Chick gasped. Of all that assemblage--Rhamdas, guards, the occupants of the two thrones--he himself was the most astounded. Was the great professor in actual fact the true Jarados? If not, how explain this miracle? But if he were, how to explain the duality, the identity? Surely, it could not be sheer chance! Fortunately for Chick, it was dark. All eyes were fixed on the trim figure which occupied the space of the clover-leaf on the rear wall. Except for Chick's strangled gasp, there was only the hushed silence of reverence, deep and impressive. Then another dot appeared. From its position, Watson took it to come from another leaf of the clover; another light approaching out of the void and cutting through the blackness exactly as the first had come. It grew and spread until it had filled the whole leaf; then, again the bursting of the flare, the diminishing of the light, and its disappearance in a thin rim at the edge. And this time there was revealed-- A handsome brown-haired DOG. Watson of course, could not understand. The silence held; he could feel the Rhamda Geos at his side, and hear him murmur something which, in itself, was quite unintelligible: “The four-footed one! The call to humility, sacrifice, and unselfishness! The four-footed one!” That was all. It was a shaggy shepherd dog, with a pointed nose and one ear cocked up and the other down, very wisely inquisitive. Chick had seen similar dogs many times, but he could not account for this one; certainly not in such a place. What had it to do with the Jarados? Still the darkness. It gave him a chance to think. He wondered, rapidly, how he could link up such a creature with his description of the Jarados. What could be the purpose of a canine in occult philosophy? Or, was the whole thing, after all, mere blundering chance? This is what bothered Chick. He did not know how to adjust himself; life, place, sequence, were all out of order. Until he could gather exact data, he must trust to intuition as before. The two pictures vanished simultaneously. Down came the black waves from the windows, gradually, and in a moment the room was once more flooded with that mellow radiance. The Rhamda Geos stepped forward as a murmur of awed approval arose from the assembly. There was no applause. One does not applaud the miraculous. The Geos took his hand. “It is proven!” he declared. Then, to the Rhamdas: “Is there any question, my brothers?” But no word came from the floor. Seemingly superstition had triumphed over all else. The men of learning turned none but reverent faces toward Watson. He forebore to glance at the Bar Senestro. Despite the triumph he was apprehensive of the princes's keen genius. An agnostic is seldom converted by what could be explained away as mere coincidence. Moreover, as it ultimately appeared, the Bar now had more than one reason for antagonising the man who claimed to be the professor's prospective son-in-law. “Is there any question?” repeated Rhamda Geos.