Then the speaker dropped the language of the earth and used the Thomahlian tongue again: “It is I who speak--I, the Prophet; the Prophet Jarados!” All in the voice of Dr. Holcomb. The blazing leaf faded into blackness, and the talking ceased. Chick was glad of the darkness; the whole thing was like magic, and too good to believe. The first actual words from the missing professor! Each syllable was frozen into Watson's memory. The Geos was clutching his arm. “Did you understand, my lord? We heard the voice of the prophet! What did he say?” “Yes, I understand. He used his own language--my language. And he said”--taking the reins firmly into his hands--“he said that we must return to the Thomahlia. And we must beware of the Bars.” There was no thought of questioning him. Without waiting the Geos' command, the Jan Lucar began putting the craft about. Watson glanced at the sky; the great spectacle was gone; and he demanded of the soldier: “How can we get back? How do we find our way?” For there was no visible light save the strange, fitful glow from that uncanny sky to guide them; no lights from the inky carpet of the Thomahlia, lights such as one would expect for the benefit of fliers. But the soldier touched a button, and instantly another and larger dial was illumined above the instruments. It revealed a map or chart of a vast portion of the Thomahlia. On the farther edge there appeared an area coloured to represent water, and adjoining this area was a square spot labeled “The Mahovisal.” And about midway from this point to the near edge of the dial a red dot hung, moving slowly over the chart. “The red dot, my lord, indicates our position,” explained the Jan. “In that manner we know at all times where we are located, and which way we are flying. We shall arrive in the Mahovisal shortly.” As he spoke the craft was gaining speed, and soon was travelling at an even greater rate than before. The red dot began to crawl at an astonishing speed. Of course, they had the benefit of the pull of gravity, now; apparently they would make the journey in a few minutes. But incredible though the speed might be, there was nothing but the red dot to show it. The Geos felt like talking. “My lord, the sign is conclusive. It is a marvel, such as only the prophet could possibly have produced; with all our science we could not duplicate such splendour. Only once before has the Thomahlia seen it.” Already they were near enough to the surface to make out the clustered, blinking lights of the towns on the plain below. Ahead of them queer streamers of pale rays thrust through the darkness. Watson recognised them as the beams of the far-distant searchlights; and then and there he gave thanks for one thing, at least, in which the Thomahlians had seemingly progressed no further than the people of the earth. Coming a little nearer, Chick made out a number of bright, glittering, insect-like objects, revealed by these searchlights. The Jan Lucar said: