"That is our ship," the intruder told them blandly. "That is why we stopped the train here. It is the only flat area sufficiently unsettled for our landing and departure without detection. We must return at once or lose perihelion."
"Let me see," said Bezdek. He peered through the window. There was something out there—something black and vague and shaped like an immense turtle with jagged projections. He tried to tell himself he was seeing things, failed.
"Amazing!" said E. Carter Dorwin. "It's utterly amazing!"
"Incredible is the word for it," Bezdek said wearily. He faced the intruder, said bluntly, "Very well, you say you're from Mars. And I say to your face that you aren't!"
"You seem remarkably sure, Mr. Bezdek."
"And why not?" The movie-maker was in his element now, delivering the clincher in an argument. "Our scientists have proved conclusively that Earthmen cannot exist on Mars without space-suits. You say you're a Martian. Yet you look like one of us. So if you can live on Mars, how can you live in our atmosphere without a space-suit of some sort? There's one for you to answer!" He chortled.
"But I am wearing protection—a protective suit arranged to give the impression that I am an Earthman." A flicker of something akin to distaste passed over his singularly immobile face.
"I'd like to see what you do look like," said Dorwin, suddenly entering into the eerie conversation.
Something like a sigh escaped the intruder. Then he said, "Very well. It is important that you believe me, so—" His hands went to the top of his scalp and deliberately he peeled the life-like mask slowly from the hidden features of his thoroughly Martian face!
It was a very odd face—not at all human. It reminded Bezdek a little of an immutably sad Bassett Hound he kept in his Hollywood kennel. It made Dorwin think of his mother-in-law. It was not a frightening face and the single eye in the center of the forehead held them with its mournful regard, held them, held them ...