Nevin held up his hand. "Just a minute, Mr. West. We would like to know just how—"

Cartwright laughed at him. "Forget it, Louis. He knew about your painting. He had Annabelle. Where do you suppose he found out?"

"But—but—" said Nevin.

"Maybe he didn't use a painting," Cartwright declared. "Maybe he used other methods. After all, there are others, you know. Thousands of years ago men knew of the place we found. Mu, probably. Atlantis. Some other forgotten civilization. Just the fact that West had Annabelle is enough for me. He must have been there."

West smiled, relieved. "I used other methods," he told them.

CHAPTER THREE

The Painting

A robot came in, wheeling a tray with steaming dishes.

"Let's sit down," suggested Nevin.

"Just one thing," asked West. "How did you get Stella back to Earth? None of you could have taken her. You'd have been recognized."

Cartwright chuckled. "Robertson," he said. "We had one ship and he slipped out. As to the recognition, Belden is our physician. He also, if you remember, is a plastic surgeon of no mean ability."

"He did the job," said Nevin, "for both Robertson and Stella."

"Nearly skinned us alive," grumbled Cartwright, "to get enough to do the work, I'll always think that he took more than he really needed, just for spite. He's a moody beggar."

Nevin changed the subject. "Shall we have Rosie sit with us?"

"Rosie?" asked West.

"Rosie is Stella's sister. We don't know the exact relationship, but we call her that for convenience."

"There are times," explained Cartwright, "when we forget her face and let her sit at the table's head, as if she were one of us. As if she were our hostess. She looks remarkably like a woman, you know. Those wings of hers are like an ermine cape, and that platinum hair. She lends something to the table ... 

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