It was now the first of November, and plenty out of the ordinary had been happening. And everything that did occur had failed to arouse either surprise or wonder in me. I had become so satiated with unusual, stirring, hair-raising occurrences that I had begun to wear a hard-boiled look on my face, like a hardened criminal, fed up with cracking safes, kidnapping rich children for ransom, and bumping people off; and this cultivated look of mine really expressed more than anything else my patient acceptance of the fact that one never knows what is going to happen next in this world.
The only strange note at the castle around November first was Mr. Zzyx, our guest from Mars, a village policeman on guard in front of it, and a cameraman lurking somewhere about, waiting to get a picture of the man-ape, should he go out on the terrace with Niki for a stroll, or drive off with Henry, to keep a dinner engagement.
We—that is, Jane, Pat and I—no longer exhibited any outward signs of objecting to Mr. Zzyx's presence in the castle. What was the use? Henry was master, and what he decreed was law. Confidence, to some degree, had been restored in our domestic affairs. The servants, who had been scared off from fright, had returned to their old jobs; even Mamie Sparks, our colored laundress, had come back. I burst into a roar of laughter one day when, coming into the servants' quarters, and remembering Mamie's strange experience with me on the first night we had harbored Mr. Zzyx, I found her carefully, and proudly, ironing his enormous shirts and underthings, which seemed more suitably fitted for a baby elephant.
My mind reverts to that early morning when Prince Matani left us so suddenly after his mysterious and unfortunate encounter with our guest from Mars. Perhaps I am oversuspicious as I look back, but it did not ring true, that story of the Prince's as he had told it to me on the telephone on the day following his departure.
The condition in which we had found him in Mr. Zzyx's bedroom was not caused by shock or fright, he said; he had been suffering of late from dizzy spells, and had simply fainted. I don't suppose we'll ever know the truth about it. At any rate, the incident had given him a good excuse to spend a month or so in California for his health, from which I gathered that he was hell bent for Hollywood and a film career. After he had gone, Pat saw a great deal more of McGinity, I noticed, without Henry suspecting it.
Apart from McGinity's valuable services in directing Henry's publicity, and keeping the public's interest keyed up to the highest pitch by his daily newspaper articles, I believe he had as much to do as Henry in the transformation that took place in our Martian visitor.
It is important to say here that at the beginning the public had accepted all these strange revelations from outer space without suspicion, and Henry had won the confidence of the people by stating that he was just as much puzzled about the different occurrences as they were.
But however things happened, three things were sure—facts. First, every one, practically the world over, had listened in to the deciphering of the mysterious dots and dashes on their radios, in the globe-encircling hook-up, that fateful Tuesday night; and this message was generally accepted as coming from Mars, which was then at its closest point to the earth in a hundred years.
Then the rocket, most curiously constructed, had reached the earth in a shower of meteors, which may or may not have been a part of the cosmic bodies which the radio message from Mars had reported as streaming over the planet, a fortnight before the projectile landed here. Lastly, a strange man-beast, totally unlike any living creature on the earth, and strongly resembling the Cro-Magnons, cavemen of 30,000 years ago, had been discovered in the rocket.
The creature in the rocket, Henry always contended, was incidental, but the reason for the rocket was vital. It was vital, he argued, because it carried a history, in code, of Mars and its inhabitants. This code, Olinski was still laboring over, day and night; and he had reported it was as cunning and mysterious a piece of work as he had ever seen. But the end was in sight. Any day now, and Henry could spring the glad tidings that the riddle of Mars had been solved. And in this new knowledge of life and conditions on the planet, he saw a means to dam the curious wave of doubt and suspicion regarding his claims that was threatening to engulf him and his theories.