How soon? I demanded.
Blekeke spoke aloud: "Very soon. Fifteen, twenty, half-hour minutes. Looking more. All way right."
I looked at the extreme right edge of the picture, where a rough, shadowy hillock arose. While I watched, an opening appeared in the hillock and a dim human figure emerged. It stood erect and walked across the stretch of gravel beach toward the spaceship. Another figure came from the hillock aperture and followed the first.
The thought came from Blekeke: Cultists. Evidence. Prove my success.
Success in what? Why? How?
Blekeke pushed the button on the wall again, and the lights were suddenly on, and the wall bare.
"No harm tell you now," he said. "Gone soon. No matter."
He leaned against the wall and crossed his fragile arms across his huge red chest. He said:
"Mars home dying. You know. Need more somewhere. Earth best, but some Earthmen deciding not want." He shrugged. "Dear Late Doctor—" he did not bother making the mystic sign—"was brilliant man. Dr. Homer Reighardt—know name? Psychiatrist. Very old. No, I not kill; death natural. I wanted live longer, but...." he shrugged again. "Learned much from, howso. He founded cult. I his servant after joining. He idea very innocent—cure not really sick with mild 'nosis."