Watson said no word. He had been outwitted. He awaited the end. But the Senestro saw fit to say, with an irony that told how sure he was: “However, I am opposed to killing in cold blood. Open your eyes, Sir Phantom! I will give you time--a fair chance. What do you say--shall we match weapon against weapon?” Watson slowly opened his eyes. The blinding light had dimmed to a soft glow. They were in a sort of gallery whose length was uncertain; between him and the outlet, about ten feet away, stood the confident, ever-smiling Bar. “You or I,” said he, jauntily. “Are you ready to try it? I have given you a fair chance!” He raised his dagger-like weapon, as though aiming it. At the same instant Chick pulled the trigger from the hip, snap aim. The gun was empty. Another second, and Watson would have been like those spots of colour on the ground outside. He breathed a prayer to his Maker. The Senestro's weapon was in line with his throat. But it was not to be. There came a flash and a stunning report; the deherer clattered against the wall, and the Senestro clutched a stinging hand. He was staring in surprise at something behind Chick--something that made him turn and dart out of sight. Chick wheeled. Right behind him stood the familiar form of the Jan Lucar; and a few feet beyond, a figure from which came a clear, cool, nonchalant voice; “I would have killed that fellow, Chick, but he's too damned handsome. I'm going to save him for a specimen.” Watson peered closer. He gave a gasp, half of amazement, half of delight. For the words were in English, and the voice-- It was Harry Wendel. XLIV DR. HOLCOMB'S STORY If there was the least doubt in Chick's mind that this was really Harry, it was dispelled by the sight of the person who the next moment stepped up to his side. It was none other than the Nervina. “Harry Wendel!” gasped Watson. It was too good to be true! “Surest thing you know, Chick. It's me, alive and kicking!” as they grabbed one another. “How did you get here?” “Search me! Ask the lady; I'm just a creature of circumstance. I merely act; she does all the thinking.” The Nervina smiled and nodded. Her eyes were just as wonderful as Chick remembered them, full of elusiveness, of the moonbeam's light, of witchery past understanding. “Yes,” she affirmed. “You see, Mr. Watson, it is the will of the Prophet. Harry is of the Chosen. We have come for the great Dr. Holcomb--for the Jarados!” And she led the way. Watson followed in silent wonder; behind him came the Geos and the rest, quiet and reverent. The soft glow still held, so that they seemed to be walking through the walls of cold fire. At the end of the passage they came to a door. The Nervina touched three unmarked spots on the walls. The door opened. The queen stood aside, and motioned for Chick and Harry to enter.