“The red dot, my lord, indicates our position,” explained the Jan. “In that manner we know at all times where we are located, and which way we are flying. We shall arrive in the Mahovisal shortly.”
As he spoke the craft was gaining speed, and soon was travelling at an even greater rate than before. The red dot began to crawl at an astonishing speed. Of course, they had the benefit of the pull of gravity, now; apparently they would make the journey in a few minutes. But incredible though the speed might be, there was nothing but the red dot to show it.
The Geos felt like talking. “My lord, the sign is conclusive. It is a marvel, such as only the prophet could possibly have produced; with all our science we could not duplicate such splendour. Only once before has the Thomahlia seen it.”
Already they were near enough to the surface to make out the clustered, blinking lights of the towns on the plain below. Ahead of them queer streamers of pale rays thrust through the darkness. Watson recognised them as the beams of the far-distant searchlights; and then and there he gave thanks for one thing, at least, in which the Thomahlians had seemingly progressed no further than the people of the earth.
Coming a little nearer, Chick made out a number of bright, glittering, insect-like objects, revealed by these searchlights. The Jan Lucar said:
“The Bars, my lord. They are waiting; and they will head us off if they can.”
“The work of Senestro, I suppose. I thought he claimed to some honour.”
“It is not the prince's work, my lord,” replied the soldier. “His D'Hartian and Kospian followers, some of them, have no scruples as to how they might slay the 'false one', as they think you.”
“Suppose,” hazarded Watson, “suppose I WERE the false one?”
Both the Geos and the Jan smiled. But the Rhamda's voice was very sure as he replied: