They were slowly moving towards the exit. There was no need of haste as their train was not due to start for another half-hour, and the station was but ten minutes' walk. Before Ananda could reply they were joined by two more Hindus. In appearance these men were like Ananda, although there was no blood relationship between them. Their complexions were of the wheaten tint that frequently goes with high caste and good birth. They were equally well dressed in the latest English fashion, without extravagance or display. To Wenaston they were well known, and he greeted them as old acquaintances. "The show is at an end, Dr. Wenaston. It is reported that the poor fellow is dead. It only remains for us to go back to town," said one who was called Bopaul by his friends. "I am sorry it has ended fatally. I suppose every new scientific venture must have its victims. The claims of aviation will be every whit as heavy as were the claims of steam and electricity," responded Wenaston. "The death dues of the gods!" murmured the other, known as Coomara. Bopaul laughed lightly but Ananda turned a pair of serious eyes upon Wenaston. "You don't believe that the higher power ruling our destinies requires to be propitiated by a holocaust of victims, do you?" he asked. "Certainly not. Accidents occur through the imperfection of machines; and with each accident it is only natural that an important step is made towards a more perfect knowledge." "Exactly so," rejoined Coomara, eagerly. "In return for a life, the Fountain of all knowledge in his justice and rectitude gives knowledge." "Life is not demanded in exchange or in payment for knowledge," objected Wenaston. "Knowledge might be acquired without loss of life if men were more careful and less rash. The death of the experimenter is due to his own ignorance, to his rashness, or to the imperfection of the machine in its inception." "You do not believe that it is the direct act of God?"