During this apparent silence they were debating through the medium of strange, unspoken language the merits of my tale.  At last the head of the tribunal communicated the result of their conference to the officer in charge of the Sagoth guard.

“Come,” he said to me, “you are sentenced to the experimental pits for having dared to insult the intelligence of the mighty ones with the ridiculous tale you have had the temerity to unfold to them.”

“Do you mean that they do not believe me?” I asked, totally astonished.

“Believe you!” he laughed.  “Do you mean to say that you expected any one to believe so impossible a lie?”

It was hopeless, and so I walked in silence beside my guard down through the dark corridors and runways toward my awful doom.  At a low level we came upon a number of lighted chambers in which we saw many Mahars engaged in various occupations.  To one of these chambers my guard escorted me, and before leaving they chained me to a side wall.  There were other humans similarly chained.  Upon a long table lay a victim even as I was ushered into the room.  Several Mahars stood about the poor creature holding him down so that he could not move.  Another, grasping a sharp knife with her three-toed fore foot, was laying open the victim’s chest and abdomen.  No anesthetic had been administered and the shrieks and groans of the tortured man were terrible to hear.  This, indeed, was vivisection with a vengeance.  Cold sweat broke out upon me as I realized that soon my turn would come.  And to think that where there was no such thing as time I might easily imagine that my suffering was enduring for months before death finally released me!

The Mahars had paid not the slightest attention to me as I had been brought into the room.  So deeply immersed were they in their work that I am sure they did not even know that the Sagoths had entered with me.  The door was close by.  Would that I could reach it!  But those heavy chains precluded any such possibility.  I looked about for some means of escape from my bonds.  Upon the floor between me and the Mahars lay a tiny surgical instrument which one of them must have dropped.  It looked not unlike a button-hook, but was much smaller, and its point was sharpened.  A hundred times in my boyhood days had I picked locks with a buttonhook.  Could I but reach that little bit of polished steel I might yet effect at least a temporary escape.

Crawling to the limit of my chain, I found that by reaching one hand as far out as I could my fingers still fell an inch short of the coveted instrument.  It was tantalizing!  Stretch every fiber of my being as I would, I could not quite make it.

At last I turned about and extended one foot toward the object.  My heart came to my throat!  I could just touch the thing!  But suppose that in my effort to drag it toward me I should accidentally shove it still farther away and thus entirely out of reach!  Cold sweat broke out upon me from every pore.  Slowly and cautiously I made the effort.  My toes dropped upon the cold metal.  Gradually I worked it toward me until I felt that it was within reach of my hand and a moment later I had turned about and the precious thing was in my grasp.