Some who seemed to be leaders stood above the rest on a platform which
formed the base of a terraced formation against the far wall of the
room. Even at a distance Chet could see and wonder at the simple beauty
of that place of metals and jewels where the great ones of an earlier
race had once stood.

Back of those who harangued the crowd the terraces built themselves up
to a pyramid against the rock wall; and on either side, opening upon
the platform base, was a doorway of noble proportions, whose metal doors
of burnished reds and browns were closed.

"The sacred room," whispered Anita, "beyond those doors. Frithjof has
closed them. He is there. I know it--I know it!"

Chet was still holding the body of O'Malley. Only his choked breathing
showed that he still lived, but now he stirred and struggled in Chet's
grasp, while he struck out blindly and hoarse sounds came from his
throat.

Chet clapped one hand over the pilot's mouth. "For the love of heaven,
Spud," he said fiercely, "be still! Don't speak--don't say a word! It's
Chet--Chet Bullard! I've got you, we're all right!"

The pilot's struggles ceased, and Chet eased him to the floor where he
sat still gasping for breath; the fumes from that place of death had
been strangling in his throat.

Beside him Chet heard the girl repeating in softest tones the name she
had heard for the first time.

"Chet--Chet Bullard! How odd a name! But I love it--I couldn't help but
love it."

* * * * *

In the great room were some who had turned toward the sound of Chet's
scuffling; they were walking slowly toward the half-opened door.

"Come!" said Anita Haldgren again, and fled like a slender,
golden-haired wraith down the narrow hall.

More twisting passages until Chet was hopelessly lost. But he no longer
needed to carry O'Malley, who was running beside him, and he had
implicit faith in the girlish guide who went before. He was not
surprised when they came after many detours to a narrow door of wrought
metals in white and gold, whose inset designs were worked in glowing
jewels.

Nor was he surprised when the door opened in response to a series of
knocks from Anita's hand that spelled SOS in the code he knew, and a
man, whose long hair and beard hung about a face as handsome as that of
a Viking of old, stood motionless in that doorway.

But the surprise of that flaxen-haired giant can be only imagined when a
young man whom he had neve