On my speaking again of the matter, Bickley at once turned the conversation, from which I gathered that he believed me to be suffering from delusions consequent on my illness, or perhaps to have taken to dreaming. This was not wonderful since, as I learned afterwards, Bickley, after he was sure that I was asleep, made a practice of tying a thread across my doorway and of ascertaining at the dawn that it remained unbroken. But Oro was not to be caught in that way. I suppose, as it was impossible for him to pass through the latticework of the open side of the house, that he undid the thread and fastened it again when he left; at least, that was Bastin’s explanation, or, rather, one of them. Another was that he crawled beneath it, but this I could not believe. I am quite certain that during all his prolonged existence Oro never crawled. At any rate, he came, or seemed to come, and pumped me—I can use no other word—most energetically as to existing conditions in the world, especially those of the civilised countries, their methods of government, their social state, the physical characteristics of the various races, their religions, the exact degrees of civilisation that they had developed, their attainments in art, science and literature, their martial capacities, their laws, and I know not what besides. I told him all I could, but did not in the least seem to satisfy his perennial thirst for information. “I should prefer to judge for myself,” he said at last. “Why are you so anxious to learn about all these nations, Oro?” I asked, exhausted. “Because the knowledge I gather may affect my plans for the future,” he replied darkly. “I am told, Oro, that your people acquired the power of transporting themselves from place to place.” “It is true that the lords of the Sons of Wisdom had such power, and that I have it still, O Humphrey.” “Then why do you not go to look with your own eyes?” I suggested. “Because I should need a guide; one who could explain much in a short time,” he said, contemplating me with his burning glance until I began to feel uncomfortable. To change the subject I asked him whether he had any further information about the war, which he had told me was raging in Europe. He answered: “Not much; only that it was going on with varying success, and would continue to do so until the nations involved therein were exhausted,” or so he believed. The war did not seem greatly to interest Oro. It was, he remarked, but a small affair compared to those which he had known in the old days. Then he departed, and I went to sleep. Next night he appeared again, and, after talking a little on different subjects, remarked quietly that he had been thinking over what I had said as to his visiting the modern world, and intended to act upon the suggestion. “When?” I asked. “Now,” he said. “I am going to visit this England of yours and the town you call London, and _you_ will accompany me.”