"This is important, Legion," Foster rapped. "It would take more than the sight of a machine gun to panic you. What have you seen?" "I was looking for a back door," I said. "I went down to the cellar. I didn't like it down there so I came back up." "What did you see in the cellar?" Foster's face looked strained, colorless. "It looked like ..." I hesitated. "There was a crack in the floor, noises, lights...." "The floor," Foster said. "Certainly. That's the weak point." He seemed to be talking to himself. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "Something funny going on outside your windows, too." * * * * * Foster looked toward the heavy hangings. "Listen carefully, Legion," he said. "We are in grave danger--both of us. It's fortunate you arose when you did. This house, as you must have guessed by now, is something of a fortress. At this moment, it is under attack. The walls are protected by some rather formidable defense. I can't say as much for the cellar floor; it's merely three feet of ferro-concrete. We'll have to go now--very swiftly, and very quietly." "OK--show me," I said. Foster turned and went back along the hall to one of the locked doors, pressed something. The door opened and I followed him inside a small room. He crossed to a blank wall, pressed against it. A panel slid aside--and Foster jumped back. "God's wounds!" he gasped. He threw himself at the wall, and the panel closed. I stood stock still; from somewhere there was a smell like sulphur. "What the hell goes on?" I said. My voice cracked, like it always does when I'm scared. "That odor!" Foster said. "Quickly--the other way!" I stepped back and Foster pushed past me and ran along the hall, with me at his heels. I didn't look back to see what was at my own heels. Foster took the stairs three at a time, pulled up short on the landing. He went to his knees, shoved back an Isfahan rug as supple as sable, and gripped a steel ring set in the floor. He looked at me, his face white. "Invoke thy gods," he said hoarsely, and heaved at the ring. A section of floor swung up, showing the first step of a flight leading down into a black hole. Foster didn't hesitate; he dropped his feet in, scrambled down. I followed. The stairs went down about ten feet, ending on a stone floor. There was the sound of a latch turning, and we stepped out into a larger room. I saw moonlight through a row of high windows, and smelled the fragrance of fresh night air. "We're in the garage," Foster whispered. "Go around to the other side of the car and get in--quietly." I touched the smooth flank of the rakish cabriolet, felt my way around it, and eased the door open. I slipped into the seat and closed the door gently. Beside me, Foster touched a button and a green light glowed in the dash. "Ready?" he said. "Sure."