ill strong in him. But he had to know what the coffin contained now,
if it wasn't already too late.

It represented the missing link in his picture of the aliens. What
happened to them during the period of regrowth? Did they revert to their
natural form? Were they at all conscious while the body reshaped itself
into wholeness? Dane had puzzled over it night after night, with no
answer.

Nor could he figure how they could escape from the grave. Perhaps a man
could force his way out of some of the coffins he had inspected. The
soil would still be soft and loose in the grave and a lot of the coffins
and the boxes around them were strong in appearance only. A determined
creature that could exist without much air for long enough might make
it. But there were other caskets that couldn't be cracked, at least
without the aid of outside help.

What happened when a creature that could survive even the poison of
embalming fluids and the draining of all the blood woke up in such a
coffin? Dane's mind skittered from it, as always, and then came back to
it reluctantly.

There were still accounts of corpses turned up with the nails and hair
grown long in the grave. Could normal tissues stand the current tricks
of the morticians to have life enough for such growth? The possibility
was absurd. Those cases had to be aliens--ones who hadn't escaped. Even
they must die eventually in such a case--after weeks and months! It took
time for hair to grow.

And there were stories of corpses that had apparently fought and twisted
in their coffins still. What was it like for an alien then, going slowly
mad while it waited for true death? How long did madness take?

He shivered again, but went steadily on while the cemetery fence
appeared in the distance. He'd seen Blanding's coffin--and the big,
solid metal casket around it that couldn't be cracked by any amount of
effort and strength. He was sure the creature was still there, unless it
had a confederate. But that wouldn't matter. An empty coffin would also
be proof.

* * * * *

Dane avoided the main gate, unsure about whether there would be a
watchman or not. A hundred feet away, there was a tree near the
ornamental spikes of the iron fence. He threw his bag over and began
shinnying up. It was difficult, but he made it finally, dropping onto
the soft grass beyond. There was the trace of the Moon at times through
the clouds, but it hadn't betrayed him, and t