befallen him since his return?

Had he found Dian the Beautiful, his half-savage mate, safe among
his friends, or had Hooja the Sly One succeeded in his nefarious
schemes to abduct her?

Did Abner Perry, the lovable old inventor and pale-ontologist,
still live?

Had the federated tribes of Pellucidar succeeded in overthrowing
the mighty Mahars, the dominant race of reptilian monsters, and
their fierce, gorilla-like sol-diery, the savage Sagoths?

I must admit that I was in a state bordering upon nervous prostration
when I entered the -and-Club, in Algiers, and inquired for Mr.
Nestor. A moment later I was ushered into his presence, to find
myself clasping hands with the sort of chap that the world holds
only too few of.

He was a tall, smooth-faced man of about thirty, clean-cut, straight,
and strong, and weather-tanned to the hue of a desert Arab. I
liked him immensely from the first, and I hope that after our three
months together in the desert country--three months not entirely
lack-ing in adventure--he found that a man may be a writer of
"impossible trash" and yet have some redeem-ing qualities.

The day following my arrival at Algiers we left for the south,
Nestor having made all arrangements in advance, guessing, as he
naturally did, that I could be coming to Africa for but a single
purpose--to hasten at once to the buried telegraph-instrument and