself. "Dass is dead. He had found something out and he was going to tell. So he died. The moon guards its secrets well. It's fate, I tell you! We weren't meant to know such things—that's what we get for meddling! Let's burn the bodies, get out of here!" "Stephen." "I'm sorry, darling. But it's too much." "I know. Let's go back to the office." "Go ahead." Champion took command. "I'll phone the police." "Police?" "Of course. There's no doubt of at least one murder, now. "That's right," Bill Stone agreed. "And I'll phone the office with the story." Bennet shrugged. "I suppose," he said, tonelessly, "This means the end, but it has to be." Together he and Lila left the room. Champion followed. "Coming, Stone?" he called. "I'll stay here for a minute and look around. Want to get the details straight in my mind. Once the cops get here we reporters won't have a chance." "Very well. I'll go back to the reception room and phone from there." Champion left. Bill Stone stared down at the partly-dissected cadaver of the moon-creature. Once more he gazed at the horrible prints on the dead Hindu's throat. He fingered the scalpels and instruments on the adjoining table. He noted the empty cocoa cup and the partly-filled retorts beside it. He ran his eyes along the cabinet of pharmacopia. SUDDENLY his eyes were arrested by a label. He opened a metal tin curiously. Then he stared at the dead moon man once again. With a shrug of decision, he selected an empty glass from the table and poured the contents of the tin into it. Then he covered the glass with a handkerchief. Quickly, he left the room and headed down the corridor. It was pitch black now, and silent as death. Silent as the death that crept through the night about him. Death that had crept and then sprung. As he neared the closed office door the silence was broken by the strident murmur of conversation. Stone paused outside. Bennet and Lila, inside. "But don't you see?" Bennet's voice. "I can't face that, Lila. It will ruin me —ruin the Foundation. The publicity, the investigation, the suspicions. And in the end, they'll never get anywhere. They can't bring Dass or the moon man back to life. They'll never be able to tell the story that will clear my father's name." "But your idea is madness." "Why? What other way of escape is open? The space-ship is waiting. It's ready. I have no charts or instruments, but the control system itself should be easily mastered. We can take it and get away now, before the police arrive. Come with me, Lila." "To the moon? No, Stephen:—I can't." "Lila, don't you understand? I want to know. I want to find out for myself. I could go there and prove that my father was right—go there and return with the full story. We could be together, you and I. "And who knows, Lila? Who knows what we might find up there? Avery Bennet might have built himself an empire. We could rule that empire, Lila, you and I. I am his son. I have the heritage of my birth. Oh, I know it sounds like madness, but it's the one chance, the only chance." "You're wrong." Bill Stone entered quietly, stood in the doorway. Bennet wheeled, his pudgy arms waving, his face flushed with agitation. "Stone!" "I think I can help you out," the reporter replied. "No need to go to the bother of that lunar trip. At least I think I know how our moon man was murdered." "Poison?" "No." Stone smiled. "He was literally frozen to death. That's what Dass must have discovered during the autopsy. That's why he called me. And I think I've found out what did it." The reporter turned to the girl. "Lila—go get Professor Champion. He'll want to hear this." The girl nodded, left the room. As the door closed, Bennet shook his head. "I still don't understand." "It's very simple." Stone held out the glass, covered by his handkerchief. "This stuff here did it." Bennet took the glass and held it. His eyes met Stone's. "But what about Changara Dass? Who killed him?" "That's a puzzler, isn't it? Perhaps we can solve that when the others get back." ABRUPTLY, Bennet winced. "Here, Stone—take this. It's too damned cold to hold." Stone retrieved the glass. "Aren't you going to look inside?" he asked. "Cold or not, I'd think you'd be interested in what it contains. Unless," he murmured, "unless you already know." "What do you mean?" "I mean that you murdered the moon man." Stephen Bennet laughed. Then he did a very curious thing. His hands fumbled with his white jacket. Stone watched him closely. Too closely. He didn't see Bennet's feet glide forward. They glided swiftly—and suddenly Stephen Bennet