He took a stiff drink of whisky and crawled into bed. Sleep would not come at once. Confused thoughts revolved in his mind. He saw himself at police headquarters, answering questions. The girl had told her story up to the instant she had fainted, mentioning the flying shapes. She was unable to describe them, except to say the strangeness of their appearance had terrified her. Bryan was reluctant to discuss his own experience, but the girl had told of hearing his warning, and this placed him squarely on the scene. He could not claim ignorance of ensuing events without laying himself open to suspicion. He had told of seeing the flying shapes also, but claimed he had been unable to make out details. They had moved too swiftly, his explanation went, it had been too dark. One had rushed at the man, knocking him down, then all had flown out of sight. A vague story--evasive. But the police had seemed satisfied, to the extent that the story checked with the girl's. The flying shapes ... Leeta.... A curious excitement surged in him as he thought of the wraithlike girl. Who was she? Where had she come from? He recalled something she had said--something about his will being strong enough to penetrate the veil unaided. It seemed important. But what had she meant by that? What--and where--was the veil? And--how had he been able to understand her? He realized now that neither she nor the others had used audible speech, yet he had the impression of intelligible spoken words, of voice tones. He pondered the mystery with a growing fogginess. He slept. And then he was not sleeping. He was standing on a mountain ridge, looking down into a broad green valley. It was daylight. In the sky hung a great red-tinged sun, which immediately struck him as--alien. But for the moment his wonder remained concentrated on the valley. There was something there that drew him--that had drawn him there. A bond of some sort existed, an indefinable ethereal linking, over which he had crossed like a bridge. A bond, he sensed, that even now was somehow fading ... dissolving. The valley was a pleasant place, idyllic. Peace and quiet were cupped within it. He had the sudden, insistent feeling that he had been seeking a place like this, a place where he could be happy, where his blind strivings would find fulfillment. A place--_where_? He turned to gaze on the other side of the ridge. And saw--horror. The land here was a ghostly desolation, blackened, charred, lifeless, bathed in an eery shimmering blue radiance. An unutterably deadly radiance, he knew in some strange way. And he knew, too, that the radiance lay everywhere--except in this lone valley. He returned his attention to it with a mounting urgency. The scene was growing dim, blurring. It was escaping him. He made a frantic exertion of will, seeking in what few moments that remained an answer to a certain question.