nothing to be found. It had not been their custom, then, to bury their treasures with the dead—or perhaps the ghels had taken it. No matter, he knew the futility of looking further.

When a race chose to hide its treasures, rather than try to take them along to the happy hunting grounds, they usually did a good job. He remembered searching in vain for a solid year in the catacombs of Neptune once.

His face was burning with some inner fire now; he knew that he must have a high fever. He felt much worse. But to go back empty handed!

And suddenly he knew that he would not.

He took the steps back down to the throne room three at a time, for he felt, strangely, that he must hurry. The ghels were still waiting for him there in the gloom. There seemed to be more of them now, but he didn't bother to count.

"I want eight of you," he said. "You are to come with me up to the crypts. I'm taking the coffin of Solon Regh back with me, and you are going to carry it. I don't want any arguments. I'll pay you whatever you want, but it's got to be done right away."

They were not a strong race, the ghels, and the box was without handles, but they finally got it to their shoulders. Twice coming down the spiraling staircases they slipped, and he cursed them furiously, then was amazed that he could be so distraught.

They carried it down to the throneroom and set it down. The big rotunda was full of ghels by this time; hundreds of them.

"What the hell is this?" George Seeling said, and his voice sounded thick to him. "If you're going to start trouble—I'll kill the first ghel that lays a hand on me or the coffin."

He waited for an answer. There was not a sound among the dark multitude of ghels. They watched him, sorrowfully.

"Well?" Seeling bellowed.

The ghel who had talked with him before said, "We are gathered here for a telling. Will you crouch there and hear us?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Please hear us."

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