At the controls of his projector, Kromodeor spun a dial with a many-fingered, flexible hand and spoke.
"Wixill, I am being watched again—I can feel very plainly that strange intelligence watching everything I do. Have the tracers located him?"
"No, they haven't been able to synchronize with his wave yet. Either he is using a most minute pencil or, what is more probable, he is on a frequency which we do not ordinarily use. However, I agree with you that it is not a malignant intelligence. All of us have felt it, and none of us senses enmity. Therefore, it is not a hexan—it may be one of those strange creatures of the satellites, who are, of course, perfectly harmless."
"Harmless, but unpleasant," returned Kromodeor. "When we get back I'm going to find his beam myself and send a discharge
