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He drew his head from under the black cloth and quickly made notes on his pad. "Discourse further, Challenger. Your scientific learning and comprehension are utterly without peer and almost without rival."

"Almost?" grumbled Challenger, but the compliment pleased him. He, too, emerged from under the cloth, smiling fearsomely in his beard.

"Astronomy has not been one of my principal preoccupations," he began to lecture again, "yet I have always tried to notice the findings and conclusions of those who make it a specialty. Mars is a red planet, blotched here and there with greenish areas and capped at its poles with expanses of white that have the look of ice or frost. The green areas, argue some, are vegetation, perhaps of a primitive sort like moss or lichen. Here, at hand," and he cradled the crystal in his fingers, "we have some vindication of that argument. But no water has been detected by the most powerful telescope, and the atmosphere is thin—perhaps as thin as that to be found at the summits of earth's highest mountains. And the spectroscope reveals only the very smallest proportion of oxygen in that atmosphere, though it stands to reason that oxygen must exist in water and water vapor."

All this he uttered in his characteristic tone of high authority.

"Man, of course, could never survive under such conditions," Holmes offered.

"No," said Challenger, shaking his head emphatically. "On the basis of that oxygen-poor atmosphere, it has often been asserted that life upon Mars is an impossibility. But you and I, Holmes, know better."

"The argument should say, life as we know it upon earth. What we have seen is life of a very different sort indeed. But as to the redness of the planet's surface, our crystal agrees with our astronomers' findings on this point. Why, do you think, is it so rusty red?"

"I can be only speculative and hazard the conjecture that it is a soil similar to clay."

"Clay," repeated Holmes weightily. "I have given some time to studying various soils. In several instances I have solved crimes by taking note of dust or sand of distinctive sorts on clothing or shoes. Clay, says the old textbook, is of hydrated silicates of aluminum and can become plastic when wet and can be made into bricks, tiles, and pottery. Redness in its color indicates the presence of oxidized materials."

"What you say is true, if somewhat banal," said Challenger in a tone of lofty concession. "And where are you trying to lead us?"

Holmes leaned back in his chair and placed his fingertips together, his habitual pose when deep in a problem.

"It could well be that the soil of Mars has absorbed, over many ages, the oxygen that was once fairly rich in the atmosphere."

"Hum!" Challenger grunted. "That possibility has occurred to others before you. I do not perceive its relevance here."

"If a mineral deposit contains oxygen, a proper chemical action could release the oxygen again."

"By heaven, Holmes, I begin to see the direction of your reasoning." Challenger's teeth glinted in a smile. "Your association with me is a profit to your mental processes, my dear fellow. The buildings that we see in the crystal make up a group of considerable dimensions. They could house intricate mechanical and chemical equipment, and these creatures dwelling there might be able to produce a localized atmosphere that is breathable and can support them."

"Something keeps them alive, even if my specific suggestion here is at fault."

Challenger reached out and took Holmes's hand to shake it. "My contgratulations. You are a colleague worthy of George Edward Challenger. Much more so in fact, than a number of professional scientists I could name."

"I will try to merit that high endorsement," said Holmes, bowing. "In order that I may do so, let us return to our studies."

Again they draped their heads with the cloth, and for some time they pored over the crystal in attentive silence. Challenger turned it this way and that, finally bringing it into position for a line of vision commanding the row of masts.

"Here we see those points of light at the respective apexes," he said. "Now one of the Martians, equipped with wings, is approaching to study, even as we do. But he is at another mast than the one from which we see. Again I feel more or less assured that each of those masts is furnished with a crystal similar to ours and so empowered as to provide a view of some faraway place."

"Perhaps also on earth?" Holmes wondered. "As this crystal we have can communicate with their crystal on the farthest mast in the rank, might there be other crystals also projected across space, also communicating?"

Lines of thought deepened on Challenger's massive brow. "It may well be so. The speculation begets others. Among them, the question of how this crystal, and perhaps similar ones, made the journey to earth."

He flung back the drapery and gazed at the gleaming crystal egg, turning it over and over.

