"What proof have I?" I demanded. "On this world of yours--Dondromogon, isn't it called?--I'm no more than an hour old. Accident or shock has taken my memory. Let me have a medical examination. A scientist probably can tell what happened to put me in such a condition." "I am a scientist," offered Doriza, and came forward. Her eyes met mine, suddenly flickered and lowered. "His gaze," she muttered. The officer at the table was touching a button. An attendant appeared, received an order, and vanished again. In a few moments two other men came--one a heavily armed officer of rank, the other an elderly, bearded fellow in a voluminous robe that enfolded him in most dignified manner. This latter man opened wide his clear old eyes at sight of me. "The stranger of the prophecy!" he cried, in a voice that made us all jump. * * * * * The officer rose from behind the table. "Are you totally mad, Sporr? You mystic doctors are too apt to become fuddled--" "But it is, it is!" The graybeard flourished a thin hand at me. "Look at him, you of little faith! Your mind dwells so much on material strength that you lose touch with the spiritual--" He broke off, and wheeled on the attendant who had led him in. "To my study," he commanded. "On the shelf behind my desk, bring the great gold-bound book that is third from the right." Then he turned back, and bowed toward me. "Surely you are Yandro, the Conquering Stranger," he said, intoning as if in formal prayer. "Pardon these short-sighted ones--deign to save us from our enemies--" The girl Doriza spoke to the officer: "If Sporr speaks truth, and he generally does, you have committed a blasphemy." The other made a little grimace. "This may be Yandro, though I'm a plain soldier and follow the classics very little. The First Comers are souls to worship, not to study. If indeed he is Yandro," and he was most respectful, "he will appreciate, like a good military mind, my caution against possible impostors." "Who might Yandro be?" I demanded, very uncomfortable in my bonds and loose draperies. Old Sporr almost crowed. "You see? If he was a true imposter, he would come equipped with all plausible knowledge. As it is--" "As it is, he may remember that the Conquering Stranger is foretold to come with no memory of anything," supplied the officer. "Score one against you, Sporr. You should have been able to instruct me, not I you." The attendant reentered, with a big book in his hands. It looked old and well-thumbed, with dim gold traceries on its binding. Sporr snatched it, and turned to a brightly colored picture. He looked once, his beard gaped, and he dropped to his knees. "Happy, happy the day," he jabbered, "that I was spared to see our great champion come among us in the flesh, as was foretold of ancient time by the First Comers!"