istaste at
the shaft, and the tiny pack on Arcot's back. Finally, smiling, he
evinced his willingness. Arcot rose, the man grasped his legs, and then
both rose. Over the shaft, and down to his laboratory was the work of a
moment.

Arcot led them into his "consultation room," where a number of
comfortable chairs were arranged, facing each other. He seated them
together, and his own friends facing them.

"Friends of another world," began Arcot, "we do not know your errand
here, but you evidently have good reason for coming to this place. It is
unlikely that your landing was the result of sheer chance. What brought
you? How came you to this point?"

"It is difficult for me to reply. First we must be _en rapport_. Our
system is not simple as yours, but more effective, for yours depends on
thought ideas, not altogether universal. Place these on your heads, for
only a moment. I must induce temporary hypnotic coma. Let one try first
if you desire." The leader of the visitors held out one of the several
headsets they had brought, caplike things, made of laminated metal
apparently.

Arcot hesitated, then with a grin slipped it on.

"Relax," came a voice in Arcot's head, a low, droning voice, a voice of
command. "Sleep," it added. Arcot felt himself floating down an infinite
shaft, on some superflying suit that did not pull at him with its
straps, just floating down lightly, down and down and down. Suddenly he
reached the bottom, and found to his surprise that it led directly into
the room again! He was back. "You are awake. Speak!" came the voice.

Arcot shook himself, and looked about. A new voice spoke now, not the
tonelessly melodious voice, but the voice of an individual, yet a mental
voice. It was perfectly clear, and perfectly comprehensible. "We have
traveled far to find you, and now we have business of the utmost import.
Ask these others to let us treat them, for we must do what we can in the
least possible time. I will explain when all can understand. I am Zezdon
Fentes, First Student of Thought. He who sits on my right is Zezdon
Afthen, and he beyond him, is Zezdon Inthel, of Physics and of
Chemistry, respectively."

And now Arcot spoke to his friends.

"These men have something of the greatest importance to tell us, it
seems. They want us all to hear, and they are in a hurry. The treatment
isn't at all annoying. Try it. The man on the extreme right, as we face
them, is Zezdon Fentes of Thought, Zezdon appare