"Its construction and operation seem to have no analogy with anything in our own civilization," he said slowly. "The transmitted power may well be electrical, but that is merely a guess, not worth our discussion at present. Now, if they sent it to earth in 1894, as you have suggested, they have been watching us for seven years. How much can they have learned about us in that time?"

"A considerable amount, I would hazard," said Holmes. "Far more than we might deduce about them in a comparable period."

"And what do they make of us?"

"That would be interesting to know," said Holmes. "But you and I agree that they may well be planning an expedition here to earth. The concept of interplantary travel is not a new one. It has been a subject of imaginative tales for centuries. Now you and I face it as a reality; thus far, only you and I."

Challenger fondled the crystal, his beard jutting above it.

"Fate did well to put this problem into my hands," he said. "Aided a trifle by yourself."

"Perhaps it was not fate, but the Martians themselves, who put this into our hands," said Holmes soberly. "What if they guided it into our possession to see how our rational minds would react to it? They might realize that men like you and me have unusual mental ability, and so arranged that it would come into our possession instead of that of a fool and a Philistine."

Challenger glanced sharply at Holmes. "You yourself are beginning to romanticize. Just why did you buy it?"

"I decided, on the spur of the moment, that it might make a suitable Christmas present for my landlady. However, she has not seen or heard of it as yet."

"Which is for the best," said Challenger, "You will, of course, make her a suitable gift of some other sort."

"Of course," said Holmes.

Late in the afternoon of the last day of January, Holmes sat playing softly on his violin. A timid knock sounded at the door. Holmes rose and opened it to a slight, black-haired young man who took off his hat and fumbled with it timidly.

"Is Dr. Watson at home?" he asked.

"He's gone to a meeting of medical colleagues," said Holmes. "If you care to leave a message, I will be glad to give it to him."

"Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes, then? I came looking for Dr. Watson—I have the honor of some slight acquaintance with him—to ask him to introduce me to you. My name is Jacoby Wace; I am assistant demonstrator at St. Catherine's Hospital in Westbourne Street." The young man shifted his feet on the rug. "I scarcely know how to begin."

"Begin by sitting down and explaining."

Wace dropped into a chair and nervously related his story. He had known Cave the antiques dealer, and had often studied the crystal with him. To Cave, more than to Wace, the crystal had shown its secrets—Wace said that Cave had fairly clear impressions of the extraordinary scenes reflected within its depths. And Wace had been almost crushed when he found that, upon Cave's death, the crystal had gone with other objects from the dead man's shop to that of Templeton and there had been sold to someone whose name Templeton said he had forgotten.

"I put advertisements in several collectors' papers," said Wace. "There has been no response whatever. But I am convinced that a great scientific truth can be yielded by that crystal, and I appeal to you to help me trace it."

Wace's manner was becomingly diffident, Holmes reflected. It would flatter Challenger. The thought gave him an inspiration.

"Suppose we consult a scientist of distinguished reputation and accomplishment, Mr. Wace," he said. "Just a moment while I telephone."

He rang the Enmore Park number. Challenger's booming voice answered.

"Holmes here, Challenger. I have just been talking to a new client by the name of Jacoby Wace, whose difficulty had best be presented to yourself—for reasons which will quickly be apparent," said Holmes guardedly. "May I fetch him over?"

"Does this have any bearing on the crystal?" asked Challenger, his voice falling to a guarded hush.

"Yes," said Holmes briefly.

"Then bring him here immediately."

When Holmes and Wace arrived, they found the professor bulking behind his table. The crystal was nowhere in sight.

"You may be seated, Mr. Wace," granted Challenger. "Now, explain this difficulty of yours."

With stammering uneasiness, Wace again described his acquaintance with Cave, his own rather blurred observations of the crystal, and his agony of disappointment at its loss. Challenger heard him out, occasionally jotting down a note.

"And to whom besides ourselves have you spoken of this?" he inquired when Wace had made an end.

"I talked about it to Mr. Templeton, the dealer," said Wace, "and I heard that the matter will soon receive some publicity. Templeton said that Mr. H. G. Wells, the distinguished author, is now preparing a magazine article on the subject. Both Templeton and another dealer, Mr. Morse Hudson, have given him information."

