"Oh, I see," said West. "I didn't know her name was Stella. No one, in fact, knows anything about her. She suddenly appeared one night as a surprise feature on one of the networks. She was announced as a mystery singer, and then people began calling her the White Singer. She always sang in dim, blue light, you see, and no one ever saw her face too plainly, although everyone imagined, of course, that it was beautiful. "The network made no bones about her being an alien being. She was represented as a member of a mystery race that Juston Lloyd had found in the Asteroids. You remember Lloyd, the New York press agent." Nevin was leaning across the table. "And the people, the government, it does not suspect?" West shook his head. "Why should it? Your Stella is a wonder. Everyone is batty over her. The newspapers went wild. The movie people--" "And the cults?" "The cults," said West, "are doing fine." "And you?" asked Cartwright and in the man's rumbling voice West felt the challenge. "I found out," he said, "I came here to get cut in." "You know exactly what you are asking?" "I do," said West, wishing that he did. "A new philosophy," said Cartwright. "A new concept of life. New paths for progress. Secrets the human race never has suspected. Remaking the human civilization almost overnight." "And you," said West, "right at the center, pulling all the strings." "So," said Cartwright. "I want a few to pull myself." Nevin held up his hand. "Just a minute, Mr. West. We would like to know just how--" Cartwright laughed at him. "Forget it, Louis. He knew about your painting. He had Annabelle. Where do you suppose he found out?" "But--but--" said Nevin. "Maybe he didn't use a painting," Cartwright declared. "Maybe he used other methods. After all, there are others, you know. Thousands of years ago men knew of the place we found. Mu, probably. Atlantis. Some other forgotten civilization. Just the fact that West had Annabelle is enough for me. He must have been there." West smiled, relieved. "I used other methods," he told them. CHAPTER THREE The Painting A robot came in, wheeling a tray with steaming dishes. "Let's sit down," suggested Nevin. "Just one thing," asked West. "How did you get Stella back to Earth? None of you could have taken her. You'd have been recognized." Cartwright chuckled. "Robertson," he said. "We had one ship and he slipped out. As to the recognition, Belden is our physician. He also, if you remember, is a plastic surgeon of no mean ability." "He did the job," said Nevin, "for both Robertson and Stella." "Nearly skinned us alive," grumbled Cartwright, "to get enough to do the work, I'll always think that he took more than he really needed, just for spite. He's a moody beggar." Nevin changed the subject. "Shall we have Rosie sit with us?" "Rosie?" asked West.