“Stop watching me,” Lyman said. “Stop watching him. Anybody’d think you were a cat.”

“Why a cat? Why should anybody—do I look like a cat?”

“We were talking about cats, weren’t we? Cats can see them, quite clearly. Even undressed, I believe. They don’t like them.”

“Who doesn’t like who?”

“Whom. Neither likes the other. Cats can see Martians—sh-h!—but they pretend not to, and that makes the Martians mad. I have a theory that cats ruled the world before Martians came. Never mind. Forget about cats. This may be more serious than you think. I happen to know my Martian’s taking tonight off, and I’m pretty sure that was your Martian who went out some time ago. And have you noticed that nobody else in here has his Martian with him? Do you suppose—” His voice sank. “Do you suppose they could be waiting for us outside?”

“Oh, Lord,” the brown man said. “In the alley with the cats, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you stop this yammer about cats and be serious for a moment?” Lyman demanded, and then paused, paled, and reeled slightly on his stool. He hastily took a drink to cover his confusion.

“What’s the matter now?” the brown man asked.

“Nothing.” Gulp. “Nothing. It was just that—he looked at me. With—you know.”

“Let me get this straight. I take it the Martian is dressed in—is dressed like a human?”

“Naturally.”

“But he’s invisible to all eyes but yours?”

“Yes. He doesn’t want to be visible, just now. Besides—” Lyman paused cunningly. He gave the brown man a furtive glance and then looked quickly down at his drink. “Besides, you know, I rather think you can see him—a little, anyway.”

The brown man was perfectly silent for about thirty seconds. He sat quite motionless, not even the ice in the drink he held clinking. One might have thought he did not even breathe. Certainly he did not blink.

“What makes you think that?” he asked in a normal voice, after the thirty seconds had run out.

“I—did I say 

 Prev. P 8/13 next