Sleepers Of Mars

‘My name is Lestrange,’ the Professor admitted, ‘but I have invented no battery.’

‘Not yet?’ said the stranger. ‘I am earlier than I thought. You must excuse me, my dates were never good.’

There was puzzlement on Lestrange’s face as he replied. ‘I do not understand you. No doubt you will explain later. Meanwhile, am I to infer from your name that you claim relationship?’

‘Certainly we are related, but—er—distantly.’

‘The matter must be examined. I cannot pretend ever to have heard of you before. Let me present my assistant, Harry Wright.’

The stranger held out his hand. ‘I’ve heard of you, Mr. Wright,’ he said with a smile. ‘Your rescue of Mr. Lestrange was an act of real bravery.’

It was my turn to be puzzled. In all the six years I had known Lestrange, he had never been in more danger than anyone who crosses a busy street.

‘I see I have made another blunder. Please forgive me,’ the man apologised. Then a change came over his expression. The smile of greeting gave way to a look of anguish. His eyes seemed to plead as he asked:

‘Tell me, have you ever, either of you, seen or heard of another machine like the one I came on?’

We shook our heads. I could recall no invention bearing any resemblance to it.

‘There was really no chance; not one in a hundred million,’ he said slowly. ‘I knew it wasn’t possible, but I had to ask.’

His gaze wandered round the room, pausing here and there upon apparatus, until it came to rest upon the material of our thwarted experiment. His eyes brightened, and he took a few steps towards it.

Lestrange and I were recovering, now, from our sense of unreality. Our eyes met, and we knew that the same thought was in both our minds. All mystery was ripped from the affair with a jerk—the man was a spy. With the minutest care, he was examining the product of our secret months of labour. Lestrange pulled a revolver from a drawer.

‘Put your hands up! ’ he snapped. The other obeyed, a slight smile on his lips.

‘I’ve heard that these were troublous times,’ he remarked. ‘Come over here,’ Lestrange ordered, ‘and tell us just why you are so interested in that experiment.’

The other, who called himself Lestrange, opened his eyes wide in evident surprise.

‘Surely,’ he expostulated, ‘it is reasonable to show interest in the discovery which changed the face of the world? Besides, I may be mistaken, but it seems slightly different from what I remember. It’s a couple of years since I saw a picture of it, but I have a distinct impression that several of the connections ran differently … that terminal on the left should be coupled direct to-’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ roared Lestrange. ‘You must be mad! The thing’s only been assembled four days.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ said the stranger, ‘I’ve put my foot in it again. I’ll have to try to explain it all to you—but it’s a long story. May I have some food first? I haven’t eaten for twenty-four hours.’

By the end of the meal, the visitor’s status had changed. He was no longer an interloper, but a guest whom we were calling, at his own request, Jon. Somehow, in that desultory form of conversation appropriate to the lunch table, we had lost our suspicions, though we were no nearer to understanding him. He was curiously ignorant at the same time that he was well-informed. His broad outlines of current politics were good, but of the details he seemed to know nothing.

In speaking of well-known characters, he appeared to hesitate, as though he might commit himself. His knowledge of literature was excellent, though occasionally he referred to works of which I had never heard, by authors whose fame was worldwide. My condensed impression was that, while he appreciated the high-lights of most matters, he was sure of himself only in a few subjects.

‘You’ll smoke?’ inquired Lestrange, as we retired to his comfortable study.

‘Tobacco?’ asked Jon.

‘Of course,’ replied the Professor, with a touch of surprise. ‘What else?’

‘There are many things to smoke where I come from—one has to be careful.’

He settled himself comfortably in a big chair and lit a cigar.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘if you can put up with a long tale, I would like to explain this intrusion.’

‘Our experiment…’ I began.

‘Would not be a success in its present form. Believe me, I can tell you where there is a miscalculation.’

I accepted his statement. He seemed to know something of our work. Lestrange, too, nodded agreement.

John began:

‘I think the first thing to be explained is why I chose to thrust my company upon you rather than upon anyone else. Perhaps the first reason is our relationship, and the second that my studies have informed me that you, Professor, have probably a more open mind and a greater grasp of possibilities than any man now living….’