He raised his dagger-like weapon, as though aiming it.  At the same instant Chick pulled the trigger from the hip, snap aim.

The gun was empty.

Another second, and Watson would have been like those spots of colour on the ground outside.  He breathed a prayer to his Maker.  The Senestro’s weapon was in line with his throat.

But it was not to be.  There came a flash and a stunning report; the deherer clattered against the wall, and the Senestro clutched a stinging hand.  He was staring in surprise at something behind Chick—­something that made him turn and dart out of sight.

Chick wheeled.

Right behind him stood the familiar form of the Jan Lucar; and a few feet beyond, a figure from which came a clear, cool, nonchalant voice;

“I would have killed that fellow, Chick, but he’s too damned handsome.  I’m going to save him for a specimen.”

Watson peered closer.  He gave a gasp, half of amazement, half of delight.  For the words were in English, and the voice—­

It was Harry Wendel.

XLIV

DR. HOLCOMB’S STORY

If there was the least doubt in Chick’s mind that this was really Harry, it was dispelled by the sight of the person who the next moment stepped up to his side.  It was none other than the Nervina.

“Harry Wendel!” gasped Watson.  It was too good to be true!

“Surest thing you know, Chick.  It’s me, alive and kicking!” as they grabbed one another.

“How did you get here?”

“Search me!  Ask the lady; I’m just a creature of circumstance.  I merely act; she does all the thinking.”

The Nervina smiled and nodded.  Her eyes were just as wonderful as Chick remembered them, full of elusiveness, of the moonbeam’s light, of witchery past understanding.

“Yes,” she affirmed.  “You see, Mr. Watson, it is the will of the Prophet.  Harry is of the Chosen.  We have come for the great Dr. Holcomb—­for the Jarados!”

And she led the way.  Watson followed in silent wonder; behind him came the Geos and the rest, quiet and reverent.  The soft glow still held, so that they seemed to be walking through the walls of cold fire.  At the end of the passage they came to a door.

The Nervina touched three unmarked spots on the walls.  The door opened.  The queen stood aside, and motioned for Chick and Harry to enter.

It was a long room, pear-shaped, and fitted up like the most elaborate sort of laboratory.  And at the far end, seated in the midst of a strange array of crystals, retorts and unfamiliar apparatus, was a man whom the two instantly recognised.

It was the missing professor, looking just as they remembered him from the days when they sat in his class in Berkeley.  There was the same trim figure, the same healthy cheeks, pleasant eyes and close-cropped white beard.  Always there had been something imperturbable about the doctor—­he had that poise and equanimity which is ever the balance of sound judgment.  Neither Chick nor Harry expected any rush of emotion, and they were not disappointed.