Chapter XVII

Never before had I realized what it meant to be in the public eye. Our family privacy, held virtually sacred, was no longer so. We really had less privacy at the castle during the days and weeks following the discovery of the rocket from Mars on the beach than the hippopotami at the Central Park Zoo. It was not unusual for me to find scientists, explorers, college professors, high school teachers and reporters, wandering in groups about the place, as though it were some museum, and staring at me as if I were a recently acquired Egyptian mummy at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

And never before had I believed it possible to make a man out of a monkey, a gentleman out of a chimpanzee, no more than one can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. But that is precisely what had happened.

It was now the first of November, and plenty out of the ordinary had been happening. And everything that did occur had failed to arouse either surprise or wonder in me. I had become so satiated with unusual, stirring, hair-raising occurrences that I had begun to wear a hard-boiled look on my face, like a hardened criminal, fed up with cracking safes, kidnapping rich children for ransom, and bumping people off; and this cultivated look of mine really expressed more than anything else my patient acceptance of the fact that one never knows what is going to happen next in this world.

The only strange note at the castle around November first was Mr. Zzyx, our guest from Mars, a village policeman on guard in front of it, and a cameraman lurking somewhere about, waiting to get a picture of the man-ape, should he go out on the terrace with Niki for a stroll, or drive off with Henry, to keep a dinner engagement.

We--that is, Jane, Pat and I--no longer exhibited any outward signs of objecting to Mr. Zzyx's presence in the castle. What was the use? Henry was master, and what he decreed was law. Confidence, to some degree, had been restored in our domestic affairs. The servants, who had been scared off from fright, had returned to their old jobs; even Mamie Sparks, our colored laundress, had come back. I burst into a roar of laughter one day when, coming into the servants' quarters, and remembering Mamie's strange experience with me on the first night we had harbored Mr. Zzyx, I found her carefully, and proudly, ironing his enormous shirts and underthings, which seemed more suitably fitted for a baby elephant.

My mind reverts to that early morning when Prince Matani left us so suddenly after his mysterious and unfortunate encounter with our guest from Mars. Perhaps I am oversuspicious as I look back, but it did not ring true, that story of the Prince's as he had told it to me on the telephone on the day following his departure.

The condition in which we had found him in Mr. Zzyx's bedroom was not caused by shock or fright, he said; he had been suffering of late from dizzy spells, and had simply fainted. I don't suppose we'll ever know the truth about it. At any rate, the incident had given him a good excuse to spend a month or so in California for his health, from which I gathered that he was hell bent for Hollywood and a film career. After he had gone, Pat saw a great deal more of McGinity, I noticed, without Henry suspecting it.

Apart from McGinity's valuable services in directing Henry's publicity, and keeping the public's interest keyed up to the highest pitch by his daily newspaper articles, I believe he had as much to do as Henry in the transformation that took place in our Martian visitor.

It is important to say here that at the beginning the public had accepted all these strange revelations from outer space without suspicion, and Henry had won the confidence of the people by stating that he was just as much puzzled about the different occurrences as they were.

But however things happened, three things were sure--facts. First, every one, practically the world over, had listened in to the deciphering of the mysterious dots and dashes on their radios, in the globe-encircling hook-up, that fateful Tuesday night; and this message was generally accepted as coming from Mars, which was then at its closest point to the earth in a hundred years.

Then the rocket, most curiously constructed, had reached the earth in a shower of meteors, which may or may not have been a part of the cosmic bodies which the radio message from Mars had reported as streaming over the planet, a fortnight before the projectile landed here. Lastly, a strange man-beast, totally unlike any living creature on the earth, and strongly resembling the Cro-Magnons, cavemen of 30,000 years ago, had been discovered in the rocket.

The creature in the rocket, Henry always contended, was incidental, but the reason for the rocket was vital. It was vital, he argued, because it carried a history, in code, of Mars and its inhabitants. This code, Olinski was still laboring over, day and night; and he had reported it was as cunning and mysterious a piece of work as he had ever seen. But the end was in sight. Any day now, and Henry could spring the glad tidings that the riddle of Mars had been solved. And in this new knowledge of life and conditions on the planet, he saw a means to dam the curious wave of doubt and suspicion regarding his claims that was threatening to engulf him and his theories.

What did matter, and it was almost fatal in that it gave impetus to this slowly rising tide of mistrust, was that no further radio messages from Mars had been received, following that Tuesday night demonstration. Both Henry and Olinski had made frantic efforts to re-contact the planet, but without result; and every known method to get understandable messages through to Mars was tried. The powerful radio stations of both the Army and Navy had stood by every night, for weeks, to listen in for possible signals from the planet, without success.

