. Millions. . . . "

"Blast your filthy gasbag of a mouth!" Sir Giles said. "You've made me forget to ask one thing. Does it work in time as well as space? We must try, we must try." He sat down, picked up the Crown, and sat frowning at the Divine Letters.

"I don't see what you mean," Reginald said, arrested in his note- taking. "Time? Go back, do you mean?"

He considered, then, "I shouldn't think anyone would want to go back," he said.

"Forward then," Sir Giles answered. "Wouldn't you like to go forward to the time when you've got your millions?"

Reginald gaped at him. "But ... I shouldn't have them," he began slowly, "unless . . . eh? O if I'm going to . . . then I should be able to jump to when ... but ... I don't see how I could get at them unless I knew what account they were in. I shouldn't be that me, should I ... or should I?"

As his brain gave way, Sir Giles grinned. "No," he said almost cheerfully, "you'd have the money but with your present mind. At least I suppose so. We don't know how it affects consciousness. It might be an easy way to suicide-ten minutes after death."

Reginald looked apprehensively at the Crown. "I suppose it wouldn't go wrong?" he ventured.

"That we don't know," Sir Giles answered cheerfully. "I daresay your first millionaire will hit the wrong spot, and be trampled underfoot by wild elephants in Africa. However, no one will know for a good while."

Reginald went back to his notes.

Meanwhile the Prince Ali drove through the London streets till he reached the Embassy, steering the car almost mechanically while he surveyed in his mind the position in which he found himself He foresaw some difficulty in persuading his chief, who concealed under a sedate rationalism an almost intense scepticism, of the disastrous chance which, it appeared to the Prince, had befallen the august Relic. Yet not to attempt to enlist on the side of the Faith such prestige and power as lay in the Embassy would be to abandon it to the ungodly uses of Western financiers.