"Thanks," said Jocelyn, brushing herself. "What now?"
"Under the door, I suspect," said Gaynor. "We make one very quick run for it. If the dope sees us moving, we're probably through for good."
"For good?"
"Yep," he nodded. "The thing's likely as not to step on us." Abruptly he kissed the two of them. "Now!" he whispered, and they scampered across the floor in a mad spring for the door, hundreds of feet away. The crack beneath it would be ample for escape.
Behind them was a stir and the crash of breaking pottery, like the crack in Krakatoa. "Oh Golly!" moaned Gaynor, catching his wife's arm and hurrying her on.
"Leggo!" she panted. "Keep running—I'll— " What she would have done remained unsaid. Blocking their way were the immense feet of the idiot. They stopped short and stood like statues. "Here it comes," murmured Jocelyn.
The idiot was going through some mighty complicated maneuvers; the sum total of which was to bring his face to the ground, about eight feet away from the miniatures. He was grinning happily.
"Paul," gasped Io, almost hysterically. "Look at his face!"
Gaynor and Jocelyn stared fascinatedly. "No," whispered Jocelyn, "no! It can't be. It just couldn't possibly be!"
"But it is!" said Gaynor. "That thing, idiot or no idiot, fifty feet high or not, is my partner, Arthur Clair!"
Gaynor clasped the little brunette's shoulders. "It's all right, Io, believe me, it's all right!"
"But—Pavlik—my Arthur couldn't be— "
"I always knew he was an idiot," marvelled Jocelyn, "but never in this sense—that is, precisely in this sense. Will he find us, Paul?"
Gaynor shook his head. "I think he'll forget us in short order and get back to his dinner. Then I act and act fast."
"How, Paul?"
"Clair's under hypnotic control. I don't know how he got to that size, Io, but he's very obviously been ordered to forget everything and act as a sounding board for the ginks in the War Council. Now if I can yell loud enough for him to hear me— "
"But what good will that do?" interrupted Mrs. Clair.
"Just this, Io: When Arthur and I were younger, and much foolisher, we were simultaneously addicted to hypnotism and practical joking. My idea of a practical joke at the time was to give Art some pretty silly orders and postsuggestions when he was under.
"He, being fundamentally a bright sort of cuss, had himself immunized to that kind of thing by having a professional give him a very solid conditioning—to come out of any hypnotic states at the mention of—among other things—my name."
"So if he can only hear your name he'll be all right?" asked Io excitedly.
"Yup. And here I go. I see our partner has reverted to type." Clair was licking porridge from the floor, where his bowl had broken.
In one quick scampering run, Gaynor darted out from under the ledge and made it to the idiot's head, with Io close behind him. He bawled out the words: "PAUL GAYNOR!"
The idiot looked at him. "Why, Pavlik," it said with gentle concern. "How on Earth did you get here?"
"Arthur!" sobbed Io running toward him.
With a puzzled look on his face, Clair picked up his wife gently and brought her toward his face. Tenderly he caressed her hair with his fingertips. "What did you three do to yourselves?"
"Look, dope!" yelled Gaynor. "What do you remember last?"
"Oh, I remember everything. Including picking you up. And I have in my mind a complete record of the transactions of the War Council for the week I was used to replace their last idiot, who got a fuse blown somewhere. They had me under a limited kind of control—not really efficient. No oblivifaction coefficient at all. What do we do now?"
"Suppose," shrieked Jocelyn, coming out, "you get us to hell out of here. They won't stop you, will they?"
"Up to a certain point, no. They won't harm me at any rate. I have religious connotations of some kind, I think."
"Arthur—Paul—wait!" said Io. "I have an idea. You and Jocelyn go back to our friends; Art and I will stay here. Paul, you don't suppose these people have any screens against thought helmets, do you?"
"They haven't," said Clair. "What's on your mind, pet?"
"This. They'll be needing Arthur again soon when they start the offensive. And as far as they knew, he'll be as he was before.
"Only, I'll be in Arthur's pocket, relaying everything that comes into his mind to you back in the citadel. While you relay to me the suggestions of their War Council, or whatever they have like it.
"Do you get it, Paul? These birds will be getting orders from their idiot, only it will be our orders! That is—if you can make a screen, dearest."
Clair grinned. "I can."
"That's all very nice," protested Jocelyn, "but how do Paul and I get out of here?"
"The idiot will get you over the wall— or under it— " said Clair. "Before you go, you can send a message to your friends to be waiting. I'll rig up an apparatus so your thoughts won't be interrupted by the wrong people—wow, the things I've learned here, Pavlik!" He picked up the two and put them in his pocket again. "Let's go," he said. "No one pays any attention to the idiot in his time off, and they're too busy to notice what he's doing anyway—unless he yells for help."
And again the three went on a bumpy sort of ride in the pitch blackness of Clair's pocket.
VII.
"It doesn't take you birds any time at all to go to town on a new device once you have the idea," marvelled Gaynor as he fiddled with the dials of the spy-screen several of Joe's friends had constructed. The giants had a screen for their use—the room wasn't long enough for Gaynor to be able to see it all— and a small one had been made for the visitors.
"But it wasn't much of a problem," came the thoughts of the giant Jocelyn had dubbed "Luke." "As soon as you told us about it, it was quite simple. We had all the makings—only thing is, it never occurred to us—or to them, either, apparently."
"What's the program?" asked Jocelyn.
"At the moment, we're getting the layout of their citadel,-and the disposition of their forces. Luke and Oley here (Oley's the blond, sweet) are very busily engaged in making a map of the works—giving all the data we need."
"Their layout seems to be that of a seven-pointed star;" mused Jocelyn. "No encircling rings of fortifications—just points."
"Probably all they need," said Gaynor. "Don't be too sure that there isn't a solid ring of some kind aroung their citadel. Wouldn't be at all surprised if those seven points weren't the terminals for a virtually unpenetrable vibrational barrier."
"But we had no trouble in getting through!"
"Only because they see no point in keeping it up constantly. They probably have some sort of detectors. Don't forget, Joe was discovered and disposed of in virtually no time at all after he got in."
Gaynor plugged in a connection. "Ah, here we are." The screen lit up to show an office where several giants, apparently of high rank in the enemy's forces, were also poring over war maps. As a light on the desk flared, they straightened up and took down what were obviously thought-helmets from a nearby rack."
"We do likewise," said Gaynor suiting his words to action.
"Then?"
"Then the fun begins. It'll work like this: I will be the mental sounding board for our side, little more than an extrapolated dimwit like my partner, Art Clair. As messages from their staff come to him, he shoots them over to me via to and Luke and his friends pick them up. Luke and his friends decide whether the order will go through as is, or whether it'll be changed, and if so, how. In the meantime, Art's screening his mind against intrusion; soon's our misdirection gets to Art, he relays it to whoever it's supposed to go to."
"Sounds frightfully complicated," mused Jocelyn. "And won't those dopes get suspicious—won't it take time?"