"Oh, he thinks you're a Martian, all right! He knows you are. He's taking out patents already."
The other shook his head uncomprehendingly.
"Don't you see it? Where you come from they know things that they never even imagined here. You got knowledge in your head worth millions of dollars; I mean, you have facts which are of great value to Blumberg. Why, already you've told him to make gold out of lead—something very precious from something worthless. And a hundred other things besides.
"He does not care about you; he cares about your knowledge.... Do you see?"
"Yes."
The young man's anger suddenly abated, and he glanced fearfully at the door.
"I'm sorry," he said gruffly, "but somebody had to tell you. You won't get any help here!"
He turned, and almost ran from the room.
The Martian sat perfectly still for a long time. Then he climbed down from the couch, and crawled to the door. He reached up and grasped the knob. The young man had left it unlocked, and in a moment he was in the dim hallway. He crawled along, keeping close to the wall, until he came to the top of a stairway. He felt the cool night air on his face. Very slowly he lowered himself down the steps. He came to a wide door leading out into the open.