All the questions that had pounded at his brain so long, waiting for this interview, were suddenly mute. "I have been on a far journey," said the seer. "I have visited many worlds that were supposed to be dead, and have seen what strange horrors can result when mere men seek to make wise use of a power befitting only a god or creatures like gods. I have gone in constant danger, for there are those against whom I have rebelled and who therefore seek my life, but I am safe from them for a time. Sit down, and I will tell you what is in my mind." Clawly complied. Oktav leaned forward, tapping the desk with one bone-thin finger. He continued, "For a long time I have spoken to you in riddles, dealt with you vaguely, because I was trying to play a double game--impart essential information to you, and yet not impart it. That time is past. From now on I speak clearly. In a little while I shall depart on a desperate venture. If it succeeds, I do not think you will have to fear the invasion threatening your world. But it may fail, and therefore I must first put at your disposal all the information I possess, so that you can judge how best to act in that event." He looked up quickly. Clawly heard movement in the corridor. But it was from the inner chamber that the sudden interruption came. Once again Oktav's summoner stood in the inner doorway. Once again that young-old, ignorant-wise, animal-god face was turned on Oktav. The muscles of the clamped jaw stood out like knobs. One arm in its cylinderlike sleeve of stiff, ancient fabric, was rigidly extended toward the seer. But Clawly had only time for the barest glance, and Oktav had even less--he was just starting to turn and his eyes were only on the verge of being lighted with a flicker of recognition--when a great tongue of softly bluish flame licked out from the summoner's hand and, not dying as flames should, folded around Oktav like a shroud. Before Clawly's eyes, Oktav's robe burst into flame. His body shriveled, blackened, contorted in agony, curling like a leaf. Then it was still. The soft flame returned to the summoner's hand. Incapable of motion or connected thought or any feeling but a sick dismay, Clawly watched. The summoner walked over to Oktav's desk--clumsily, as if he were not used to dealing with three-dimensional worlds, but also contemptuously, as if worlds of three or any other number of dimensions were very trivial affairs to him. He extracted from the charred remains of Oktav's robe a small gray sphere, which Clawly now saw was similar to one which the summoner had been holding in his outstretched hand. Then, with an equal clumsiness and contempt, with a sweeping glance that saw Clawly and ignored him, the summoner walked back through the inner doorway. * * * * *