A sharp pealing of the door-bell roused him. He still felt weak and dizzy, but the frightening lethargy had somewhat abated. When Dean opened the door, a Japanese standing on the porch began a bobbing little bow, a gesture that was abruptly arrested as the sharp black eyes focussed on Dean's face. A little hiss of indrawn breath came from the visitor. Dean said irritably, "Well? Do you want to see me?" The other was still staring, his thin face sallow beneath a stiff thatch of gray hair. He was a small, slender man, with his face covered with a fine-spun web of wrinkles. After a pause he said, "I am Doctor Yamada." Dean frowned, puzzled. Abruptly he remembered his uncle's cable of the day before. An odd, unreasonable irritation began to mount within him, and he said, more bruskly than he had intended, "This isn't a professional call, I hope. I've already----" "Your uncle--you are Mr. Dean?--cabled me. He was rather worried." Doctor Yamada glanced around almost furtively. Dean felt distaste stir within him, and his irritation increased. "My uncle is rather eccentric, I'm afraid. There's nothing for him to worry about. I'm sorry you had your trip for nothing." Doctor Yamada did not seem to take offense at Dean's attitude. Rather, a strange expression of sympathy showed for a moment on his small face. "Do you mind if I come in?" he asked, and moved forward confidently. Short of barring his way, Dean had no means of stopping him, and ungraciously led his guest to the room where he had spent the night, motioning him to a chair while he busied himself with a coffee-pot. Yamada sat motionless, silently watching Dean. Then without preamble he said, "Your uncle is a great man, Mr. Dean." Dean made a noncommittal gesture. "I have seen him only once." "He is one of the greatest occultists of this day. I, too, have studied psychic lore, but beside your uncle I am a novice." Dean said, "He is eccentric. Occultism, as you term it, has never interested me." The little Japanese watched him impassively. "You make a common error, Mr. Dean. You consider occultism a hobby for cranks. No"--he held up a slender hand--"your disbelief is written in your face. Well, it is understandable. It is an anachronism, an attitude handed down from the earliest times, when scientists were called alchemists and sorcerers and burned for making pacts with the devil. But actually there are no sorcerers, no--witches. Not in the sense that man understands these terms. There are men and women who have acquired mastery over certain sciences which are not wholly subject to mundane physical laws."