He knelt, took from his girdle-pouch a silk-wrapped something, unwound it⁠—and, still kneeling, drew out a slender poniard of gleaming white metal, hilted with the blue stones; he thrust it into O’Keefe’s girdle; then gave him again the rare salute.

“Come,” he ordered and took us to the head of the pathway.

“Now,” he said grimly, “let the Silent Ones show their power⁠—if they still have it!”

And with this strange benediction, he turned back.

“For God’s sake, Larry,” I urged as we approached the house of the priestess, “you’ll be careful!”

He nodded⁠—but I saw with a little deadly pang of apprehension in my heart a puzzled, lurking doubt within his eyes.