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Geos rubbed his hands in a dignified sort of glee. What had been said coincided, apparently, with another of his pet theories. "It is splendid," he exulted, "splendid! And just in line with my thesis. You shall tell it before the Council of the Rhamdas. It will be the greatest day since the speaking of the Jarados!"
Reasonably enough, Geos, with some smattering of his superior's wisdom, should accept Watson in the same way. And then, the Jarados: at every moment his name had cropped up. Who was he? So far he had heard no word that might be construed as a clue. The great point, just now, was that the Rhamda Geos accepted him as a spirit, as the fact and substance promised by Avec. But where was the doctor?
He's got a foine head for figgers; and' he's that scientific, he kin make iron oot o' rainbows." "Iron out of what?" "Rainbows, sor. Faith, 'tis meself thot's seen it. And he's been watchin' over ye ever since ye came. 'Twas hisself, lad, that put it into your head t' call him th' Jarados." "You don't mean to say that the professor put those impulses into my head!" "Aye, laddie; you said it.
If we make it from this height, not only will we break all records, but will have proved the June Bug the superior in this respect, as she is in speed. It is our only chance in any circumstances, but with the Jarados at our side, we need not fear that the craft will stand the strain. We shall go through them like stone; before they know it we shall be in the drome in less than a minute."
Through it all the Rhamda Geos Listened in something like awe. He was hearing of wonders never before guessed in the Thomahlia. As the prospective son-in-law of the Jarados, Watson automatically lifted himself to a supreme height, so great that, could he only hold himself up to it, he would have a prestige second only to that of the prophet himself. All of a sudden he thought of a question.
What would you say was his code of honour?" "My lord, the Senestro actually has no code. He believes in nothing. He is so constituted, mentally and morally, that he cares for and trusts in none but himself. He is a sceptic pure and simple; he cares nothing for the Jarados and his teachings. He is an opportunist seeking for power, wicked, lustful, cruel " "But a good sportsman!"
"Does your spiritism include animals as well as men?" "Naturally; everything that is endowed with life." "I see. Let me ask you: why didn't the Rhamdas interfere and put a stop to this wanton sacrilege against Nature?" The Rhamda smiled. "You forget," replied he, "that these events belong far in the past. At that time the Rhamdas were not. It was even before the coming of the Jarados."
Then the strangest thing happened. Out of the light or rather, from where it bathed the snowstone came a man; a man much like Holcomb, bearded and short and kindly. He was the real Jarados! Unhesitatingly the professor stepped up beside him. Then followed Hobart and the Aradna, Harry and the Nervina, and lastly, from the crowd of Bars, MacPherson.
It was not his intention, just at present, to tie himself down to anything that might prove compromising or restraining. "The name is familiar. Who is this Nervina?" "She is one of the queens. I thought My dear sir, she is one of the queens of Thomahlia, half Kospian, half D'Hartian; of the first royal line running through from the day of the Jarados." Chick cogitated for a moment.
An instant's stunned silence greeted this stab. It was broken by the prince. "The Jarados!" His voice was unruffled. "What know I of the Jarados?" "Take care! You have seen him you know his power!" "You have a courageous sort of impertinence!" "I have determination and knowledge! Bar Senestro, I have come for the Jarados!" Chick paused for effect. "Now what think you? Am I of the chosen?"