Had he heard? The
imprecations, the pleadings, the shoutings? Did he suspect? Lantry
slowed his walk. Had this man seen him make the blue chalk marks? But
then, would he interpret them as symbols of an ancient superstition? Probably not. Reaching the door, Lantry paused. For a moment he did not want to do
anything but lie down and be coldly, really dead again and be carried
silently down the street to some distant burning flue and there
dispatched in ash and whispering fire. If he was indeed alone and there
was no chance to collect an army to his cause, what, then, existed as a
reason for going on? Killing? Yes, he'd kill a few thousand more. But
that wasn't enough. You can only do so much of that before they drag
you down. He looked at the cold sky. A rocket went across the black heaven, trailing fire. Mars burned red among a million stars. Mars. The library. The librarian. Talk. Returning rocket men. Tombs. Lantry almost gave a shout. He restrained his hand, which wanted so
much to reach up into the sky and touch Mars. Lovely red star on the
sky. Good star that gave him sudden new hope. If he had a living heart
now it would be thrashing wildly, and sweat would be breaking out of
him and his pulses would be stammering, and tears would be in his eyes! He would go down to where ever the rockets sprang up into space. He
would go to Mars, one way or another. He would go to the Martian tombs. There, there, by God, were bodies, he would bet his last hatred on
it, that would rise and walk and work with him! Theirs was an ancient
culture, much different from that of Earth, patterned on the Egyptian,
if what the librarian had said was true. And the Egyptian--what a
crucible of dark superstition and midnight terror that culture had
been! Mars it _was_, then. Beautiful Mars! But he must not attract attention to himself. He must move carefully. He wanted to run, yes, to get away, but that would be the worst
possible move he could make. The man with the white hair was glancing
at Lantry from time to time, in the entranceway. There were too many
people about. If anything happened he would be outnumbered. So far he
had taken on only _one_ man at a time. Lantry forced himself to stop and stand on the steps before the
warehouse. The man with the white hair came on onto the steps also and
stood, looking at the sky. He looked as if he was going to speak at any
moment. He fumbled in his pockets, took out a packet of cigarettes. V

They stood outside the morgue together, the tall pink, white-haired
man, and Lantry, hands in their pockets. It was a cool night with a
white shell of a moon that washed a house here, a road there, and
further on, parts of a river. "Cigarette?" The man offered Lantry one. "Thanks." They lit up together. The man glanced at Lantry's mouth. "Cool night." "Cool." They shifted their feet. "Terrible accident." "Terrible." "So many dead." "So many." Lantry felt himself some sort of delicate weight upon a scale. The
other man did not seem to be looking at him, but rather listening
and feeling toward him. There was a feathery balance here that made
for vast discomfort. He wanted to move away and get out from under
this balancing, weighing. The tall white-haired man said, "My name's
McClure." "Did you have any friends inside?" asked Lantry. "No. A casual acquaintance. Awful accident." "Awful." They balanced each other. A beetle hissed by on the road with its
seventeen tires whirling quietly. The moon showed a little town further
over in the black hills. "I say," said the man McClure. "Yes." "Could you answer me a question?" "Be glad to." He loosened the knife in his coat pocket, ready. "Is your name Lantry?" asked the man at last. "Yes." "_William_ Lantry?" "Yes." "Then you're the man who came out of the Salem graveyard day before
yesterday, aren't you?" "Yes." "Good Lord, I'm glad to meet you, Lantry! We've been trying to find you
for the past twenty-four hours!" The man seized his hand, pumped it, slapped him on the back. "What, what?" said Lantry. "Good Lord, man, why did you run off? Do you realize what an instance
this is? We want to talk to you!" McClure was smiling, glowing. Another handshake, another slap. "I
_thought_ it was you!" The man is mad, thought Lantry. Absolutely mad. Here I've toppled his
incinerators, killed people, and he's shaking my hand. Mad, mad! "Will you come along to the Hall?" said the man, taking his elbow. "Wh-what hall?" Lantry stepped back. "The Science Hall, of course. It isn't every year we get a real case
of suspended animation. In small animals, yes, but in a man, hardly! Will you come?" "What's the act!" demanded Lantry, glaring. "What's all this talk." "My dear fellow, what do you mean?" the man was stunned. "Never mind. Is that the only reason you want to see me?" "What other reason would there be, Mr. Lantry? You don't know how glad
I am to see you!" He almost did a little dance. "I suspected. When we
were in there together. You being so pale and all. And then the way you
smoked your cigarette, something about it, and a lot of other things,
all subliminal. But it is you, isn't it, it _is_ you!" "It is I. William Lantry." Dryly. "Good fellow! Come along!" *       *       *       *       *

The beetle moved swiftly through the dawn streets. McClure talked
rapidly. Lantry sat, listening, astounded. Here was this fool, McClure, playing
his cards for him! Here was this stupid scientist, or whatever,
accepting him not as a suspicious baggage, a murderous item. Oh
no! Quite the contrary! Only as a suspended animation case was he
considered! Not as a dangerous man at all. Far from it! "Of course," cried McClure, grinning. "You didn't know where to go,
whom to turn to. It was all quite incredible to you." "Yes." "I had a feeling you'd be there at the morgue tonight," said McClure,
happily. "Oh?" Lantry stiffened. "Yes. Can't explain it. But you, how shall I put it? Ancient Americans? You had funny ideas on death. And you were among the dead so long, I
felt you'd be drawn back by the accident, by the morgue and all. It's
not very logical. Silly, in fact. It's just a feeling. I hate feelings
but there it was. I came on a, I guess you'd call it a hunch, wouldn't
you?" "You might call it that." "And there you were!" "There I was," said Lantry. "Are you hungry?" "I've eaten." "How did you get around?" "I hitch-hiked." "You _what_?" "People gave me rides on the road." "Remarkable." "I imagine it sounds that way." He looked at the passing houses. "So
this is the era of space travel, is it?" "Oh, we've been traveling to Mars for some forty years now." "Amazing. And those big funnels, those towers in the middle of every
town?" "Those. Haven't you heard? The Incinerators. Oh, of course, they hadn't
anything of that sort in your time. Had some bad luck with them. An
explosion in Salem and one here, all in a forty-eight hour period. You
looked as if you were going to speak; what is it?" "I was thinking," said Lantry.