o close, if it had possessed eyebrows and hair.
As it was, its nose rose abruptly and flared into two really enormous
nostrils, but its mouth looked small and wrinkled, like that of an old
grandmother without any teeth.

They turned to the doorway without noticing the absence of the
reporters, who had long since run off to telephone and get
photographers.

Curtis walked slowly. He would stop for a moment, look about as if
expecting something entirely different, and then he would move forward
again.

They all got into the car, Curtis and Beryl on the front seat, with
Beryl driving, and Stern and the creature in the rear. As Beryl drove,
Stern looked savagely at the back of Curtis's head, but he felt the
beast staring at him balefully. Could it be a mind reader? That was
ridiculous. How could anything that couldn't speak read a person's mind?

He turned to study it. The Martian, if that was what it was, had only
six tentacles, three on each side. The lower ones were heavy and almost
as thick as legs. The upper ones were small and were obviously used as
hands, while it was possible that the middle ones could be used either
way. A series of suction cups or sucking pads were at the end of each
tentacle. With equipment like this, it could walk right up the side of a
building, except, perhaps, for the higher gravity of Earth.

Stern could smell it now, a dry, desert smell, and that made it more
revolting than ever. They were born to hate each other.

* * * * *

When they got home, Beryl was all solicitousness. The way a woman is
when she has a man to impress, Stern thought.

"Just sit right here in your old chair," she told Curtis, "and I'll call
a doctor. Then I'll put some water on to heat." But first she knelt by
his side and laid her head on his breast. "Oh, darling," she said with a
sob, "Why did you wait so long? I've missed you so."

A very good act, Stern told himself bitterly, without believing it at
all.

She got up and turned toward Stern. "Will you help me get some water on,
Al?" she asked. "I'm going to phone."

He went into the kitchen. He knew where the kettle was, the
refrigerator, the mixings. He could hear her dialing, and then, before
he got the kettle on the burner, she came inside and closed the kitchen
door.

"Clyde's sick and I have to take care of him," she said anxiously.

It wasn't entirely the money, he confessed to himself now. He hated the
situation,