broad, glittering band of polished gold--eight thick armlets
that ringed the creature's revolting head-body with a circle of
gleaming pagan splendor. Keith could almost fancy that a certain royal
air hung over the monster.

The huge, unblinking eyes of the king stared at the horror-frozen
captives. One long tentacle lifted slowly upward, and their captors at
once started towards the throne with them. The score of octopi on each
side stilled their weaving arms. A battery of emotionless eyes drilled
into Wells' paralyzed body. He felt faint. Unquestionably the horrible
ceremony was leading up to some form of cold-blooded sacrifice....

* * * * *

The monarch stretched a mighty arm towards Keith, and, as in a dream,
he felt himself lifted out of his guard's grasp. The snakelike
tentacle gripped him about the waist, and held him dangling like a
puppet twenty feet in the water while the two deadly eyes stared
steadily at him. He was brought closer, until the hideous central
mass, with its cruel beaked jaw and ink sac hanging behind, was no
more than a foot away.

Then another arm stroked slowly along the commander's helpless body.
Once or twice it prodded sharply, and Wells felt a surge of fear, for
his sea-suit might break. Deliberately the prying tentacle moved over
him, delicately feeling his helmet, his weighted feet, his legs.

Keith Wells grew angry. He was being inspected like a trapped monkey!
He, commander of the _NX-1_, representative of one of the world's
mightiest nations--prodded and stared at by this fish, this octopus! A
great rage suffused him, and with a terrific effort he tried to jab
his arms into one of those devilish eyes. But try as he might, his
body would not respond. He could not move a finger.

For a long time the loathsome inspection continued, until the
monstrous king seemed satisfied. Wells was handed back. There followed
an interminable period in which nothing whatever was done, as far as
he could see. He was sure that they must be talking, debating, but no
sound reached his ears through the tight helmet. All the time the
endless motion in the swarming levels above went on. It became hazy,
dreamlike, and in spite of himself the commander began to feel drowsy.
The weaving and swaying was producing a hypnotic effect. At last the
desire to sleep grew overpowering.

Wells and his men were more than half unconscious when their original
captors finally pulled the