"But, Milton," I asked, "what in the world did happen?"
"We'll come to that soon, Darwin old top. What Bill and I want now is to see your Zandara."
"Well, you'll have to wait till she gets back. That should be in an hour or so.
"But, again, what on earth happened? Where have you two been all this time?"
But I must not go on like this, or I will find that I am writing a book myself instead of a preface to William Carter's narrative.
You will see it mentioned in his Prolegomenon that his manuscript was to be placed in my keeping, to be given by me to the world when the time fixed upon had expired. All that I need say on that point is that the raison d'être of this prospective measure will be quite obvious to you ere you have read to the last page of Drome.
Save for three very brief footnotes, and to those my name is appended, every word in the pages that follow is from the hand of William Barrington Carter.
I hasten to conclude, that you may proceed to learn who that mysterious visitor was, what he told them, where Rhodes and Carter went—where they are now.
Seattle, Washington,
September 18, 1951.