All this did not mean necessarily that people were losing interest. As a matter of fact, Henry didn't care what anybody thought. Even if no further messages came from Mars, he still had Mr. Zzyx, who was now living a very active and interesting life. He went out with Henry to clubs, to golf, to the homes of the very rich, and excellent dinners. And wherever he went, the police emergency squads had to be called out to handle the crowds.

The rocket was now reposing in a sealed glass case in the main lobby of the New York Museum of Science. Already it had been viewed by five million people, and they were still coming. Every day, from early morning until closing time, there was a queue of two abreast of those still eager to see the strange projectile that had hurtled through space.

Henry and McGinity gave Jane and me the surprise of our lives the first night they brought Mr. Zzyx downstairs for dinner. The transformation they had wrought in the creature was so utterly incredible that I burst out laughing. Equipped with an ample wardrobe, fashioned by the smartest Fifth Avenue tailors, Mr. Zzyx, through Henry's generosity, was now prepared to shine in the most brilliant and fashionable circles. And yet, even in modern dress, there was still something sinister and ominous about this huge, hairy beast that fairly appalled me.

At my instigation, both Jane and Pat had put extra bolts and locks on their bedroom doors. As for getting into my sleeping apartment, it would have been much easier to get into the safe deposit vaults of the National City Bank. Henry called such precautions "senseless absurdity." Probably such provision against danger was unnecessary, but Pat had had an adventure, shortly after Prince Matani's frightening experience, that had caused the three of us to play safe.

It was easy to understand why Mr. Zzyx took such a fancy to Pat. During his convalescence, she had tried to teach him the alphabet by means of a primer; had shown him picture books, and built houses out of vari-colored blocks, entertaining and amusing him in various ways.

That particular night--early in the evening--she had gone to Mr. Zzyx's apartment with Henry. She happened to be carrying a new novel which she was particularly anxious to begin reading that night. Mr. Zzyx took a fancy to the book, probably on account of the picture of an African jungle luridly depicted in colors on its cover. Pat refused to give it to him, which put him in a bad temper.

She was in a dressing-gown and mules, when she discovered that, after all her trouble in holding on to the book, she had left it behind in Mr. Zzyx's apartment. She hurried back just as she was, and knocked at the door. Niki answered her knock, and on her request, returned the novel, and then closed the door. She went back to her own apartment, and was just about to re-enter it, when she glanced back, down the hall.

Mr. Zzyx was peering out of the doorway of his bedroom. This gave her quite a start, and she darted into her room, quickly locking the door after her.

Her story of what followed was an odd one.

"I wasn't so awfully frightened when I saw Mr. Zzyx peeping out at me," she said, "or I would have gone straight into Aunt Jane's apartment, the safest place in the castle. I had become so accustomed to Mr. Zzyx's antics--he's just as playful as a child--I saw no reason why I should become unduly alarmed. So I settled down, and read my novel until about midnight. I went to sleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

"I don't know how long I'd been asleep when something aroused me. It was a sound outside my bedroom door. I switched on the lights, slid out of bed, caught up my dressing-gown and went to the door and listened. I distinctly heard a scratching noise outside my door--a sound my pet poodle makes when it wants to come into my room. Then I saw the brass knob, inside my door, moving, and I got the impression that some one was pressing his full weight against the door. Well, I was just too scared to scream, so I started hammering on the door.

"Then I listened again, by placing my ear close against the door. I'm sure I heard a stealthy movement outside, a soft, cat's-foot movement, as though some one was moving away, down the hall; then everything became quiet. Finally, I became more composed myself, and finding that I had not aroused anyone by hammering on the door, I went back to bed. But I never closed my eyes again that night."

When Pat recounted her adventure the next morning at breakfast, Henry was inclined to dismiss it as trivial. "My dear, you had a nightmare," he said. "Who on earth would want to get into your apartment at that hour of the night? As for Mr. Zzyx, why, he wouldn't hurt a fly."

Jane was stunned by Pat's story, and immediately added another bolt to her bedroom door. For myself, I had heard no sound during the night, and I'm a very light sleeper, and easy to waken. I felt, like Henry, that perhaps Pat may have dreamed it.

At least, that was my opinion, until shortly after breakfast, while examining the outside of her bedroom door, I found several distinct marks, where the paint had been scratched, or clawed, off. Discovering these marks, I felt it was not a nightmare of Pat's. So I questioned Niki.

"You don't think it could have been Mr. Zzyx at Pat's door?" I asked him.

Niki looked startled, then he grinned, and established a complete alibi for our guest. "No," he said. "Mr. Zzyx never left his room last night."

I left him, my mind confused in many ways, but entirely clear on one point. There was something at Pat's door, that was sure.

