It was not until I was seated with the family party at the head of the long U-shaped table, that I noticed the motion picture screen at the far end of the dining room. Then the full significance of those secret visits to a large film studio in Long Island City, on the part of Henry, Olinski and McGinity, began to dawn upon me.
Gradually worming the secret out of McGinity, who sat on my left (Jane was on my right) I was in possession of the complete facts of the Martian revelations, shortly to be disclosed to this most highly honored body of explorers and scientists, by the time the soup course was over.
After Olinski had deciphered the Martian written message contained in the mysterious scroll, found in the rocket, McGinity had put the information contained therein into scenario form. A screen production, backed by Henry's money, had been staged by one of the largest and most progressive film corporations, at its Long Island City studio, with Henry and Olinski acting in an advisory capacity.
I am telling this circumstantially, because the part McGinity played in writing the scenario made the first real contribution to the solving of the strange mysteries that enveloped us, and because it explains how I myself in a small way became involved in the untangling of the web.
As we sat placidly at the banquet table, my last thought was that within twenty-four hours we would be plunged into a series of events, which savored of the sort of thing associated with sensational fiction, or exciting melodrama on the screen.
At odd moments, I cast my eye across the table at Mr. Zzyx. His prolonged sojourn under our roof had become a "beastly vulgar business," quoting Jane's own words. Daily, we were growing more resentful of his impenetrable stupidity, and utterly bored with his gross and ugly presence. Often I felt myself in the mood to wring his neck.
It was also perfectly clear to me that Henry was beginning to tire of shouldering the responsibility of this big, lumbering creature, but so far he had kept it to himself. I felt angrier with him that I had ever been in my life, yet I was angry rather for him than with him. It was so utterly unlike him to allow the family's unpleasant associations with Mr. Zzyx to continue, when a word from him would have ended it.
The exception to our usual routine at the castle, during the week, related to our guest from Mars. He was beginning to act very queerly. I was of the opinion that a sort of madness was creeping on him, brought on by the unnatural state in which he was living, the strange food he ate so ravenously, and the constant excitement to which he was subjected. One of the spookiest things he did was to move about the castle during the night. Niki might be on guard, and Mr. Zzyx's own bedroom door locked and bolted, but with uncanny skill both were circumvented.
His first real outburst had come on the Friday night, preceding the banquet. He began throwing things at Niki, and did considerable damage to the furniture, pictures and walls in the State Apartment. When I questioned Niki, he had dismissed the affair lightly, with the excuse that Mr. Zzyx had been suffering from insomnia, and was not himself.
Certainly he was not himself at the Exploration Club banquet. During the dessert course, I saw that he had not touched his charlotte russe, and was making holes in the table-cloth with his fork. His pet hobby, while dining, was to roll his bread into little balls, toss them up in the air, and then catch them in his mouth as they fell, something I considered inexpressibly vulgar and disgusting.