ction finders, had pressed the button which signaled the
Washington-control Station of the National Radio, thus automatically
indicating the exact spot above land, by grid-coordinates, where the
Mayther should start down for the landing.

An hour later they landed on the flat roof of the new Capitol Building,
sinking lightly to rest as a feather, nursed to a gentle landing by the
whirring vanes of the helicopter.

Prester Kleig, surrounded by uniformed guards who tried to shield him
from the gaze of news-gatherers crowded there on the roof-top, hurried
him to the stairway leading into the executive chambers, and through
these to the Secret Chamber which only a few men knew, and into which
not even Carlos Kane could follow Prester Kleig--yet.

But one man, one news-gatherer, had caught a glimpse of the face of
Kleig, and already he raced for the radio tower of his organization, to
blazon to the Western world the fact that Kleig had come back.

CHAPTER IV

_A Nation Waits in Dread_

As Prester Kleig, looking twice his forty years because of fatigue, and
almost nameless terrors through which he had passed, went to his
rendezvous, the news-gatherer, who shall here remain nameless, raced for
the Broadcasting Tower.

As Prester Kleig entered the Secret Room and at a signal all the many
doors behind him, along that interminable stairway, swung shut and were
tightly locked, the news-gatherer raced for the microphone and gave the
"priority" signal to the operator. Millions of people would not only
hear the words of the news-gatherer, but would see him, note the
expressions which chased one another across his face. For television was
long since an accomplished, everyday fact.

"Prester Kleig, of this government's Secret Service, has just returned
to the United Americas! Your informer has just seen him step from the
monoplane of Carlos Kane, atop the Capitol Building, and repair at once
to the Secret Room, closely guarded. But I saw his face, and though he
is under forty, he seems twice that. And you know now what this country
has only guessed at before--that he has seen Moyen. Moyen the half-man,
half-god, the enigma of the ages. What does Prester Kleig think of this
man? He doesn't say, for he dares not speak, yet. But your informer saw
his face, and it is old and twisted with terror! And--"

* * * * *

That ended the discourse of the news-gatherer, and it was many hours
before