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down at him blankly.
    With a glance at Erech, Mason followed the robot past the still form of Alasa, motionless within her transparent prison. Again the elfin beauty of her caught at Mason’s throat. Then the green-lit depths of a passage swallowed him…
    He was taken to the great room of the two monoliths. There he waited, still with the cold tentacle curled about his arm, till the sound of tramping footsteps came. Into the huge chamber came the two guardian robots; behind them Greddar Klon in his metal car. The Master stopped the vehicle, swung open a door, laboriously climbed out to the floor.
    Now Mason had an opportunity to study the strange man more closely. He was short, his body dwarfed but thick-set, and the arms were slender, boneless, terminating in elongated fingers. The bowed legs were thick and strong. They had to be, in order to support that tremendous brain-case. A close-fitting black garment covered the stocky body, the shoulders of which scarcely came to Mason’s waist. The dwarf’s head was papery-white, blue-veined. Almost Mason could imagine it pulsated with the throb of the living brain within. The bones of the skull must be very thin—the thought stirred something in his mind.
    The tiny, pointed jaw moved, and a shrill voice spoke in syllables Mason did not understand. He said, in English, “I am sorry but I do not speak your tongue.”
    The other replied haltingly in the same language, “I—know yours. Have studied—records—” He lapsed into pure Semite, speaking more fluently. “Let us speak the root tongue. I have had reason to speak it much of late, though at first it gave me difficulty. You are from the future. So am I—but a future far later than yours.” He nodded. The tentacle unwound from Mason’s arm. The robot paced away, returned with a heap of furs. Greddar Klon dropped upon them, and the robot brought more furs, threw them in a heap beside Mason. He, too, sank down.
    “Let me explain. In my day I built a time-machine, a projector which hurled me back into the past. There was an error in my calculations, almost fatal. I had intended to move only a few days into the future. But the time current was very swift … I emerged in this ancient city. And I had no way of returning. My time projector was not, of course, in existence. It would not exist till I built it, far in the future.”
    The cold eyes dwelt enigmatically on Mason. “I rebuilt my device. This time—somewhat differently. For I do not wish to err again—I do not care to go back to the Pliocene, or on to a dying, airless world. I have not yet finished my experiments. Do you know why I have told you this?”
    Mason shook his head. Cameos of muscle ridged on his jaw.
    “Not friendliness—no. I want your brain. Your intelligence. The robots will obey—but they are mindless. There are certain delicate operations and calculations … in my own time I had capable assistants, but I cannot use these barbarians, of course. You can help me. Your mind is undeveloped, but the rudiments of scientific knowledge are there. I wish your aid.”
    He watched Mason for a moment and then went on, “It is the only way in which you can return to your own time. Do not let emotion sway you. These people here are nothing to me. Nor are you, save that I can use you. Help me—or die.”
    The archeologist hesitated. He did not doubt that refusal would mean death, or, at least, torture. He must play for time … until he understood more of this alien, enigmatic world.
    “Very well. I’ll help you,” Mason spoke weariedly.
    “Good.” Greddar Klon peered closely at Mason. “You are tired. You must sleep now, and when you are refreshed we can begin.”
    A robot came forward. It took Mason’s arm, urged him toward a passage.
    The voice of the Master came, flat and ominous.
    “Remember—I do not trust you. But I think you understand that treachery will mean your death!”

Chapter IV

The Conspirators
    For seven hours Mason slept