“Hereafter they found a strange metal which they digged from the heart of the hills. And they made great mines, and set up machines for the working of the metal; and they prospered. The strongest among them chose they for king, and Bazoo, of the House of Lauma, was priest in the temple of Ramouni. Now it fell that, as time passed, the wolf-people whom they kept for slaves grew in cunning as they grew in numbers. A mighty people they were, that knew not fear. “And an Ayuti, Nordhu by name, an evil-doer, roused them to rebel; and at a time when the people of the city held high revel, the slaves armed themselves, and, falling upon their masters, slew them all, save a few. From these latter I, even Neomri, am descended, being born to Madro, wife of Nazra. “While I write the fear is upon me that ere long our race will be nought but a name; for we be but a few, in all not more than a score, and we hide amid the ruins of our city, fearing the creatures which once were our slaves. Yet I would that our race might be preserved, for we are an ancient people. Nevertheless, let the will of Ramouni be done.” The scientist’s voice trailed away into silence, and he sat pondering for a while over what he had read. “The old chap’s a bit disappointing,” Seymour broke in at length. “He says nothing of the existence of this phosphorescent liquid, nor yet of the bell which tolls when the sunlight strikes the idol’s eye.” “He says enough to prove my theory,” Mervyn replied abstractedly; “save that it was a volcanic outbreak, and not an incursion of enemies, which drove them to the shelter of the crater, my theory is identical with the story on this manuscript. Nordhu, the priest, must be the descendant of Nordhu the evil-doer, mentioned here. The caverns in the hills are undoubtedly the ancient mines in which the wolf-men would take up their habitation after the massacre. We may also take it for granted that the work still carried on down there is the making of this same strange metal.” “Mervynite?” Haverly put in. “Yes, Mervynite, if you like, Silas,” returned the scientist with a smile. “Talking of Nordhu,” remarked the baronet, “reminds me that we must decide on the fate of our prisoner.” Turning, he spoke for some moments with Chenobi. “The king says the priest may choose the manner of his death,” he announced. “Must he die?” Mervyn questioned, his mild nature revolting against the idea of an execution. “He must die!” repeated Seymour sternly. “Both Chenobi and I have sworn it. The fiend murdered our friend’s brother, and it was not his fault he did not add our names to his list of victims. God alone knows how many poor wretches he has sacrificed to that devilish spider! So vile a monster is not fit to live.” Although his own good judgment told him that Nordhu merited death, yet the idea of executing him could not be other than repugnant to the scientist’s nature. It seemed too much like cold-blooded murder. “But----” he began again.