"No. The desk light was burning and most of the room was in shadows, but if anything was here, I didn't see it. But—" she paused.
"What is it, miss?" Kennedy inquired gently.
"It isn't anything I'm sure of," she answered. "But I think that thing followed us home from the museum. I had the feeling that we were being followed."
"Did you see anything following you?"
She shook her head. "It was just an impression, a feeling."
"You had better go lie down," said Rocks. "We'll take care of everything." He looked at Kennedy. "Can she have a man to be on guard outside her door?"
"She sure can. I'll call headquarters and get a special detail here at once." Gently Rocks led her to her room. Better than anyone else, he knew how impossible it was to put into words anything that would make her feel better. Only time could do that. And now that the terrible death had struck twice, he knew that Penny might be in danger. No one could tell where it would strike again. Or why.
It was a death that came in silence. It came out of nowhere, struck, and passed back into nowhere, leaving no clues behind it. It had come out of a metal box found in the tomb of a king forgotten for six thousand years. It was older than the king. It was older than history. It came out of the black past of the planet with horrible, monstrous death. Sharp had seen it—a creature of planes and angles, flashing lights, a creature that disappeared at will, and reappeared elsewhere. It had been here in this home, and had struck down a man. It might be here still, watching, waiting.
Penny cried as she lay on her bed and wiped the tears away, and tried to think. How had it entered the house? The doors had been locked. Of course it could have secured entrance through an open window, but how had it passed so unerringly through the rooms, seeking out her grandfather? Why had it killed him? Did he threaten its existence?
Penny tried to think, and tried not to.