"Of course. The first thing that I did," he told me, "was to get a copy of _Zandara_[1]. We've just finished reading it. And, if it hadn't been for what has happened to us, to Bill here and me, then I might have been inclined, Darwin old _tillicum_, to fancy that Bond had been romancing in that book of his instead of setting forth an account of actual adventure and discovery." [Footnote 1: _Zandara_ by John Martin Leahy, Fantasy Publishing Company, Inc., 1953.] "But, Milton," I asked, "what in the world did happen?" "We'll come to that soon, Darwin old top. What Bill and I want now is to see your Zandara." "Well, you'll have to wait till she gets back. That should be in an hour or so. "But, again, what on earth happened? _Where_ have you two been all this time?" But I must not go on like this, or I will find that I am writing a book myself instead of a preface to William Carter's narrative. You will see it mentioned in his Prolegomenon that his manuscript was to be placed in my keeping, to be given by me to the world when the time fixed upon had expired. All that I need say on that point is that the _raison d'être_ of this prospective measure will be quite obvious to you ere you have read to the last page of _Drome_. Save for three very brief footnotes, and to those my name is appended, every word in the pages that follow is from the hand of William Barrington Carter. I hasten to conclude, that you may proceed to learn who that mysterious visitor was, what he told them, _where_ Rhodes and Carter went--_where they are now_. Seattle, Washington, September 18, 1951. Prolegomenon "_Our world has lately discovered another: and who will assure us it is the last of his brothers, since the demons, the Sibyls and we ourselves have been ignorant of this till now?_" "_Nostre monde vient d'en retrouver un autre: et qui nous rêpond si c'est le dernier de ses frêres, puisque les dêmons, les sibylles et nous avons ignorê cettui-ci jusqu'à cette heure?_"--_Montaigne._ "There is," says August Derleth, "an element of the unnecessary about even the most apparently needed introduction." What with that element, and what with my own experience, as a reader, with introductions, it was my intention to write nothing in the species of a foreword to this my narrative of those amazing adventures and discoveries in which Milton Rhodes and I so unexpectedly and so suddenly found ourselves involved. I thought that I would most certainly have set down in the account itself everything that I should wish to write upon the subject.