city
whose steel and pavements proclaimed man's victory over the very grass
that grew.

After awhile he felt better and needed work again. He took up his
planned study of the Martian recordings, correlating the spoken words
with the written ones he had already arduously learned to read.

The Martian Museum readily lent him the recordings he requested for
use in his work, including the one made on Earth. He studied the
Martian-language portion of this and succeeded in making a partial
translation--but carefully refrained from playing the middle section
of the film back again.

Came a day, though, when it occurred to him that he had heard not a
word from Thwaite. He made inquiries through the Museum and learned
that the archeologist had applied for a leave of absence and left
before it was granted. Gone where? The Museum people didn't know--but
Thwaite had not been trying to cover his trail. A call to Global Air
Transport brought the desired information.

A premonition ran up Dalton's spine--but he was surprised at how
calmly he thought and acted. He picked up the phone and called
Transport again--this time their booking department.

"When's the earliest time I can get passage to Belem?" he asked.

With no more than an hour to pack and catch the rocket he hurried to
the Museum. The place was more or less populated with sightseers,
which was annoying, because Dalton's plans now included larceny.

He waited before the building till the coast was clear, then, with
handkerchief-wrapped knuckles, broke the glass and tripped the lever
on the fire alarm. In minutes a wail of sirens and roar of arriving
motors was satisfyingly loud in the main exhibit room. Police and fire
department helicopters buzzed overhead. A wave of mingled fright and
curiosity swept visitors and attendants alike to the doors.

Dalton, lingering, found himself watched only by the millennially
sightless eyes of the man who lay in state in an airless glass tomb.
The stern face was inscrutable behind the silence of many thousand
years.

"Excuse me, Oswald," murmured Dalton. "I'd like to borrow something of
yours but I'm sure you won't mind."

The reed flute was in a long case devoted to Earthly specimens.
Unhesitatingly Dalton smashed the glass.

* * * * *

Brazil is a vast country, and it cost much trouble and time and
expense before Dalton caught up with Thwaite in a forlorn riverbank
town along the line where c