"He will never forget that awakening. Remember, gentlemen, that
before that eon-long sleep _he had lived consciously for thousands of
terrestrial years amidst the alien and horrible wonders of Yaddith_. There was a hideous gnawing of cold, a cessation of menacing dreams,
and a glance through the eye-plates of the envelope. Stars, clusters,
nebulæ, on every hand--_and at last their outlines bore some kinship
to the constellations of Earth that he knew_. "Some day his descent into the solar system may be told. He saw Kynarth
and Yuggoth on the rim, passed close to Neptune and glimpsed the
hellish white fungi that spot it, learned an untellable secret from
the close-glimpsed mists of Jupiter, and saw the horror on one of the
satellites, and gazed at the cyclopean ruins that sprawl over Mars'
ruddy disk. When the Earth drew near he saw it as a thin crescent which
swelled alarmingly in size. He slackened speed, though his sensations
of homecoming made him wish to lose not a moment. I will not try to
tell you of those sensations as I learned them from Carter. "Well, toward the last Carter hovered about in the Earth's upper air
waiting till daylight came over the Western Hemisphere. He wanted to
land where he had left--near the Snake Den in the hills behind Arkham. If any of you have been away from home long--and I know one of you
has--I leave it to you how the sight of New England's rolling hills
and great elms and gnarled orchards and ancient stone walls must have
affected him. "He came down at dawn in the lower meadow of the old Carter place, and
was thankful for the silence and solitude. It was autumn, as when he
had left, and the smell of the hills was balm to his soul. He managed
to drag the metal envelope up the slope of the timber-lot into the
Snake Den, though it would not go through the weed-choked fissure to
the inner cave. It was there also that he covered his alien body with
the human clothing and waxen mask which would be necessary. He kept the
envelope here for over a year, till certain circumstances made a new
hiding-place necessary. "He walked to Arkham--incidentally practising the management of his
body in human posture and against terrestrial gravity--and got his gold
changed to money at a bank. He also made some inquiries--posing as a
foreigner ignorant of much English--and found that the year was 1930,
only two years after the goal he had aimed at. "Of course, his position was horrible. Unable to assert his identity,
forced to live on guard every moment, with certain difficulties
regarding food, and with a need to conserve the alien drug which kept
his Zkauba-facet dormant, he felt that he must act as quickly as
possible. Going to Boston and taking a room in the decaying West End,
where he could live cheaply and inconspicuously, he at once established
inquiries concerning Randolph Carter's estate and effects. It was then
that he learned how anxious Mr. Aspinwall, here, was to have the estate
divided, and how valiantly Mr. de Marigny and Mr. Phillips strove to
keep it intact." The Hindoo bowed, though no expression crossed his dark, tranquil, and
thickly bearded face. "Indirectly," he continued, "Carter secured a good copy of the missing
parchment and began working on its deciphering. I am glad to say that
I was able to help in all this--for he appealed to me quite early, and
through me came in touch with other mystics throughout the world. I
went to live with him in Boston--a wretched place in Chambers Street. As for the parchment--I am pleased to help Mr. de Marigny in his
perplexity. To him let me say that the language of those hieroglyphics
is not Naacal, but R'lyehian, which was brought to Earth by the spawn
of Cthulhu countless ages ago. It is, of course, a translation--there
was an Hyperborean original millions of years earlier in the primal
tongue of Tsath-yo. "There was more to decipher than Carter had looked for, but at no
time did he give up hope. Early this year he made great strides
through a book he imported from Nepal, and there is no question but
that he will win before long. Unfortunately, however, one handicap
has developed--the exhaustion of the alien drug which keeps the
Zkauba-facet dormant. This is not, however, as great a calamity as was
feared. Carter's personality is gaining in the body, and when Zkauba
comes uppermost--for shorter and shorter periods, and now only when
evoked by some unusual excitement--he is generally too dazed to undo
any of Carter's work. He can not find the metal envelope that would
take him back to Yaddith, for although he almost did, once, Carter hid
it anew at a time when the Zkauba-facet was wholly latent. All the harm
he has done is to frighten a few people and create certain nightmare
rumors among the Poles and Lithuanians of Boston's West End. So far, he
has never injured the careful disguise prepared by the Carter-facet,
though he sometimes throws it off so that parts have to be replaced. I
have seen what lies beneath--and it is not good to see. "A month ago Carter saw the advertisement of this meeting, and knew
that he must act quickly to save his estate. He could not wait to
decipher the parchment and resume his human form. Consequently he
deputed me to act for him. "Gentlemen, I say to you that Randolph Carter is not dead; that he is
temporarily in an anomalous condition, but that within two or three
months at the outside he will be able to appear in proper form and
demand the custody of his estate. I am prepared to offer proof if
necessary. Therefore I beg that you will adjourn this meeting for an
indefinite period." CHAPTER 8


De Marigny and Phillips stared at the Hindoo as if hypnotized, while
Aspinwall emitted a series of snorts and bellows. The old attorney's
disgust had by now surged into open rage, and he pounded the table with
an apoplectically veined fist. When he spoke, it was in a kind of bark. "How long is this foolery to be borne? I've listened an hour to this
madman--this faker--and now he has the damned effrontery to say
Randolph Carter is alive--to ask us to postpone the settlement for no
good reason! Why don't you throw the scoundrel out, de Marigny? Do you
mean to make us all the butts of a charlatan or idiot?" De Marigny quietly raised his hand and spoke softly. "Let us think slowly and clearly. This has been a very singular
tale, and there are things in it which I, as a mystic not altogether
ignorant, recognize as far from impossible. Furthermore--since 1930 I
have received letters from the Swami which tally with his account." As he paused, old Mr. Phillips ventured a word. "Swami Chandraputra spoke of proofs. I, too, recognize much that
is significant in this story, and I have myself had many oddly
corroborative letters from the Swami during the last two years; but
some of these statements are very extreme. Is there not something
tangible which can be shown?"