AT YURI’S MERCY
As Prince Yuri thrust the muzzle of his revolver between Cabot’s ribs, and at the same time revealed his identity, Cabot instinctively slowed down the kerkool.
“None of that!” the prince shouted in his antennae. “Speed her up!”
The earth-man obeyed.
“What is the idea?” he asked calmly. “Now that you have got me, what do you mean to do with me?”
“I intend to use you as my chauffeur,” the other answered, “to drive me through your lines in safety to Formia. Once there, we will leave your fate to Queen Formis.”
“That is a lie,” Myles calmly asserted, “for the Formis, who is now queen, has no individuality when you are around.”
“You flatter me,” was all that Yuri deigned to reply.
They drove along for some distance without further conversation. The rain stopped. The weather cleared. Finally Cabot broke the silence with, “Seriously speaking, Yuri, I am sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me!” the prince exclaimed with a laugh. “Well, well, that certainly is a good one! Here I go and get you into my clutches; you, the only person on this whole planet who has ever thwarted my ambitions; and instead of grovelling before me, you merely sympathize with me. How so, you cursed spot of sunshine?”