“They are the heads of--of the Thomahlia; not the nominal nor political nor religious heads--they are neither judicial, executive nor legislative; but the real heads, still above. They might be called the supreme college of wisdom, of science and of research. Also, they are the keepers of the bell and its temple, and the interpreters of the Prophecy of the Jarados.” “I see. You are a sort of priesthood.” “No. The priesthood is below us. The priests take what orders we choose to give, and are purely--” “Superstitious?” The Rhamda's eyes snapped, just a trifle. “Not at all, my dear sir! They are good, sincere men. Only, not being intellectually adept enough to be admitted to the real secrets, the real knowledge, they give to all things a provisional explanation based upon a settled policy. Not being Rhamdas, they are simply not aware that everything has an exact and absolute explanation.” “In other words,” put in Watson, “they are scientists; they have not lifted themselves up to the plane of inquisitive doubt.” Still the Rhamda shook his head. “Not quite that, either, my dear sir. Those below us are not ignorant; they are merely nearer to the level of the masses than we are. In fact, they are the people's rulers; these priests and other similar classes. But we, the Rhamdas, are the rulers of the rulers. We differ from them in that we have no material ends to subserve. Being at the top, with no motive save justice and advancement, our judgments are never questioned, and for the same reason, seldom passed. “But we are far above the plane of doubt that you speak of; we passed out of it long ago. That is the first stage of true science; afterwards comes the higher levels where all things have a reason; ethics, inspiration, thought, emotion--” “And--the judgment of the Jarados?” Watson could not have told why he said it. It was impulse, and the impromptu suggestion of a half-thought. But the effect of his words upon the Rhamda and the nurse told him that, inadvertently, he had struck a keynote. Both started, especially the woman. Watson took note of this in particular, because of the ingrained acceptance of the feminine in matter of belief. “What do you know?” was her eager interruption. “You have seen the Jarados?” As for the Rhamda, he looked at Watson with shrewd, calculating eyes. But they were still filled with wonder. “Can you tell us?” he asked. “Try and think!” Chick knew that he had gained a point. He had been dealt a trump card; but he was too clever to play it at once. He was on his own responsibility and was carrying a load that required the finest equilibrium. “I really do not know,” he said. “I--I must have time to think. Coming across the border that way you must give me time. You were telling me about the Rhamdas in general; now tell me about Avec in particular.” Geos nodded as though he could understand the fog that beclouded Watson's mind.