The tunnel might lead anywhere. All the chances were against its leading to safety. Sooner or later, there would probably be a dead end. Nevertheless, there _was_ a chance. That chance grew brighter as Vanning's fingers discovered that the walls bore the marks of tools. The tunnel had been made by--perhaps not humans, but at least by some intelligent race! It grew higher as he went on, but Vanning was too weak to rise. He realized dimly that the passage made a sharp hairpin turn. Through the dark the distant clangor of a bell roared. Vanning hesitated, and then resumed his weak crawl. There was nothing else to do. The ground dropped from beneath him. He went rolling and slipping down an inclined slide, to stop with a jolt against a softly padded surface. The shock was too much for his exhausted mind and body. He felt consciousness leaving him. But he realized that it was no longer dark. Through a pale, luminous twilight he caught a glimpse of a mask hovering over him--the mask of no human thing. Noseless save for tiny slits, gap-mouthed, round-eyed, the face was like that of a fish incredibly humanized--fantastically evolved. A patina of green scales overlaid the skin. The gong thundered from nearby. The monstrous mask dissolved into the blackness that swept up and took Vanning to its heart. Nothing existed but pain, and that, too, was wiped out by the encompassing dark.... * * * * * He was very sick. Complete exhaustion had almost killed him. He was lying on a soft pallet, and from time to time the stinging shock of a needle in his arm told him that he was being fed by injection. Later, water trickled down his throat. His swollen tongue resumed its normal shape. Sleep came, tormented by dreams. The mask of the fish-like thing swam at him from gray shimmering light. It gave place to a great bell that roared deafeningly. Then the face of a girl, pale, lovely, with auburn ringlets clustering about her cheeks. Sympathetic blue eyes looked into his. And that, too, was gone.... He awoke to find--something--standing above him. And it was no nightmare. It was the thing of his dreams--a being that stood upright on two stocky legs, and which wore clothing, a shining silver tunic and kirtle. The head was fish-like, but the high cranium told of intelligence. It said something in a language Vanning did not know. Weakly he shook his head. The fish-being launched into the Venusian dialect. "You are recovered? You are strong again?" Vanning sought for words. "I'm--all right. But where am I? Who--" "Lysla will tell you." The creature clapped its huge hands together as it turned. The door closed behind its malformed back, opening again to reveal the auburn-haired girl Vanning recognized.