"Hudson?" repeated Holmes. "I have some slight acquaintance with Hudson. I'll be interested in reading the article when it appears."

"I, too," nodded Challenger. "Wells has some rather sketchy scientific background, along with a bizarre imagination. Now, Mr. Wace, have you made any efforts to trace the crystal besides inquiries to the collectors' magazines?"

"I wrote letters to the Times and the Daily Chronicle. Both were returned to me, with suggestions that I was trying to perpetrate a hoax. Indeed, the editor of the Chronicle advised me to drop the matter, saying that publishing such material might well damage my career at St. Catherine's."

"A typical journalistic judgment," pronounced Challenger. "Yet, to some degree, I agree with the editor's advice. You will do well, Mr. Wace, to be prudently quiet about the whole affair, leaving it in the capable hands of my friend Mr. Holmes. Will you give us your promise to that effect?"

"Yes, sir," agreed Wace at once. "Thank you, Professor Challenger."

He took his departure. Challenger saw him to the front door and returned, to fix Holmes with earnest blue eyes.

"There you have exactly the response we could expect should we try to interest the press or the scientific faculty in our researches at this point," he rumbled. "Disbelief and ridicule."

"Yet apparently one popular magazine is taking an interest," said Holmes. "I look forward to reading Wells's article, if only to see how honest Hudson and Templeton have been with their information. And reflect, Wace did not have the crystal to show to skeptics, an advantage which we possess."

"There is more than that to our policy of secrecy," said Challenger. "We are agreed that this crystal embodies a means of communication with another planet. If we were to share it with other scientists, what clumsy efforts would they make to establish a rapport? No, Holmes, I would never trust so gravely important a problem to limited mentalities, dulled with years in classrooms and museums. The achievement of articulate exchange with these creatures on Mars must be referred to the only mind on earth with the requisite intelligence and method—aided in certain ways, of course, by yourself."

But in the months that followed, most of the observations, as well as earnest efforts to evoke a response to signals, fell to Challenger alone. Holmes found his time occupied with a series of criminal investigations."

Inspector Merivale of Scotland Yard asked for his help that March. The police had discovered a widespread circulation of forged crowns and half-crowns, and the man suspected of coining them persuasively denied the charge. He was a respectable shopkeeper in Seven Dials, that man insisted, with no blot upon his reputation. He added that he knew his legal rights, would demonstrate that he had been falsely accused, and would instruct his solicitors to lay action for damage to his character. Holmes managed to obtain some of the accused man's clothing for study, and from the fold of a cuff recovered tiny particles which, under the microscope, proved to be filings of zinc and copper. Confronted by this discovery, the man broke down and confessed.

Officials in high places praised Holmes's method of uncovering this evidence. He thanked them modestly and telephoned Challenger. But Challenger was unwontedly cryptic. "Please wait until you hear from me," he said. "For the present, I want to work entirely alone."

Again, late in April, Holmes was asked to help in another seemingly baffling investigation. A policeman had been murdered in the St. Pancras area, and his fellows fiercely yearned to find and punish the killer. The only clue was a cloth cap found near the body, and again a suspect was brought in, a maker of picture frames. But, like the coiner, he steadfastly denied the crime, saying that he did not own the cap and knew nothing of the murder.

The cap was brought to Holmes on Monday, May 5, about the time the mail included a letter from one James Mason. This man was a trainer of racehorses at the ancient manor of Shoscombe Old Place, and he wrote rather guardedly to say that he would come to discuss with Holmes a matter of great importance. Holmes was up betimes on the following day, ate breakfast quickly, and sat down to transfer certain particles retrieved from the lining of the mysterious cap to a microscope slide. Adjusting this in his instrument, he began to make his examination. He could detect tiny fibers, evidently of tweed, and it was known that the suspect habitually wore a coat of that material. There were also small brown blobs, puzzling at first. Becoming fatigued, he left the microscope and sat in his easy chair. He selected a smooth Havana cigar and opened a book. Watson entered and began to eat his own breakfast.