hey are born of an overwrought imagination." And then he
added quickly, as though to clinch the matter before caution and
hesitation could take effect: "You must watch from the heights above. We
shall be in the valley--the Wadi Hof is the place. You must not be too
close--"

"Why not too close?" asked Henriot, springing forward like a flash
before he could prevent the sudden impulse.

With a quickness equal to his own, Vance answered. There was no faintest
sign that he was surprised. His self-control was perfect. Only the glare
passed darkly through his eyes and went back again into the sombre soul
that bore it.

"For your own safety," he answered low. "The Power, the type of life,
she would waken is stupendous. And if roused enough to be attracted by
the patterned symbol into which she would decoy it down, it will take
actual, physical expression. But how? Where is the Body of Worshippers
through whom it can manifest? There is none. It will, therefore, press
inanimate matter into the service. The terrific impulse to form itself a
means of expression will force all loose matter at hand towards
it--sand, stones, all it can compel to yield--everything must rush into
the sphere of action in which it operates. Alone, we at the centre, and
you, upon the outer fringe, will be safe. Only--you must not come too
close."

But Henriot was no longer listening. His soul had turned to ice. For
here, in this unguarded moment, the cloven hoof had plainly shown
itself. In that suggestion of a particular kind of danger Vance had
lifted a corner of the curtain behind which crouched his horrible
intention. Vance desired a witness of the extraordinary experiment, but
he desired this witness, not merely for the purpose of sketching
possible shapes that might present themselves to excited vision. He
desired a witness for another reason too. Why had Vance put that idea
into his mind, this idea of so peculiar danger? It might well have lost
him the very assistance he seemed so anxious to obtain.

Henriot could not fathom it quite. Only one thing was clear to him. He,
Henriot, was not the only one in danger.

They talked for long after that--far into the night. The lights went
out, and the armed patrol, pacing to and fro outside the iron railings
that kept the desert back, eyed them curiously. But the only other thing
he gathered of importance was the ledge upon the cliff-top where he was
to stand and watch; that he was expected to reach