Henry seemed staggered by the disclosure. "Science has been a curse to me," he quavered. "I wish to God I had never dabbled in it."
"It looks to me now, Mr. Royce," McGinity observed, "that in all this careful preparation of the plot, there was only one slip, and that was in using this parchment paper containing a familiar water-mark, which you have just seen. If the scroll is counterfeit, then that radio message from Mars, which told of its being secreted in the rocket, was not legitimate. You will also recall that no mention was made in this message of any occupant of the rocket. How do you explain the presence there of the late, lamented Mr. Zzyx? Was he just a coincidence?"
"I've been keeping my mouth shut on that point," Henry answered, "but I will be quite frank now, and admit that Mr. Zzyx was a coincidence. I'd particularly like to know how he got into the rocket. If he was a species of the man-ape inhabiting the tropical zone of Mars, as described in the scroll, and depicted on the screen last night, and was captured and locked in the rocket, and sent earthwards in the interest of science—"
"Oh, come now, Mr. Royce!" McGinity interrupted, with a kindly smile. "If the scroll is not genuine, then its contents can only be false."
"Too true," Henry admitted, mournfully. "But it was so cleverly thought out—a masterpiece of invention. I'll go further, and say it was an inspiration. The most original and logical concept of life on Mars that has ever been given to the world. But the question that's agitating my poor brain now, is how did Mr. Zzyx get into the rocket?"
"There'll be no difficulty in finding that out, sir, although it may take a little time," McGinity said. "No more difficult than proving that the scroll was a fake. Truth will out, sir."
"But how are you going to find out the whole truth, young man?" Henry asked, his voice fairly wailing.
"I can only tell you this much," McGinity answered. "Things have started to break—first, the discovery of the water-mark in the scroll, and, secondly, the theft of the rocket from the Museum of Science—and they'll keep on breaking. That happens every day in newspaper reporting business. In all big newspaper, or police stories, like mystery murders, kidnappings, state and civic scandals the underlying motives, means and methods are so closely linked that to solve one automatically brings another to light. When things begin to break, it's like touching off a string of fire-crackers—one explosion sets off another."
Henry shook his head, and rose abruptly. He appeared to have reached the limit of endurance. "I'm going out for a little air," he announced. As he went slowly out of the room, he looked pathetically old and broken.
As soon as he had gone, the reporter turned to me. "Well, what do you say, Mr. Royce? Shall we continue to go through with this business?"