ms were extended like those
on the floor below.

The vibrant tone from on high changed to a crashing blare that shrieked
discordantly to send quivering protest through every nerve of the
waiting men. Those about them were shouting, and again the name of Torg
was heard, as, in the high arch, another character appeared to play his
part in a strange drama.

Thin like his companions, yet even taller than them, he wore the same
brilliant robes and, an additional mark of distinction, a head-dress of
polished gold. He acknowledged the salute with a quick raising of his
own arms, then came swiftly forward and took his place upon the massive
throne.

Not till he was seated did the others on the platform relax their rigid
pose and seat themselves in the semicircle of chairs. And not till then
did they so much as glance at the men waiting there before them--the two
Earth-men, standing in silent, impassive contemplation of the brilliant
scene and with their arms held quiet at their sides. Then every eye
turned full upon the captives, and if McGuire had seen deadly
malevolence in the face of their captor he found it a hundred-fold in
the inhuman faces that looked down upon them now.

The inquiring mind of Professor Sykes did not fail to note the
character of their reception. "But why," he asked in whispers of his
fellow-prisoner, "--why this open hatred of us? What possible animus
can they have against the earth or its people?"

The figure on the throne voiced a curt order; the one who had brought
them stepped forward. His voice was raised in the same discordant,
singing tone that leaped and wandered from note to note. It conveyed
ideas--that was apparent; it was a language that he spoke. And the
central figure above nodded a brief assent as he finished.

Their captor took an arm of each in his long fingers and pushed them
roughly forward to stand alone before the battery of hard eyes.

* * * * *

Now the crowned figure addressed them directly. His voice quavered
sharply in what seemed an interrogation. The men looked blankly at each
other.

Again the voice questioned them impatiently. Sykes and McGuire were
silent. Then the young flyer took an involuntary step forward and looked
squarely at the owner of the harsh voice.

"We don't know what you are saying," he began, "and I suppose that our
lingo makes no sense to you--" He paused in helpless wonderment as to
what he could say. Then--