"Epsom salts!"
"And the second equals?" demanded the vague-voiced Uvan.
Bill thrust a second slip forward. The one requiring a formula for synthetic etheroel. Again the lights, blinking like bulbs in a bank of electric lights, hopped from segment to segment in the Uvan's head, feeling around, searching for the cell that contained the correct answer.
But now something queer happened. The lights began popping madly in all the cells. They blinked on and off and ran the gamut of colors. Instantly, the old Uvan leaped from his throne, clutched his grape-cluster head and began swearing a blue streak.
Bill jerked Kitty to one side, and just in time. The Uvan charged past her, grabbed a hammer and began beating out a wild clangor upon a brass gong near the doorway.
"Bill, what is it?" Kitty cried in alarm.
"Don't know and it doesn't sound comfortable," he grunted. "We'd better get out, quick!" With Kitty at his side, he raced toward the door, past the hammer-wielding Uvan and into the reception room of the building.