to herself. Coghlan added: "Ghalil's there now, waiting for me--he and Duval."

"I want to talk to that Lieutenant Ghalil," said Mannard, grumpily. "The police were going to refer this morning's shooting business to him, but I guess he wasn't too concerned! He hasn't tried to get in touch with me!"

Coghlan opened his mouth and then closed it. It would hardly be tactful to tell Mannard who had shot the cup out of his hand. If he heard that news before he got the full story, it might create a certain indignation. And it was Ghalil's story to tell. So he said: "I'm headed back with this stuff now. You can pile in the police-car with me and talk to him right away. He'll see you get back to the hotel."

Mannard nodded. "Let's go."

Coghlan packed his equipment into a suitcase and headed for the door. As they went out, Laurie caught his arm. She said breathlessly: "Tommy! You cut your thumb! Was it--will it--"

"Yes," he told her. "It was in the place the scar showed, and I'm afraid it will leave that scar."

She followed him down the stairs, was silent on the way across the courtyard. Her father went to dismiss the car that had brought them here. Laurie said in a queer voice: "That book came from the thirteenth century, they said. And your fingerprints are in it. And this gadget you're talking about ... could it take you back to the thirteenth century, Tommy?"

"I'm not planning to make the trip," he told her dryly.

"I don't want you to go back to the thirteenth century!" she said fiercely. She was even a little bit pale. "I know it's ridiculous. It's as impossible as anything could be! But I don't want you to go back there! I don't want to have to think of you as--dead for centuries, and buried in some mouldy old crypt--just a skeleton--"

"Stop it!" he said harshly.

She gulped. "I mean it!"

"I wish things were different," he said bitterly.

Then she grinned, still pale. "I'll wear you down," she promised. "Won't that be nice?"

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