“Other people, or monsters down in the valley: something vague but horrible as a nightmare with a nameless horror. And the man was calling, _Help_. Not the word. I could not hear that, but I knew. Calling to me. He keeps on calling. I can hear him so often. Calling to _me_!” She said it so strangely. At once it seemed uncanny, weird, almost gruesome. A thrill very akin to fear ran over me. This was not science. But Dr. Weatherby’s calm, precise voice was scientific enough. “That was several years ago. We have found since that she is receiving thought-vibrations, not from here on earth, not from the planets, or the stars, but from beyond the stars. The greater realms out there, suspected to exist for so long, which now I know and can prove to exist!” His voice had risen in an excitement, an exaltation. He went on more swiftly, “But all that is nothing. I wanted you to come here and help me. Dolores has had thoughts from out there beyond the stars . . . and her own answering thoughts have been answered. Communication! “Oh, I have guarded against delusion! I have sent messages through Dolores of scientific import, and been answered with scientific thoughts all beyond this child’s comprehension. Communications with the great unknown—the infinity of distance unfathomable. “That started a year ago. Now I have done more. I have learned how to get there. I can transport myself, my girls and you! I am ready to make the journey now. That is why I want you, and need you. We are going. We want you to come with us, out beyond the stars!” II THE DEAD WHITE THING “In the plan of the universe,” said Dr. Weatherby, “we find a conception gigantic, infinite, and yet it all has a simplicity. I want most earnestly to have you understand me, Leonard and Jim.” He gazed at us with a gentle smile. We had had our morning meal, and had slept long and heavily, and now it was evening twilight. We sat in the big livingroom on the lower floor of the Weatherby home. Dolores, as before, cuddled against her grandfather’s side. Alice busied about the house, but presently she joined us. Dr. Weatherby’s manner was as earnest as his words. He added, looking at me, “I want to be very clear, Leonard. This thing that we are to do—this journey, in which if you will not join me I shall make alone—” “By the infernal, you won’t make it alone while I’m alive,” Jim cried. “The detective service loses its best tracker, beginning right away!” Dr. Weatherby held out his hand. “My boy!” He could say no more. And on Dolores’ face was a radiance. Then Dr. Weatherby turned to me. “And you, Leonard—will you go?” The direct question startled me. Would I go out there into eternity? Beyond the stars, into eternal time, and over space unfathomable, to encounter what now no human mind could grasp? But, like Jim, I was practically alone in the world and I was free to make any decision without fear of hurting others.