"Steady," he told his companion. "We're in a ticklish position. Do nothing to alarm them." From up above them came an answering shrill note. Another of the beings was descending into the room. "Ah!" said Lieutenant McGuire softly, "the big boss, himself. Now let's see what will happen." If there had seemed something of timidity in the repulsive faces of the waiting creatures, this newcomer was of a different type. He opened flabby thin lips to give one sharp note of command. It was as sibilant as the hissing of a snake. The man with the weapon returned it to a holder at his side; the whole group cringed before the power and authority of the new arrival. The men that they had seen thus far were all garbed alike; a loose-fitting garment of one piece that was ludicrously like the play rompers that children might wear. These were dull red in color, the red of drying blood, made of strong woven cloth. But this other was uniformed differently. McGuire noted the fineness of the silky robe. Like the others this was made of one piece, loosely fitting, but its bright vivid scarlet made the first seem drab and dull. A belt of metal about his waist shone like gold and matched the emblem of precious metal in the turban on his head. * * * * * All this the eyes of the flyer took in at a glance; his attention was only momentarily diverted from the ashen face with eyes narrow and slitted, that stared with the cold hatred of a cat into those of the men. He made a sound with a whistling breath. It seemed to be a question directed to them, but the import of it was lost. "An exceedingly queer lot," Professor Sykes observed. "And this chap seems distinctly hostile." "He's no friend of mine," said McGuire as the thin, pendulous lips repeated their whistling interrogation. "I can't place them," mused the scientist. "Those facial characteristics.... But they must be of some nationality, speak some tongue." He addressed himself to the figure with the immobile, horrid face. "We do not understand you," he said with an ingratiating smile. "_Comprenez vous Francaise?_... _Non?_"... German, perhaps, or Spanish?... "_Sprecken sie Deutsche?_ _Usted habla Espanola?_..." He followed with a fusillade of questions in strange and varying tongues. "I've even tried him with Chinese," he protested in bewilderment and stared amazed at his companion's laughter. There had to be a reaction from the strain of the past hours, and Lieutenant McGuire found the serious questioning in polyglot tongues and the unchanging feline stare of that hideous face too much for his mental restraint. He held his sides, while he shook and roared with laughter beyond control, and the figure before him glared with evident disapproval of his mirth. * * * * *