Jane was naturally upset and uncomfortable the first night Mr. Zzyx dined formally with us. We were both dressed for dinner, and waiting in the entrance hall for the others to come down. She had just been telling me of her resolve not to close the castle on November first, and open our town house, a custom we had rigidly followed for so many years, when she happened to glance up the grand staircase. Clutching my arm suddenly, she whispered: "My God, Livingston! Look!"

I turned, and gave one look, and then I burst out laughing, the sight that met my eyes was so incredulous. Marching down the staircase, three abreast, came Henry and McGinity, with Mr. Zzyx between them, all three in immaculate dinner dress and enveloped in an atmosphere of complete dignity. Henry seemed more astounded than affronted at my mirth. Before he could voice his sentiments one way or the other, an excited murmur came from Pat, who had just entered the hall from the drawing room.

"Good work, Uncle Henry!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the foot of the staircase. "And Mr. Zzyx! He looks as smart as they make them!"

Mr. Zzyx seemed pleased at the furore he was causing, and proud of his tailed dinner clothes. He kept drawing our attention to his pearl shirt-studs and cuff-links.

"Now, I suppose Mr. Zzyx will be expected to escort me into dinner," said Pat.

"Not a chance," said McGinity, moving quickly to her side; "unless he's smarter than I think."

As Mr. Zzyx advanced towards Jane, she walked away. She stopped when Henry said: "Don't be afraid, Jane. Mr. Zzyx has no idea of hurting anyone. What interests him is that gold-beaded bag you're carrying."

"Oh!" said Jane, flushing. Then she handed the bag to Mr. Zzyx, who inspected it closely, smelt it, and then gave it back to her.

"Really!" she exclaimed. "He acts almost human!"

At this stage of the proceedings, Schweizer appeared on the scene, to announce that dinner was served. And to my dying day, I shall never forget the mingled look of amazement and horror that spread over the butler's rotund face as his eyes fell on Mr. Zzyx.

And one couldn't blame him. It was enough to give any one the jitters to see this half-human creature in smart evening dress, his heavy animal fur framing a human face, and his hairy hands and forearms protruding from the white cuffs of a stiff-bosomed shirt.

We had not been seated long at the table before I realized that Mr. Zzyx, despite his repulsive appearance, possessed the mentality and playful urge of a child. This was evident during the entrée course, when he began to make wig-wag signals with his napkin, in an effort to attract the butler's attention. What possible motive could he have? Then, suddenly, the truth dawned on me. It was Schweizer who served the dinner, and it was the food he brought that interested Mr. Zzyx most. He had a most voracious appetite.

He sat between Henry and McGinity, in a great throne-chair which Henry had brought from Europe. I must admit Niki had accomplished wonders in teaching him how to handle his knife, fork and spoon. He ate everything that was set before him, and showed a great fondness for Henry's choice wines and champagne. Now and then, he would pause in his eating, and look round the table, his sharp black eyes taking us all in, one at a time; then he would chatter something unintelligible, and resume his eating.

Henry noted this, and remarked: "Of course, we all appear very strange to our honored guest, as it would be if we, ourselves, were catapulted to Mars in a rocket, and suddenly found ourselves dining with a group of Martians. In time, I hope he will be able to speak our language."

"And then we'll know what he thinks about us," McGinity suggested. "But he must realize by this time, how much we all think of him." Turning to Mr. Zzyx, he patted him on the arm, and added: "You're in pretty soft, aren't you, young fellow?"

And to out utter amazement, Mr. Zzyx turned to McGinity and spoke--actually spoke for the first time. He distinctly mouthed a word that sounded like "Spaghet!" with emphasis on the last syllable. He sort of hissed the word.

"There you are!" exclaimed Henry. "I thought all along he had the power of speech. I shall engage a tutor for him the very first thing tomorrow morning."

"He certainly said something," McGinity observed; "sounded like Latin to me."

And then Pat distinguished herself. "My opinion is that he tried to say 'spaghetti'," she offered. "That has some Latin connection, hasn't it? Niki says he's terribly fond of it."

After dinner, Mr. Zzyx lounged indolently in the largest easy chair in the library, while Schweizer served coffee. He smoked one cigarette after another with evident enjoyment. When Henry first offered him one of his big cigars, he surprised and amused us by biting off the end of it, and then throwing the cigar away. The end he thrust in his mouth and began chewing it.

A little later, as I placed my empty coffee cup on the butler's tray--this was after Niki had taken Mr. Zzyx upstairs, to undress him and put him to bed--Schweizer whispered: "I beg pardon, sir, but I don't like the looks of that fellow!"

"I'm afraid, Schweizer," I rejoined, "that you'll be seeing a good deal of this 'fellow' from now on."

The butler reflected a moment in silence on this information, and then walked away, muttering: "I don't like his looks--I don't like his looks!"