"These are dread words," said Gope.
"There must be somebody behind it. Or there was once. Who is he?"
Gope thought. "There is one man pre-eminent among us: the Great Owner, Owner of Owners: Ommodurad by name. Where he dwells I know not. This is a secret possessed only by his intimates."
"What does he look like? How do I get to see him?"
Gope shook his head. "I have seen him but once, closely cowled. He is a tall man, and silent. 'Tis said—" Gope lowered his voice, "—by his black arts he possesses all his lives. An aura of dread hangs about him—"
"Never mind that jazz," I said. "He's a man, like other men. Stick a knife between his ribs and you put an end to him, aura and all."
"I do not like this talk of death. Let the doer of evil deeds be immured; it is sufficient."
"First let's find him. How can I get close to him?"
"There are those Owners who are his confidants," said Gope, "his trusted agents. It is through them that we small Owners learn of his will."
"Can we enlist one of them?"