proach,
whereat a stalwart hoplite in green painted armor clanked in, saluted
stiffly and waited for Hero Giles' instructions.

"Bid the old man enter," directed the Prince at last. "Tell the
graybeard he has naught to fear if he comes alone. Otherwise, bid him
return to his kennel in the temples."

A moment after the hoplite had vanished, there appeared in the doorway
a tall, emaciated old man on whose silvery head was set a curious
golden mitre ending in the shape of a wondrously bejewelled trident.
The curious Americans noted that the arch-priest's robes were as black
as his evilly glittering eyes, and were embroidered with curious
cabalistic symbols done in silver thread. In his withered hand
Herakles carried a ceremonial trident--the mark of the Head Priest of
Poseidon.

As though wary of advancing, the arch priest paused in the doorway,
not three feet from where Nelson stood poised for action.

* * * * *

All at once the gaunt figure in black raised thin hands to the dome
far overhead and cried in high-pitched prophetic tones:

"Woe to Atlans! When perishes Altara, virgin of Poseidon the God-head,
then shall a darkness fall on Atlans! Her cities shall be cast down,
there will be a weeping and wailing in the land, for Beelzebub and his
followers shall prevail! Woe to Atlans and woe to ye all, blasphemous
nobles!"

Gripped by a superstitious awe, the generals and nobles fell into an
uneasy silence, fearfully lowering their eyes and then glancing
askance at the plain khaki clad figures standing alert in their
corner.

Nelson, defiantly meeting their eyes, beheld Hero Giles staring
fixedly before him, his powerful shoulders bowed as though bearing an
overwhelming burden.

Deeper grew the silence of disaster while the American furiously
searched his mind for some means of thwarting the death in store for
him and his companion. By chance, a word of Hero Giles recurred, the
"pteranodons." What in the devil was a pteranodon? He turned sidewise
to Alden who stood, hands in the pocket of his leather jacket, also
thinking deeply.

"Dick," he whispered. "You studied paleontology at college. Do you
remember what a pteranodon was?"

"A what?" The younger aviator seemed to make a definite effort to
return to the present. "A pteranodon? I'm not sure, Vic, but I think
it was a kind of flying reptile related to the pterodactyl group."

* * * * *

He co