sprang. His fists crashed against the reporter's face. Stone moved back, arms flailing as he beat against the bulky body of his assailant. Bennet's blows glanced from his forehead. A fist dug into his eye. Stone parried, trying to keep off those lunging arms. Bennet was punching, punching. And then Stone felt cold horror. For as Bennet's fists punched at his face, Ben-net's hands were locked around his neck! It could not be—but it was! Stone saw the fists hammer towards him through a red haze. And at the same time he felt fingers tighten in his throat. Strong, tearing fingers digging away his life! Bill Stone glanced down and saw them then—saw what was strangling and clawing at his neck. Saw, from Bennet's opened jacket, the two pink arms—the two extra arms, ending in the birdlike claws. The claws of a moon man! Then the red haze welled up. Stone's head whirled. Desperately he parried blows from human fists. And all the while the hidden hands from inside Bennet's jacket pressed and pressed. Stone went to his knees. The monster was gasping now. Bennet's great bulging eyes shone with maniacal intensity as he ripped and tore. A high, wheezing cackle burst from his corded, pinkish neck. Blindly, Stone fumbled for his pocket. Bennet was bending him back. The cold claws were digging deep. In a moment it would all be over. In a moment With a last desperate wrench, Stone's fingers closed about the glass, tore away the handkerchief. One hand rose to Bennet's neck. He pressed the glass down, let the contents pour forward. Bennet screamed. The two pinkish arms fell away, tore at Stone's hand, clawed at the glass cupped tightly against Bennet's neck. Stone rose. He pressed the glass down. Bennet's fingers clutched the air. His human fists fell. A gurgling came from a pinkish neck that slowly whitened. The color drained from Bennet's face. The glass dug deeper. And then Stephen Bennet fell. Fell like a white ghost, like a silver ghost. In a moment the bulky body lay inert upon the floor. The two horrid tentacles lay limp, the claws extended upwards in a last gesture of supplication. "BILL!" Lila was at Stone's side, and Champion with her. "I had to do it," the reporter gasped. "I had to." "Those arms—" the girl whispered. "Look at those arms." "No wonder he always wore that heavy jacket," Stone whispered. "Look at the straps—he had them strapped down at his sides. No wonder he never went out; had a special tailor." "What does it mean?" "It means that Stephen Bennet's mother was not human," Stone answered. "That was his secret, and his father's secret. Changara Dass must have known, and shielded Bennet all these years. Stephen Bennet had moon blood in his veins. "When the lunar visitor came, he had a mission. He wanted Bennet to forsake earth and return to the moon. Bennet preferred the fame that would be his if he remained here on earth, as a human. "The lunar visitor was about to insist—and Bennet feared he would reveal his secret, if necessary, in order to make him go back. "So Bennet murdered him. Changara Dass discovered how he did it during the autopsy, and phoned me. Bennet must have been listening in on the wire. He got to the surgery before I did. Using his lunar tentacles, he strangled Dass. "Then he wanted to escape in the space-ship, knowing he'd be discovered if the police examined him. He was pleading with Lila here to accompany him when I walked in and announced that I'd solved the lunar visitor's death. So he tried to kill me as well." "But how did he do it?" Champion asked. "That's still a mystery." He scowled. "There was no poison—I'm sure of that." "Of course there wasn't. No need for it. Bennet, having lunar blood himself, knew the weakness of the moon beings. Knew they cannot stand cold. He always had it hot as an oven here, you remember. "So he slipped something into the cocoa which immediately chilled the moon man's system; paralyzed his peculiar blood stream with sudden cold. Something that wouldn't show up in analysis; something we'd never expect in steaming cocoa." "What was that?" "Nothing but simple, everyday dry ice," Stone grinned. "It steamed naturally in the cup and left no traces. I found a can of it in the surgery, brought a glassful here. When Bennet attacked me, I pressed the stuff against his throat. You know the rest." There was a long silence in the little room. Lila's hand went to Bill's shoulders as they stared at the tentacled body on the floor. "He wanted me to go there with him —to the moon," she whispered. "I'm glad I refused." "Perhaps it is not meant for