“Nothing more is asked.... But this tower business. You know that until you are able to climb to the top you are unfit to stand the gravitation of Tormance?” “Then I repeat, it’s an awkward obstacle, for I certainly can’t get up.” Krag hunted about in his pockets, and at length produced a clasp knife. “Remove your coat, and roll up your shirt sleeve,” he directed. “Do you propose to make an incision with that?” “Yes, and don’t start difficulties, because the effect is certain, but you can’t possibly understand it beforehand.” “Still, a cut with a pocket-knife—” began Maskull, laughing. “It will answer, Maskull,” interrupted Nightspore. “Then bare your arm too, you aristocrat of the universe,” said Krag. “Let us see what your blood is made of.” Nightspore obeyed. Krag pulled out the big blade of the knife, and made a careless and almost savage slash at Maskull’s upper arm. The wound was deep, and blood flowed freely. “Do I bind it up?” asked Maskull, scowling with pain. Krag spat on the wound. “Pull your shirt down, it won’t bleed any more.” He then turned his attention to Nightspore, who endured his operation with grim indifference. Krag threw the knife on the floor. An awful agony, emanating from the wound, started to run through Maskull’s body, and he began to doubt whether he would not have to faint, but it subsided almost immediately, and then he felt nothing but a gnawing ache in the injured arm, just strong enough to make life one long discomfort. “That’s finished,” said Krag. “Now you can follow me.” Picking up the lantern, he walked toward the door. The others hastened after him, to take advantage of the light, and a moment later their footsteps, clattering down the uncarpeted stairs, resounded through the deserted house. Krag waited till they were out, and then banged the front door after them with such violence that the windows shook. While they were walking swiftly across to the tower, Maskull caught his arm. “I heard a voice up those stairs.” “What did it say?” “That I am to go, but Nightspore is to return.” Krag smiled. “The journey is getting notorious,” he remarked, after a pause. “There must be ill-wishers about.... Well, do you want to return?” “I don’t know what I want. But I thought the thing was curious enough to be mentioned.” “It is not a bad thing to hear voices,” said Krag, “but you mustn’t for a minute imagine that all is wise that comes to you out of the night world.” When they had arrived at the open gateway of the tower, he immediately set foot on the bottom step of the spiral staircase and ran nimbly up, bearing the lantern. Maskull followed him with some trepidation, in view of his previous painful experience on these stairs, but when, after the first half-dozen steps, he discovered that he was still breathing freely, his dread changed to relief and astonishment, and he could have chattered like a girl.