end of the hall seemed to open out onto a garden and he
started in that direction.

The doorway opened out into a patio which overlooked a vast and
perfectly tended garden. The verdant perfection of the scene was marred
only by one of the Bugs, sunning itself and gnawing on the stem of a
flower. Tyndall was impressed again with the repulsive ugliness of the
thing. This one was the size of a small adult human, and even vaguely
human in outline, although the brownish armored body was still more
suggestive of a big bug than anything else known to him. There were even
rudimentary wings furled close to the curving back, and the underside
was a dirty, striped gray. Tyndall shuddered, wondering why the
Arrillians, who so loved to surround themselves with beauty, should
choose so horrendous a creature as the object of their worship, or
protection.

He heard running footsteps behind him, and turned to see the Arrillian
houseman, breathless, with an expression of greatest concern on his
face. The servant bowed respectfully before Tyndall, then gestured at
the garden, shook his head vigorously from side to side and tugged at
the Earthman's sleeve.

"Forbidden territory, eh? Okay, old fellow, what now?"

The servant motioned for Tyndall to follow him, and ushered him down the
hall from whence he had just come, and into another of the rooms opening
off from it. The very old man reclining upon the low, Roman-like couch,
Tyndall recognized at once as his host, the Rhal of Arrill.

The Rhal touched the fingertips of both hands to his forehead in the
Arrillian gesture of greeting, and Tyndall did the same. He noticed
several male Arrillians standing near the back of the room, although the
servant had bowed and retired.

"Well, Tyn-Dall, how do you enjoy the hospitality of Ahhreel?" He, of
course, gave the native pronunciation to the name which was almost
Teutonic in sound and unpronounceable for Tyndall because of the sound
given to the double aspirate, for which he knew no equivalent.

"Your English, Dheb Rhal, has improved greatly since our last meeting,"
commented Tyndall guardedly, using the Arrillian prefix of extreme
respect.

The old man smiled. "Your friends were kind enough to lend me books and
also the little grooved disks that make voice." He gestured toward an
old-fashioned wind-up type phonograph which Tyndall recognized at once
as being standard aboard interstellar vessels, and for just such a
purpose. The Rhal c