A tendril of the strange fragrance spiralled up from the great stone block. Kenton felt it caress his face like a coaxing hand.He had been aware of that fragrance — an alien perfume, subtly troubling,evocative of fleeting unfamiliar images, of thought-wisps that were gone before the mind could grasp them — ever since he had unsheathed from its coverings the thing Forsyth, the old archaeologist, had sent him from the sand shrouds of ages-dead Babylon.