The thing in the box was a huge living brain. I saw goggling, protruding eyes; an orifice that could have been a nose, and a gash upended for a vertical mouth. It was a face. And the little tentacle arm holding up the box-lid was joined to where the ear should have been.
Was this something human? A huge distended human brain, with the body withered to that tiny arm?
The palpitating thing sank down in the box and the lid dropped. And upon our horrified gaze the insulated door of the room slid too.
"By the gods!" exclaimed Halsey. "One of them dares come to the Red Spark. Here, almost in public."
So Halsey knew what this meant. His eyes were blazing now; his face was white, with an intensity of emotion that transfigured it.
"Francis, tell Foley I'll be in the manager's office in five minutes."
He snapped off; our image connection with the Red Spark went dead.
"We're going to the Red Spark," he announced. "This changes everything, yet I don't know. Venza, I may need you more than ever, now."
Halsey herded us to the office door. From his desk he had snatched up a few portable instruments, and he flung on a cloak.
It was a brief trip to the Red Spark, on foot through the sub-cellar arcade to where, under Park Circle 29, we went up in a vertical lift to the roof. We were in the side entrance oval of the restaurant in five minutes.