of no value to us; and if the gifts they bring
to us are of no value to them, they are dear to us."

The Plutonian sneered.

"Dearer than the Paste of Strange Dreams?"

A startled hush fell among the assembled Mercurians. They looked
guiltily at one another, avoiding the eyes of the Old Wise One.

"What is this?" shrilled he, turning furiously to the Plutonian. "Have
ye brought the paste of evil to our abode, knowing well the strict
proscription of our tribe? Fool! Your death is upon ye!"

* * * * *

But the Plutonian only grinned and spread his glistening, black hands
in a careless gesture. High overhead, peering through the
stalactites, Olear instantly understood the Plutonian's strange power,
the Paste of Strange Dreams, a fearsome narcotic of that far-swinging
dark planet. More insidious and devastating than any drug ever
produced on Earth, it had wrought frightful havoc among many solar
races. The Earthmen had opened the lanes, broken the age-old barriers
of distance, so that the harpies of evil could traffic their poison
from planet to planet. So the Paste of Strange Dreams was added to the
Earthman's burden.

"Seize him--the Evil One!" shrieked the old chief, but the Mercurians
sat sullen and silent, and the Plutonian sneered.

Finally one of the chiefs arose and with an effort faced the Old Wise
One and said:

"The Strange Dreams are dearer to us than all else. Do as he says."

The piping voices rose in eager acclamation, but the Old Wise One held
up his claws, waiting until silence returned.

"Wait! Wait! Before ye commit this folly, hear the Green Star man.
Many times has he demanded audience. Let him come in."

"It is not permitted," demurred one of the chiefs.

"Ye permitted this being of evil to enter; let him enter also."

"He is in the outer chambers now," one of the guards spoke. "His face
is like the center of a ringstorm."

"Let him enter!"

* * * * *

Morones strode into the room angrily. Blinded by the fire after the
darkness of the antechambers, he did not at first see the Plutonian.
He strode up to the ancient chief and glared at him.

"Does the Old Wise One learn wisdom at last?" he rasped. The ancient
shrank away from him, as did the nearer of the lesser chiefs.

"The Old Wise One thinks less of his wisdom," he replied wearily.
"Behold!" He pointed to the enthroned Plutonian.

Morones started. His hand flashed