The laboratory building was askew, its windows shattered and its outer surface scarred. It had been close. Perhaps the only thing that saved them was the fact that they were closer to the focal volume of the transmitter in the laboratory than Kingston was.
At any rate the unbelievably microscopic instant of the beginning of the atomic flame intended to destroy them utterly had been all that building caught. For Bronson had sent it skirling into time-space and it was on the way out as the glimmering of deadly flame started to come in.
But that brief touch of incandescent death had charred the woodwork of the outside of the building. It had cracked the glass and it had jarred its very structure.
The inhabitants were in bad shape. Bronson was sprawled on the floor. Virginia was crumpled over a desk. Both were unconscious. And, creeping deeper into their skin, was the ruddy color of bad burn.
Hours later they were dark with burn and still unconscious. They knew nothing.
They did not know that Kingston's men on Earth One were beginning to assemble the masses in Ed Bronson's collection of radioisotopic phosphor.
Then a bell tinkled gently. Bronson stirred and groaned. The bell tinkled once more. Bronson stirred again—painfully. Another tinkle—
Virginia awakened, opened her eyes vaguely and wondered what had happened.
The bell rang insistently. "Ed—Ed Bronson!" she shouted. "The detector!"