The interruption was essential to the story's word count, but just the same it was frustrating. Even Thejah Doris looked put out, though she didn't say anything. Instead, she turned and reclined upon her back, hands clasped behind her head, and let the two moons vie with one another to do justice to her charms. It was an interesting contest to watch, and soon Thon-Smith became engrossed. He became so engrossed, in fact, that he failed to see the tower till it was too late. It was a tall tower--remarkably tall when you considered the altitude of the atmosphere boat. He yanked the tiller savagely, but their momentum was too great, and a moment later the bow crumpled against stone. The deck tilted abruptly, and he barely managed to grab Thejah Doris before she tumbled over the low rail, and it was all he could do to maintain his balance till the rapidly sinking craft came opposite the dark aperture of a window. He leaped lightly to the sill, his Martian princess in his arms, and stepped into the musty gloom of a lofty chamber. * * * * * The faithful Droola was not so fortunate. It essayed the leap, but missed the sill by a good two feet. (He'd been planning on getting rid of Droola for a long time.) Dutifully he listened for the sound of the faithful body striking the ground, but when, an appropriate time later, the sound came, he could not summon the emotional response which the plot called for. All he could manage was a sort of vague contrition which was immediately negated by the realization that at last he and Thejah Doris were really alone. She had discovered tapers on the dusty shelves that lined one wall of the chamber, and now she lit three of them and set them upon the rough wooden table that stood in the middle of the stone floor. "There is nothing to fear, my chieftain," she said. "This is one of the deserted locktowers once maintained by the ancient Mii when Mars was young and great barges plied her blue canals. Above us is the control room itself, from which the mighty locks, now rusted and fallen to ruin, were manipulated by the ancient Miian tenders. Now the towers stand silent and forlorn, the havens of occasional wandering bards who find the lofty rooms and empty echoing stairways conducive to their search for the ever-elusive Muse." He stared at her. It was, he had to admit, rather incongruous phraseology to be issuing from the lips of a blonde who, for all her royal blood, still looked more like a burlesque queen than she did a princess. Well, no matter. "You look lovely by candlelight," he said. "You are very gallant, my chieftain." She lit another candle and went over and placed it in a wall niche beside an ancient sleeping couch. She turned and faced him. "At last we are alone." He started toward her, arms outstretched. Simultaneously the thunder of padded toat hooves sounded in the distance.