"I tell the truth," was my reply, not very gracious.
"You will have to prove that," he admonished me.
"What proof have I?" I demanded. "On this world of yours—Dondromogon, isn't it called?—I'm no more than an hour old. Accident or shock has taken my memory. Let me have a medical examination. A scientist probably can tell what happened to put me in such a condition."
"I am a scientist," offered Doriza, and came forward. Her eyes met mine, suddenly flickered and lowered. "His gaze," she muttered.
The officer at the table was touching a button. An attendant appeared, received an order, and vanished again. In a few moments two other men came—one a heavily armed officer of rank, the other an elderly, bearded fellow in a voluminous robe that enfolded him in most dignified manner.
This latter man opened wide his clear old eyes at sight of me.
"The stranger of the prophecy!" he cried, in a voice that made us all jump.
The officer rose from behind the table. "Are you totally mad, Sporr? You mystic doctors are too apt to become fuddled—"
"But it is, it is!" The graybeard flourished a thin hand at me. "Look at him, you of little faith! Your mind dwells so much on material strength that you lose touch with the spiritual—"