Her eyes closed, her body relaxed; the potion had done its work quickly. We laid her beside Ventnor on the pile of silken stuffs, covered them both with a fold, then looked at each other long and silently — and I wondered whether my face was as grim and drawn as his.

“It appears,” he said at last, curtly, “that it’s up to you and me for powwow quick. I hope you’re not sleepy.”

“I am not,” I answered as curtly; the edge of nerves in his manner of questioning doing nothing to soothe my own, “and even if I were I would hardly expect to put all the burden of the present problem upon you by going to sleep.”

“For God’s sake don’t be a prima donna,” he flared up. “I meant no offense.”

“I’m sorry, Dick,” I said. “We’re both a little jumpy, I guess.” He nodded; gripped my hand.

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” he muttered, “if all four of us were all right. But Ventnor’s down and out, and God alone knows for how long. And Ruth — has all the trouble we have and some special ones of her own. I’ve an idea”— he hesitated —“an idea that there was no exaggeration in that story she told — an idea that if anything she underplayed it.”

“I, too,” I replied somberly. “And to me it is the most hideous phase of this whole situation — and for reasons not all connected with Ruth,” I added.

“Hideous!” he repeated. “Unthinkable — yet all this is unthinkable. And still — it is! And Ventnor — coming back — that way. Like a lost soul finding voice.

“Was it raving, Goodwin? Or could he have been — how was it he put it — in touch with these Things and their purpose? Was that message — truth?”

“Ask yourself that question,” I said. “Man — you know it was truth. Had not inklings of it come to you even before he spoke? They had to me. His message was but an interpretation, a synthesis of facts I, for one, lacked the courage to admit.”

“I, too,” he nodded. “But he went further than that. What did he mean by the Keeper of the Cones — and that the Things — were vulnerable under the same law that orders us? And why did he command us to go back to the city? How could he know — how could he?”

“There’s nothing inexplicable in that, at any rate,” I answered. “Abnormal sensitivity of perception due to the cutting off of all sensual impressions. There’s nothing uncommon in that. You have its most familiar form in the sensitivity of the blind. You’ve watched the same thing at work in certain forms of hypnotic experimentation, haven’t you?

“Through the operation of entirely understandable causes the mind gains the power to react to vibrations that normally pass unperceived; is able to project itself through this keying up of perception into a wider area of consciousness than the normal. Just as in certain diseases of the ear the sufferer, though deaf to sounds within the average range of hearing, is fully aware of sound vibrations far above and far below those the healthy ear registers.”

“I know,” he said. “I don’t need to be convinced. But we accept these things in theory — and when we get up against them for ourselves we doubt.

“How many people are there in Christendom, do you think, who believe that the Saviour ascended from the dead, but who if they saw it today would insist upon medical inspection, doctor’s certificates, a clinic, and even after that render a Scotch verdict? I’m not speaking irreverently — I’m just stating a fact.”

Suddenly he moved away from me, strode over to the curtained oval through which Norhala had gone.

“Dick,” I cried, following him hastily, “where are you going? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going after Norhala,” he answered. “I’m going to have a showdown with her or know the reason why.”

“Drake,” I cried again, aghast, “don’t make the mistake Ventnor did. That’s not the way to win through. Don’t — I beg you, don’t.”

“You’re wrong,” he answered stubbornly. “I’m going to get her. She’s got to talk.”

He thrust out a hand to the curtains. Before he could touch them, they were parted. Out from between them slithered the black eunuch. He stood motionless, regarding us; in the ink-black eyes a red flame of hatred. I pushed myself between him and Drake.

“Where is your mistress, Yuruk?” I asked.

“The goddess has gone,” he replied sullenly.

“Gone?” I said suspiciously, for certainly Norhala had not passed us. “Where?”

“Who shall question the goddess?” he asked. “She comes and she goes as she pleases.”

I translated this for Drake.

“He’s got to show me,” he said. “Don’t think I’m going to spill any beans, Goodwin. But I want to talk to her. I think I’m right, honestly I do.”

After all, I reflected, there was much in his determination to recommend it. It was the obvious thing to do — unless we admitted that Norhala was superhuman; and that I would not admit. In command of forces we did not yet know, en rapport with these People of Metal, sealed with that alien consciousness Ruth had described — all these, yes. But still a woman — of that I was certain. And surely Drake could be trusted not to repeat Ventnor’s error.

“Yuruk,” I said, “we think you lie. We would speak to your mistress. Take us to her.”

“I have told you that the goddess is not here,” he said. “If you do not believe it is nothing to me. I cannot take you to her for I do not know where she is. Is it your wish that I take you through her house?”

“It is,” I said.

“The goddess has commanded me to serve you in all things.” He bowed, sardonically. “Follow.”

Our search was short. We stepped out into what for want of better words I can describe only as a central hall. It was circular, and strewn with thick piled small rugs whose hues had been softened by the alchemy of time into exquisite, shadowy echoes of color.

The walls of this hall were of the same moonstone substance that had enclosed the chamber upon whose inner threshold we were. They whirled straight up to the dome in a crystalline, cylindrical cone. Four doorways like that in which we stood pierced them. Through each of their curtainings in turn we peered.

All were precisely similar in shape and proportions, radiating in a lunetted, curved base triangle from the middle chamber; the curvature of the enclosing globe forming back wall and roof; the translucent slicings the sides; the circle of floor of the inner hall the truncating lunette.

The first of these chambers was utterly bare. The one opposite held a half-dozen suits of the lacquered armor, as many wicked looking, short and double-edged swords and long javelins. The third I judged to be the lair of Yuruk; within it was a copper brazier, a stand of spears and a gigantic bow, a quiver full of arrows leaning beside it. The fourth room was littered with coffers great and small, of wood and of bronze, and all tightly closed.

The fifth room was beyond question Norhala’s bedchamber. Upon its floor the ancient rugs were thick. A low couch of carven ivory inset with gold rested a few feet from the doorway. A dozen or more of the chests were scattered about and flowing over with silken stuffs.

Upon the back of four golden lions stood a high mirror of polished silver. And close to it, in curiously incongruous domestic array stood a stiffly marshaled row of sandals. Upon one of the chests were heaped combs and fillets of shell and gold and ivory studded with jewels blue and yellow and crimson.

To all of these we gave but a passing glance. We sought for Norhala. And of her we found no shadow. She had gone even as the black eunuch had said; flitting unseen past Ruth, perhaps, absorbed in her watch over her brother; perhaps through some hidden opening in this room of hers.

Yuruk let drop the curtains, sidled back to the first room, we after him. The two there had not moved. We drew the saddlebags close, propped ourselves against them.

The bl............