Seeing to it that nothing dramatic was missed from his account, Gregory related the affairs of the previous day, omitting any reference to Neckland's pugnacity. Fox listened fascinated, neglecting both his pipe and his ale.

“So you see how it is, Bruce,” Gregory concluded. “In that deep pond by the mill lurks a vehicle of some sort, the very one we saw in the sky, and in it lives an invisible being of evil intent. You see how I fear for my friends there. Should I tell the police about it, do you think?”

“I'm sure it would not help the Grendons to have old Farrish bumping out there on his pennyfarthing,” Fox said, referring to the local representative of the law. He took a long draw first on the pipe and then on the glass. “But I'm not sure you have your conclusions quite right, Greg. Understand, I don't doubt the facts, amazing though they are. I mean, we were more or less expecting celestial visitants. The world's recent blossoming with gas and electric lighting in its cities at night must have been a signal to half the nations of space that we are now civ– ilized down here. But have our visitants done any deliberate harm to anyone?”

“They nearly drowned me and they killed poor Cuff. I don't see what you're getting at. They haven't begun in a very friendly fashion, have they now?”

“Think what the situation must seem like to them. Suppose they come from Mars or the Moonwe know their world must be absolutely different from Earth. They may be terrified. And it can hardly be called an unfriendly act to try and get into your rowing boat. The first unfriendly act was yours, when you struck out with the oar.”

Gregory bit his lip. His friend had a point. “I was scared.”

“It may have been because they were scared that they killed Cuff. The dog attacked them, after all, didn't she? I feel sorry for these creatures, alone in an unfriendly world.”

“You keep saying 'these!' As far as we know, there is only one of them.”

“My point is this, Greg. You have completely gone back on your previous enlightened attitude. You are all for killing these poor things instead of trying to speak to them. Remember what you were saying about other worlds being full of socialists? Try thinking of these chaps as invisible socialists and see if that doesn't make them easier to deal with.”

Gregory fell to stroking his chin. Inwardly, he acknowledged that Bruce Fox's words made a great impression on him. He had allowed panic to prejudice his judgment; as a result, he had behaved as immoderately as a savage in some remote corner of the Empire, confronted by his first steam locomotive.

“I'd better get back to the farm and sort things out as soon as possible,” he said. “If these things really do need help, I'll help them.”

“That's it. But try not to think of them as 'things.' Think of them asas1 know, as The Aurigans.”

“Aurigans it is. But don't be so smug, Bruce. If you'd been in that boat-” “I know, old friend. I'd have died of fright.” To this monument of tact, Fox added, “Do as you say, go back and sort things out as soon as possible. I'm longing for the ne)rt install– ment of this mystery. It's quite the joUiest thing since Sheriock Holmes.”

Gregory Rolles went back to the farm. But the sorting out of which Bruce had spoken took longer than he expected. This was chiefly because the Aurigans seemed to have settled quietly into their new home after the initial day's troubles.

They came forth no more from the pond, as far as he could discover; at least they caused no more disturbance. The young graduate particularly regretted this since he had taken his friend's words much to heart, and wanted to prove how enlightened and benevolent he was towards this strange form of life. After some days, he came to believe the Aurigans must have left as unexpectedly as they arrived. Then a minor incident convinced him otherwise; and that same night, in his snug room over the baker's shop, he described it to his correspondent in Worcester Park, Surrey. Dear Mr. Wells,

I must apologize for my failure to write earlier, owing to lack of news concerning the Grendon Farm affair.

Only today, the Aurigans showed themselves again!If in– deed “showed” is the right word for invisible creatures.

Nancy Grendon and I were in the orchard feeding the hens. There is still much snow lying about, and everywhere is very white. As the poultry came running to Nancy's tub, I saw a disturbance further down the orchardmerely some snow dropping from an apple bough, but the movement caught my eye, and then I saw a procession of falling snow proceed towards us from tree to tree. The grass is long there, and I soon noted the stalks being thrust aside by an unknown agency! I directed Nancy's attention to the phenomenon. The motion in the grass stopped only a few yards from us.

Nancy was startled, but I determined to acquit myself more like a Briton than I had previously. Accordingly, I advanced and said, “Who are you? What do you want? We are your friends if you are friendly.”

No answer came. I stepped forward again, and now the grass again fell back, and I could see by the way it was pressed down that the creature must have large feet. By the movement of the grasses, I could see he was running. I cried to him and ran too. He went round the side of the house, and then over the frozen mud in the farmyard. I could see no further trace of him. But instinct led me forward, past the barn to the pond.

Surely enough, I then saw the cold, muddy water rise and heave, as if engulfing a body that slid quietly in. Shards of broken ice were thrust aside, and by an outward motion, I could see where the strange being went. In a flurry and a small whirlpool, he was gone, and I have no doubt dived down to the mysterious star vehicle.

These thingspeople1 know not what to call themmust be aquatic; perhaps they live in the canals of the Red Planet. But imagine, Siran invisible mankind! The idea is almost as wonderful and fantastic as something from your novel, “The Time Machine.”

Pray give me your comment, and trust in my sanity and accuracy as a reporter!

Yours in friendship,

Gregory Rolles.

What he did not tell was the way Nancy had clung to him after, in the warmth of the parlor, and confessed her fear. And he had scorned the idea that these beings could be hostile, and had seen the admiration in her eyes, and had thought that she was, after all, a dashed pretty girl, and perhaps worth braving the wrath of those two very different people for: Edward Rolles, his father, and Bert Neckland, the farm laborer.

It was at lunch a week later, when Gregory was again at the farm, taking with him an article on electricity as a pretext for his visit, that the subject of the stinking dew was first discussed.

Grubby was the first to mention it in Gregory's hearing. Grubby, with Bert Neckland, formed the whole strength of Joseph Grendon's labor force; but whereas Neckland was considered couth enough to board in the farmhouse (he had a gaunt room in the attic), Grubby was fit only to sleep in a little flint-and-chalk hut well away from the farm buildings. His “house,” as he dignified the miserable hut, stood below the orchard and near the sties, the occupants of which lulled Grubby to sleep with their snorts.

“Reckon we ent ever had a dew like that before, Mr. Grendon,” he said, his manner suggesting to Gregory that he had made this observation already this morning; Grubby never ventured to say anything original.

“Heavy as an autumn dew,” said the farmer firmly, as if there had been an argument on the point.

Silence fell, broken only by a general munching and, from Grubby, a particular guzzling, as they all made their way through huge platefuls of stewed rabbit and dumplings.

“It weren't no ordinary dew, that I do know,” Grubby said after a while.

“It stank of toadstools,” Neckland said. “Or rotten pond water.”