On a pedestal at the remoter end, and more brilliantly lit than any other object, was a gigantic white figure of Atlas, strong and strenuous, the globe upon his bowed shoulders.

It was the first thing to strike his attention, it was so vast, so patiently and painfully real, so white and simple.

Save for this figure and for a dais in the centre, the wide floor of the place was a shining vacancy.

The dais was remote in the greatness of the area; it would have looked a mere slab of metal had it not been for the group of seven men who stood about a table on it, and gave an inkling of its proportions.

They were all dressed in white robes, they seemed to have arisen that moment from their seats, and they were regarding Graham steadfastly.