Hank started down the corridor. There was no time to go into the whys and wherefores of Loo's mission. It must be approximately the same as his own. "There are some private apartments in this direction," he said over his shoulder. "They must be quartered—"
A door off the corridor opened and a tall, thin, ludicrously garbed man—
Hank pulled himself up quickly, both mentally and physically. It was no man. It was almost a man—but no.
Loo's weapon was already at the alert.
The newcomer unhurriedly looked from one of them to the other. Then down at the Russian guard sprawled on the floor behind them.
He said in Russian, "Always violence. The sadness of violence. When faced with crisis, threaten violence if outpointed. Your race has much to learn." He switched to English. "But this is probably your language, isn't it?"
Loo gaped at him. The man from space was almost as dark complected as the Negro.
The extraterrestrial stepped to one side and indicated the room behind him "Please enter, I assume you've come looking for us."
They entered the ornate bedroom.
The extraterrestrial said, "Is the man dead?"