"Oh, come, now, Mr. Royce!" said McGinity. "I'm afraid you're being a bit unfair. Personally, I didn't break faith. But I can't control my City Editor. These sketches you speak of were made under his orders, from my verbal description. He also had photographs taken of the beach from a plane, marking with an 'x' the spot where the rocket landed. After all, Mr. Royce, what's a story without a picture?"
"I see," said Henry, smiling rather grimly.
"Another thing," McGinity went on, in a more serious tone. "You're putting over something very fantastic—almost incredible—on the public. First, your demonstration of radio communication with Mars, in Radio Center. And, now, you come along with the story of the landing of this rocket, predicted in the Martian radio message. This last incident will be rather hard to explain, especially the discovery of the rocket's passenger, this black, hairy thing, whose presence in the rocket was not foretold, or mentioned, in the message from Mars." He hesitated for a moment, then continued: "Now, nobody is under suspicion, of course, but you are backing something now that strains the imagination even more than the interstellar radio contact."
"Tut, tut!" Henry exclaimed. "It's not incredible. There's plenty of evidence to support my claims."
"All well and good, Mr. Royce," McGinity said, rather pompously. "So what's the use of any more secrecy? You've started something, and you've got to go through with it. You must admit these reporters and let them make a thorough examination of everything. The cameramen must be permitted to take all the pictures they want, especially of the man-beast from Mars, amid all the luxuries with which you have surrounded him."
Henry agreed to this, but much against his will, as I could tell by his voice. "All right," he said. "Turn 'em loose!"
The gate was opened, and the newsgatherers and photographers streamed in. There was nothing on the premises that escaped their notice. Breaking in on the silence of the castle, they peered into the big vault-like rooms, stared at the old tapestries and paintings, and the grand staircase. It gave me quite a start when I overheard one reporter remark to another: "Gee, fellow! This is as great a spot for a nice, quiet murder as ever I saw! Who'd ever hear anything from the road outside?"
Two hours passed in statement and explanation, question and answer. The incredible thing had happened, and we were just as much in the dark as the reporters. Everything was still mysterious and secret. I had been dreading that they might accuse Henry of faking. But they all appeared to be deeply impressed, and very grateful to Henry for his openness and going to all this trouble.
By the time the press had departed en masse, we were beginning to feel the force of the curiosity aroused in the outer world by McGinity's exclusive story. Our telephone bell trilled constantly; there were transatlantic calls from the leading London and Paris papers; messenger boys bearing telegrams and radiograms kept up an almost ceaseless procession between the castle and the village. Various old friends from neighboring country estates dropped in.
This caused great trouble to all of us, but we were not so uneasy as we had been the day previous, as we now had a police guard. Lunch was just over when a group of scientists swooped down on Henry. Olinski had returned to the city. The visiting group included representatives from the North American Museum of Natural History, the New York City Historical Society, the New York Museum of Science, and the Exploration Club. Among these unexpected visitors was an agent from the Bronx Zoo, who declared at once that Mr. Zzyx was a species of giant chimpanzee, and, in the same breath, admitted he might be mistaken. Finally, he said he didn't know what "the damned thing" was.