Watson did not quibble.  There was no time to learn more.  He did not wish it to be noticed; yet he could not hide it from the Jan Lucar and the Rhamda Geos, who were still at his side.  They had heard that tongue before.  The looks they exchanged told, however, that they were gratified rather than displeased by the interruption.  Certainly all feelings of depression left Chick, and he ascended the stairs with a glad heart and a resilient stride that could not but be noticed.

He was ready for the Senestro.

XLI

THE PROPHECY

Reaching the top of the jade steps, Chick found the landing to be a great dais, nearly a hundred feet across.  On the right and left this dais was hedged in by the silver walls, on each of which was hung a huge, golden scrollwork.  These scrolls bore legends, which for the moment Chick ignored.  At the rear of the dais was a large object like a bronze bell.

The floor was of the usual mosaic, except in the centre, where there was a plain, circular design.  Chick took careful note of this, a circle about twenty feet across, as white and unbroken as a bed of frozen snow.  Whether it was stone or not he could not determine.  All around its edge was a gap that separated it from the dais, a gap several inches across.  Chick turned to Geos: 

“The Spot of Life?”

“Even so.  It is the strangest thing in all the Thomahlia, my lord.  Can you feel it?”

For Watson had reached out with his toe and touched the white surface.  He drew it back suddenly.

“It has a feeling,” he replied, “that I cannot describe.  It is cold, and yet it is not.  Perhaps it is my own magnetism.”

“Ah!  It is well, my lord!”

What the Rhamda meant by that Chick could not tell.  He was interested in the odd white substance.  It was as smooth as glass, although at intervals there were faint, almost imperceptible, dark lines, like the finest scratches in old ivory.  Yet the whiteness was not dazzling.  Again Watson touched it with his foot, and noted the inexplicable feeling of exhilaration.  In the moment of absorption he quite forgot the concourse about him.  He knew that he was now standing on the crux of the Blind Spot.

But in a minute he turned.  The dais was a sort of nave, with one end open to the stairway.  Seated on his left was the frail Aradna, occupying a small throne-like chair of some translucent green material.  On the right sat the Bar Senestro, in a chair differing only in that its colour was a bright blue.  In the centre of the dais stood a third chair—­a crimson one—­empty.

The Senestro stood up.  He was royally clad, his breast gleaming with jewels.  He was certainly handsome; he had the carriage of confident royalty.  There was no fear in this man, no uncertainty, no weakness.  If confidence were a thing of strength, the Senestro was already the victor.  In his heart Chick secretly admired him.