up with the rest of Bill's luggage to his room. I remembered how I wondered at the time what the thing was . . .
"To be frank, I don't like it," Ralph persisted, his dark eyes smoldering rather resentfully. "I shared the dangers with you; Bob here sank his money in the venture—What right have you to keep back anything?"
I waited, rather surprised. Deep down I'd never really liked Ralph Trent. Courageous, yes—but aggressive, even sinister. That he was piqued by not knowing what was in the steel box from the Twilight Belt[1] was plain.
"I have the right of discovery," Bill said quietly. "Before I show it to the world I want to be sure of something. Believe me, it's for everybody's good."
Ralph hesitated, then went on sullenly with his meal. Altogether, it seemed that Bill's secret had cast a blight over the proceeding for the rest of the evening passed in merely matter-of-fact anecdotes instead of ribald celebration. And so, finally, tired with the events of the day, we went to bed early.
"Just what," Madge asked me, yawning, "do you think he has found?"
"Lord knows! Mineral probably. If it comes to that, anything from Venus is enormously valuable because of its very rarity. I guess he's making too much out of nothing . . ."
There the subject dropped and we composed ourselves for slumber—but about an hour later we were both jerked upright and awake by the most unearthly scream ringing through the quietness of the house. It had come from somewhere along the corridor where Bill and Ralph had their rooms.
In an instant I was in my robe and slippers, and racing to the door. On the corridor gushed a flood of light; Bill's door was wide open. I hurried to it, then stopped dead just inside the threshold. It was an appalling sight which met my eyes.
There was Ralph Trent, fully dressed and pale as death, with a massive poker in his hand. On the floor in front of him, sprawled out with a ghastly wound across his forehead, lay poor Bill! That he was dead was instantly evident.
With an effort I mastered myself, turned just in time to push Madge back into the corridor.
"What—? Why?" she asked, startled.
"Something pretty bad," I told her tensely. "Murder, maybe. Go back to the room—for the moment anyway. . . ." Then I hurried back into Bill's room, slammed and locked the door, grabbed Ralph's arm and whirled him round.
"In God's name, Ralph, what have you done?"
"Eh? What?" He looked at me as though he were half stunned. Then he eyed the poker stupidly. "I—I didn't do anything," he whispered.
"Then what do you call this?" I snatched the poker from him, but as I gazed at it I noticed something. It was unmarked; not the least sign to show he'd committed violent assault with it.
"I—I came in here to smash open that steel box," he said, getting a grip on himself. "I know Bill took sleeping tablets tonight to steady his nerves after today's activities: I figured he wouldn't wake. That was why I brought the poker, to prise the lock. But—but the room was dark when I got in. I switched on the light—there was a horrible scream—and I saw Bill lying there . . . just like that. It's true! You've got to believe it!"
- ↑ The Twilight Belt of Venus, immune to the 720-hour day and night.—Ed.