men to dwell beyond earth," mused Champion, gravely. "Let's get out of here," was all Bill Stone said. They moved towards the door. Stone snapped out the light. "Look!" whispered Lila. Through the high windows, a shaft of silvery moonlight crept into the room. It moved over the floor and bathed the grotesque, crumpled body in an evil glow. But in its rays the face of Stephen Bennet shone with a peaceful light. "Maybe he's gone there, now. Back up there, where his spirit belongs." "Maybe," Stone nodded. "But right at the moment, my spirit belongs somewhere else. Somewhere where there is electric light and a little down-to-earth entertainment. Want to join me?" "All right." "I may have a few drinks, too." Lila smiled. "That's all right with me," she murmured. "But Bill, if you have a drink, promise me one thing." "What's that?" "Don't put any ice in it." They closed the door behind them. In the little room, the silvery light continued to pour down on the dead face of the man from the moon. A BEDTIME STORY By A. MORRIS We've had so many stories about termite and ant civilizations—now here's one about the bedbug! "GOOD-NIGHT. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite." Most of us have heard or even repeated this little ditty, not even knowing what a bedbug was or looked like. This little pesty insect has quite a history, one that we think you'll be interested in. The bedbug is a reddish-brown, flattened, wingless nocturnal insect, peculiar to the fixed habitations of man and subsisting by sucking his blood. It represents a family of heteropterous bugs, which, with numerous allied forms, live upon the juices of plants and animals. This parasitic life has caused degeneracy, until now this species has acquired a very flat body, capable of hiding in narrow cracks, and has completely lost its wings. It has also gained the power of resisting great cold and of fasting indefinitely, so that it easily survives long intervals between tenants in a house—a fact which often accounts for an otherwise mysterious appearance of the pest. Its mouth consists of a three-parted proboscis, which can be thrust through the skin like a hollow needle and then becomes a blood pump. The parasite hides by day in cracks and crevices of floors, walls, and furniture, frequenting beds especially, simply because there it gets its living at night. The eggs of the bedbug are tiny, whitish, and oval, laid in clusters in the crevices used by the bugs for concealment. They hatch in about eight days, the young being almost transparent "nits", which grow darker in color as they increase in size until, when full-grown, they may be a quarter of an inch long. This growth is attained by means of five moults, and if food and warmth is plentiful, maturity may be attained in three months. Under adverse conditions growth may be greatly prolonged. A female bedbug may lay several packets of eggs and several broods may be raised each year. About 250 eggs are laid each spring in lots of 50, so that under favorable conditions—poor housekeeping—the multiplication is extremely rapid. These insects are believed to have come originally from India, and have been known as house pests from the earliest times. Aristotle believed that they arose spontantaneously from sweat. Their spread is mainly due to their being carried from place to place in furniture, vehicles, and clothing. They do not seem to have reached England before the seventeenth century, since the word "bug" is not used in Shakespeare's works, and the British designate this pest primarily by that word. America received this pestilence from Europe, and it is now spread all over the world by means of ships. Entomologists believe the bedbug is restricted to man, although there is a popular belief that it infests certain domestic animals, especially poultry. However, science alleges that all similar bugs found upon swallows, bats, poultry and pigeons are species peculiar to each of these animals and do not attack man. The only way to get rid of this pest is by persistent and minute cleanliness. Bedbugs are eaten by various insects, especially cockroaches and ants. But then who wants to get rid of one evil with another? Benzine gasolene, kerosene, corrosive sublimate, or hot water, usually are able to rid an ordinary home of these insects, but larger apartment buildings, hotels, etc., need a thorough fumigation with sulphur or bisulphid of carbon. This method is quite effective. Now that we know all about bedbugs, let's hope we never come in contact with these miniature vampires.