With that he held the jewel on the first of the three chalk-marks on the circumference of the great circle. He held it tight against the carpet and then let go. Up it flashed about one foot--and disappeared. There was no sound. Next Watson took the red stone. With it, the process was inverted. Instead of holding it to the floor he raised it as high as he could reach, directly above the second mark. Then he let it drop. It did not reach the floor. It fell a little more than halfway, and vanished. The third stone, the green one, was still remaining. Watson took it to the third and final mark on the circle, taking care to keep outside the circumference that marked the Spot. This mark was directly in front of the archway. He turned to them. “Watch carefully,” he spoke. “I do not know what has transpired in the temple during the past few hours. Be ready for ANYTHING. All of you!” He dropped the stone. With the same motion he dodged out into the hall. Though there was no sound there was something that every one felt--a sibilant undertone and cold vibration--a tense flash of magnetism. Then the dot of blue--a string of incandescence; just as had been spoken. The Blind Spot was opening. Watson silently warned the others to remain where they were and himself crowded back against the stair. And as he did so, someone came noiselessly down the steps from the floor above, passed unnoticed behind the watchers and thence across into the hall. It was a slender, frail figure in white--the Aradna, walking like one in the grip of a higher will. Before they could make a move she had stepped into the Blind Spot, under the dot of blue, and into a string of light. And then--she was gone. It was as swift as a guess. It was inexorable and unseen; and being unseen, close akin to terror. The group watched and waited, scarcely breathing. What would happen next? There came a sudden, jarring click--like the tapping of iron. And next instant-- The Spot opened to human sight. The library at 288 Chatterton Place was gone. Instead, the people on the stairs were gazing down from the Spot of Life, straight into the colossal Temple of the Jarados. It was as Chick had described it--immense--beyond conception. Through the great doors and out into the plaza beyond was gathered all Thomahlia, reverent, like those waiting for the crack of doom. Above the horde, high on the opposite wall, stood out the monster Clover Leaf of the Jarados; three-coloured--blazing like liquid fire; it was ominous with real life. At that moment the whole concourse rippled with commotion. Arms were uplifted; one and all pointed towards the dais. They, too were looking through the Spot. Then the multitude began to move. It heaved and surged and rolled toward the centre. The guards were pressed in upon the Bars, the Bars upon the Rhamda-lined stair. There was no resisting that flood of humanity. On and up it came, sweeping everything before it.