Deisanocta was finding it difficult to wait, too. The eager glow of anticipation had died away in her beautiful eyes. They were reflective, reminiscent. "All my life I've been trained for this moment," she said, at last. "Deep in the Crypt, burial ground of our race, the Elders hid and taught me." "In the Crypt!" exclaimed Barry. "Then the dying Martian knew of you when he threatened 'Justice from the Crypt'!" "Hardly," she smiled. "That was twenty years before I was born--ten years after the first Earthmen came to Mars. "He couldn't even have known that my parents were hidden there. They were still young, the last of Martian royalty, hidden away by a few faithful servants." "What did he mean then?" She shook her head, the black tresses gleaming faintly under the mist. "We never knew." "Tell me about this Crypt," Barry asked. "And tell me more about your people." "The Crypt is our ancient burial place. It is underground, dry, and our dead are safe there from animals that would find bodies the shifting sand would not protect. "Always, we laid our dead to rest there, until Craig Grey placed guards at the doors and forbade the practice." "He was afraid some weapon was hidden there," reasoned Barry Williams. "It's the only thing the dying Martian's threat could mean." "What weapon could be there?" Deisanocta asked mournfully. "Our people were always peaceful. They lived beside the wells, growing the food they ate. It took Earthmen to teach them to hate and kill--to know that ore dust was worth blood!" "Does your written history give no clue of a time when the Crypt was anything but a burial place?" "Our people knew nothing of writing. That, too, we learned from Earthmen, my Elders learned it in secret and taught me." "And they developed the white mist there in the Crypt, and brought the old Earthman who taught you hypnotism?" Barry asked. He pictured her frightened childhood among the dead, in the darkness so close to Craig's guards who would have killed her on sight. * * * * * The girl read his expression. "It was not so terrible," she said wistfully. "There was peace, we were not tortured for ore dust, or made to slave in mines. It is light there, even deep down; for the walls are radioactive. "But my parents died of hearts broken by the suffering of their people. It was later that the white mist was developed, and I learned that my mission was to use it!" A faint noise broke into their conversation--a clicking that was suddenly almost thunderous in their ears as every other sound died! It was the radio receptor signal. In the screen, the twelve squares were filling again. The time for reports had come--and there had been no special report of victory.