All of a sudden he thought of a question. It gripped him with
dread, the dread of the unknown. The question was one of TIME.
"How long have I been here, Rhamda Geos?"
"Over eleven months, by our system of reckoning. You were found on
the floor of the temple three hundred and fifty-seven days ago;
you were in a lifeless condition; you must have been there some
hours, my lord, before we discovered you."
"Eleven months!" It had seemed but that many minutes. "And I was
unconscious--"
"All the time, my lord. Had we caught you immediately upon your
coming, we could have brought you around within three days, but in
the circumstances it was impossible to restore you before we did.
You have been under the care of the greatest specialists in all
Thomahlia."
Geos himself had been one of these. "The council of Rhamdas went
into special session, my lord, immediately after your
materialisation, and has been sitting almost continually since.
And now that you are revived, they are waiting in person for you
to show yourself.
"They accept you. They do not know who you are, my lord; none of
us has guessed even a part of the truth. The entire council
awaits!"
But Chick wanted more. Besides, he looked at his clothing.
"I would have my own garments, Geos; also, whatever else was found
on my person."
For Watson was thinking of a small but powerful pistol, an
automatic, that he had carried on the night when he fell through
the Blind Spot.
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