On that table stood the thing he had risked his life to trail — a black metal case eighteen inches square. It had recording-dials in its face, a tiny microphone earphone, and the round diaphragm of a small loudspeaker. And inside that innocent-looking case, in its preserving serum, still lived the brain of Doctor Alph!
And Doctor Alph's brain was still speaking in that dreadful, toneless voice.
"Kill me! Please kill me-"
"Not yet, my dear Doctor," mocked the man standing in front of the braincase. "The death you crave will not come until I have completely tested this secret of yours."
That mocking man who spoke, the diabolical brain-thief and murderer, was Kark Al, the little Martian!
Crane even now could not believe his eyes. How could this little wisp of a Martian have broken men's necks with his bare hands, have withstood the fire of his beams unhurt?
It seemed impossible! Yet, somehow, it had been done. Even though Crane could not comprehend the explanation, he knew that at last he looked on the man he sought.
Kark Al's eyes were cruel pinpoints behind great spectacles. "If you have tried to deceive me," he told the brain warningly, "if you have not told me all your secret-"
"I have told you all. You have made the culture for yourself," said the brain thinly. "Kill me and release me from the torture of this horrible existence!"
Rab Crane was softly releasing the catch of the ventilator grating. He had no weapon but the club and this withered little Martian was the most resourceful and remorseless killer he had ever encountered.