"That would have been terrible, wouldn't it have?"
"Quite."
Lantry toyed with the dials on the beetle dash. He wouldn't go to Mars. His plans were changed. If this fool simply refused to recognize an act of violence when he stumbled upon it, then let him be a fool. If they didn't connect the two explosions with a man from the tomb, all well and good. Let them go on deluding themselves. If they couldn't imagine someone being mean and nasty and murderous, heaven help them. He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. No, no Martian trip for you, as yet, Lantry lad. First we'll see what can be done boring from the inside. Plenty of time. The Incinerators can wait an extra week or so. One has to be subtle, you know. Any more immediate explosions might cause quite a ripple of thought.
McClure was gabbling wildly on.
"Of course, you don't have to be examined immediately. You'll want a rest. I'll put you up at my place."
"Thanks. I don't feel up to being probed and pulled. Plenty of time in a week or so."
They drew up before a house and climbed out.
"You'll want to sleep, naturally."
"I've been asleep for centuries. Be glad to stay awake. I'm not a bit tired."
"Good." McClure let them into the house. He headed for the drink bar. "A drink will fix us up."