"Since we are here, and you were there," said the Martian, condescendingly, "what other choice did we have?"
"You could have sent a letter," I muttered.
"Hardly," the Martian said, unperturbed. "Since physical contact between our two dimensions is impossible."
"It is?" I said, surprised.
"Of course!" the Martian snapped. "If it were not, we'd have destroyed Baxter ourselves."
"Why didn't you use the sugarfeet?" I asked, bewildered. "Clatclit seems to have shown no ineptness in disintegrating other Earthmen."
"For the simple reason," said the Martian, with cold anger, "that on your wretchedly humid planet, a sugarfoot would be corroded to death before it could locate him. If, of course, it had already overcome the other obvious difficulties such as getting there, since Earth does not permit immigration of alien species."
Like a hot spark flaring where only ice had been before, a tiny light of hope began to burn in my heart. The Martians, for all their four-dimensional superiority, didn't know that Baxter was on Mars! Hell, why should they? I knew Baxter personally, and I didn't know he was on Mars until he was good and ready to let me know it.
"Jery—" said Snow, about to spill the beans.
"Ixnay, lover!" I growled. "Unless you want these guys tossing in the hand, and switching to Plan C! Remember?"