“Who are you? What do you want?” he said.
“We want to speak to you, Sire,” said the intruder. “We want—I can’t hold the thing. We have been trying to find a way to you—these three days.”
“Is it rescue?” whispered Graham. “Escape?”
“Yes, Sire. If you will.”
“You are my party—the party of the Sleeper?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“What am I to do?” said Graham.
There was a struggle. The stranger’s arm appeared, and his hand was bleeding. His knees came into view over the edge of the funnel. “Stand away from me,” he said, and he dropped rather heavily on his hands and one shoulder at Graham’s feet. The released ventilator whirled noisily. The stranger rolled over, sprang up nimbly and stood panting, hand to a bruised shoulder, and with his bright eyes on Graham.
“You are indeed the Sleeper,” he said. “I saw you asleep. When it was the law that anyone might see you.”
“I am the man who was in the trance,” said Graham. “They have imprisoned me here. I have been here since I awoke—at least three days.”