Suddenly with an annoyed gesture he threw up his hands, apparently throwing off the water, which instantaneously began to flow in myriad streams from his headdress, reminding Ruth of Shiva, who, with his hair, separated the flow of the sacred river when it came down from the Himalayas. George removed his headdress, disclosing a close white turban beneath, and the flow of the fountain died as unceremoniously as it had begun. The servant who was standing nearby waiting for his signal now handed George an ordinary walking stick, which George silently offered for inspection. After some examination it was agreed that it was a very ordinary walking stick indeed. George whirled it about his head and dropped it before his feet—it was a writhing snake. Several women screamed. Fountains were pretty, but they were in no mood for snakes. George picked up the snake again and whirled it around his head. It was an ordinary walking stick, though the men hesitated to re-examine it for proof. George balanced the stick on his finger, holding his arm out straight before him, and it began to writhe and twist, a snake with open, hissing mouth and darting tongue. He dropped it—the same women screamed again, then laughed hysterically as they saw the common piece of wood before them. “This sort of thing is all very well from a distance, but I don’t really care for snakes at such close quarters,” Ruth heard some one whisper. Ruth glanced at Professor Pendragon beside her, but his eyes were fixed on George. There was an eager light in his eyes as if he, too, were waiting, and his firm set lips were curved in a smile. Again her hand sought Terry’s gift. If all these people here were the victims of hypnotic illusions, she at least must keep one corner of her brain free and untouched. Pendragon’s presence there was proof that he had decided to fight, and she must help him. In the semi-darkness of the room she could not see Gloria, but she heard her laughter like thin bells over snow-covered hills—it seemed to echo round the room, and she fancied that George, bending over the task of clearing away the things with which he had been working, winced as he heard it, as if the frost of her mirth had bitten into his heart. The stage was all clear again now, and he bowed deeply before them three times. There was a restless movement among the watchers. Perhaps they thought this was the end, but Ruth waited, her heart high up in her throat and standing still with fear that she would somehow fail to do the thing she had decided upon.