Frederix turned towards the radio, astounded by what he had seen, striving to give the exhibition of understanding some explanation which did not admit of a created mentality; then, without, he heard the jetting of a landing gyrotomic.
A warm, excited cry cut the silence of the old mansion:
"Hunt! I thought you'd come here! Oh, I knew Dave was wrong!"
Del Andres rushed into the room, his dark face agleam, his strong arms outstretched in welcome greeting.
Frederix caught his hands, crushed them and said nothing.
"We captured a Vron, learned that they have sent an Armada—"
"I know," Frederix said simply.
"Oh, I knew they'd come!" Andres raced on. "I warned the Legion years ago; but they knew more than I who lived with the Vrons at Centauri, who—well, it doesn't matter! What matters is that I know them for what they are: cruel, domineering, the greatest actors in the universe; and when they want something—power or love or gold, it doesn't matter which for their fancies change in a moment—nothing will stop their mad rush towards that goal—" Suddenly he was staring into the shadowed room whence he had come and there was bitterness in his dark eyes—the bitterness of cruel and undimmed memories.
"But they must be stopped!" Frederix cried.