But Holcomb shook his head. “Not just now, Harry; we have company.” The Geos and the Jan had entered. “Besides, I am not quite ready. There remain several tangles to be unravelled.”
As he shook hands with the Geos, he spoke in the Thomahlian tongue. “You are more than welcome.”
The Rhamda bent low in reverence and awe. His voice was hushed. He spoke:
“Art thou the Jarados, my lord?”
“Aye,” stated the doctor. “I am he; I am the Jarados!”
It was a stagger for both young men. Neither could reconcile the great professor of his schooldays with this strange, philosophic prophet of the occult Thomahlians. What was the connection? What was the fate that was leading, urging, compelling it all?
“Professor, you will pardon our eagerness. Both Harry and I have had adventures, without understanding what it was all about. Can't you explain? Where are we? And—why?” And then:
“Your lecture on the Blind Spot! You promised it to us—can you deliver it now?”
The professor smiled his acknowledgement.
“Part of it,” he said; “enough to answer your questions to some extent. Had I stayed in Berkeley I could have delivered it all, but”—and he laughed—“I know a whole lot more, now; and, paradoxically, I know far less! First let me speak to the Geos.” He learned that the struggle outside had terminated successfully for the Rhamda and his men. All was quiet. The Senestro had made his escape in safety back to the Mahovisal. The doctor ordered that he was not to be molested.