"Belongs!" roared Roger. "Look at that white uniform he's wearing! This yellow rat is Lactu, the head of the whole Nationalist movement!"
Tom gaped at the white-clad figure at the head of the stairs. "The leader!" he gasped.
"Quite right, Corbett," replied Sinclair quietly. "And if it hadn't been for three nosy cadets, I would have been the leader of the whole planet. But it's finished now. All that is left for me is escape. And you two are going to help me do just that!"
Roger suddenly dropped to one knee and leveled the blaster. But the Nationalist leader was too quick. His paralo-ray crackled and Roger was frozen solid.
"Why, you—!" roared Tom.
"Drop your gun, Corbett," warned Sinclair, "and take that blaster away from him."
"I'll get you, Sinclair," said Tom through clenched teeth, "and when I do—"
"Stop the talk and get busy!" snapped Sinclair.
Tom took the blaster out of Roger's paralyzed hands and dropped it on the floor. Still holding one ray gun on Tom, Sinclair flipped on the neutralizer of the other gun and released Roger again.