Was it indeed possible that these two great ones, from opposite poles, had actually torn away the veil of the shadow?  And was this the place where he, Watson, must pose as a spirit, if he were to be accepted as genuine?

The thought was a shock.  He must play the same part here that the Rhamda had played on the other side of the Spot; but he would have to do it without the guiding wisdom of Avec.  Besides, there was something sinister in the unknown force that had engulfed so strong a mind as the professor’s; for while Watson’s fate had been of his own seeking, that of the doctor smacked too much of treachery.

He turned to the Rhamda Geos with a new question: 

“This Rhamda Avec—­was he a man like yourself?”

The other brightened again, and asked in return: 

“Then you have seen him!”

“I—­I do not know,” answered Watson, caught off his guard.  “But the name is familiar.  I don’t remember well.  My mind is vague and confused.  I recall a world, a wonderful world it was from which I came, and a great many people.  But I can’t place myself; I hardly—­let me see—­”

The other nodded sympathetic approval.

“I understand.  Don’t exert yourself.  It is hardly to be expected that one forced out of the occult could come among us with his faculties unimpaired.  We have had many communications with your world, and have always been frustrated by this one gulf which may not be crossed.  When real thought gets across the border, it is often indefinite, sometimes mere drivel.  Such answers as come from the void are usually disappointing, no matter how expert our mediums may be in communicating with the dead.”

“The dead!  Did you say—­the dead?”

“Certainly; the dead.  Are you not of the dead?”

Watson shook his head emphatically.

“Absolutely not!  Not where I came from.  We are all very much alive!”

The other watched him curiously, his great eyes glowing with enthusiasm; the enthusiasm of the born seeker of the truth.

“You don’t mean,” he asked, “that you have the same passions that we have here in life?”

“I mean,” said Watson, “that we hate, love, swear; we are good and we are evil; and we play games and go fishing.”

Geos rubbed his hands in a dignified sort of glee.  What had been said coincided, apparently, with another of his pet theories.

“It is splendid,” he exulted, “splendid!  And just in line with my thesis.  You shall tell it before the Council of the Rhamdas.  It will be the greatest day since the speaking of the Jarados!”

Watson wondered just who this Jarados might be; but for the moment he went back to the previous question.

“This Rhamda Avec:  you were about to tell me about him.  Let me have as much as I can understand, sir.”

“Ah, yes!  The great Rhamda Avec.  Perhaps you may recall him when your mind clears a little more.  My dear sir, he is, or was, the chief of the Rhamdas of all the Thomahlia.”  “What is the ’Thomahlia’?”