Another car came, plunging after the others. In the next ten miles
there were, perhaps a dozen more. They'd been hard to start, perhaps,
and so left later than the rest. Jill wasn't in any of them. There was
one car traveling slowly, making thumping noises. Its driver made the
best time he could, following the others.

Sober common sense pointed out that Vale's account was fully verified.
There'd been a landing of non-human creatures in a ship from outer
space. The killing or capture of the first three men to investigate a
gigantic explosion was natural enough--the alien occupants of a space
ship would want to study the inhabitants of the world they'd landed
on. The mere paralysis and release of two others could be explained on
the theory that the creatures who'd come to earth were satisfied with
three specimens of the local intelligent race to study. They had Vale,
too. They weren't trying to conceal their arrival, though it would
have been impossible anyhow. But it was plausible enough that they'd
take measures to become informed about the world they'd landed on, and
when they considered that they knew enough, they'd take the action
they felt was desirable.

All of which was perfectly rational, but there was another
possibility. The other possible explanation was--considering
everything--more probable. And it seemed to offer even more appalling
prospects.

He drove on. Jill Holmes. He'd seen her four times; she was engaged to
Vale. It seemed extremely likely that she hadn't left the camp with
the workmen. If Lockley hadn't been obsessed with her, he'd have tried
to make sure she was left behind before he tried to find her. If she