He stood up. "Well," he said, "suppose you tell me what you want."
Dunlop, caught off base, stammered terribly: "I w-w-want half of the tuh-of the tuh-"
"You want half of the take?"
"That's ruh-that's-"
"I understand. In order to keep my secret, you want me to give you half of everything I earn from my Martian's inventions. And if I don't agree?"
Dunlop said, suddenly panicked: "But you must! If I t-t-tell your secret, anyone can do the same!"
LaFitte said reasonably: "But I already have my money, Mr. Dunlop. No, that's not enough of an inducement. . . But," he said after a moment, "I doubt that such a consideration will persuade you to keep still. And, in fact, I do want this matter kept confidential. After all, six men died in the crash of the Solar Argosy, and on that sort of thing there is no statute of limitations."
He politely touched Dunlop's arm. "Come along. You deduced there was a Martian in this house? Let me show you how right you were."
All the way down a long carpeted corridor, Dunlop kept hearing little clicks and rustles that seemed to come from the wall. "Are those your b-bodyguards, LaFitte? Don't try any tricks!"
LaFitte shrugged. "Come on out, boys," he said without raising his voice; and a few feet ahead of them a panel opened and Death and Chlorophyll stepped through.
"Sorry about that other business, Mr. Dunlop," said Chlorophyll.
"No hard f-feelings," said Dunlop.
LaFitte stopped before a door with double locks. He spun the tumblers and the door opened into a dark, dank room.
"V-r-r-roooom, v-r-r-room." It sounded like a huge deep rumble from inside the room.
Dunlop's pupils slowly expanded to admit more light, and he began to recognize shapes. In the room was a sort of palisade of steel bars. Behind them, chained to a stake, was- A Martian!
Chained?
Yes, it was chained and cuffed. What could only be the key hung where the Martian would be able to see it always but reach it never. Dunlop swallowed, staring. The Martians in Fortescue's photographs were slimy, ropy, ugly creatures like thinned-out sea anemones, man tall and headless. The chained creature that thundered at him now was like those Martians only as a frog is like a tadpole. It possessed a head, round-domed, with staring eyes. It possessed a mouth that clacked open and shut on great square teeth.
"V-r-r-room," it roared, and then Dunlop listened more closely. It was not a wordless lion's bellow. It was English! The creature was talking to them; it was only the Earth's thick atmosphere that made it boom. "Who are you?" it croaked in a slobbery-drunk Chaliapin's boom.
Dunlop said faintly: "God b-bless." Inside that hideous skull was the brain that had created for LaFitte the Solar Transformer, the IonExchange Self-Powered Water Still, the LaFitte Negative-Impedance Transducer, and a thousand other great inventions. It was not a Martian Dunlop was looking at; it was a magic lamp that would bring him endless fortune. But it was an ugly nightmare.
"So," said LaFitte. "And what do you think now, Mr. Dunlop? Don't you think I did something great? Perhaps the Still and the Transducer were his invention, not mine. But I invented him."
Dunlop pulled himself together. "Y-yes," he said, bobbing his head. He had a concept of LaFitte as a sort of storybook blackmail victim, who needed only a leer, a whisper and the Papers to start disgorging billions. It had not occurred to him that LaFitte would take honest pride in what he had done. Now, knowing it, Dunlop saw, or thought he saw, a better tactic.
He said instantly: "Great? N-No, LaFitte, it's more than that. I am simply amazed that you brought him up without, say, r-rickets. Or juvenile delinquency. Or whatever Martians might get, lacking proper care."
LaFitte looked pleased. "Well, let's get down to business. You want to become an equal partner in LaFitte Enterprises; is that what you're asking for?"
Dunlop shrugged. He didn't have to answer. That was fortunate; in a situation as tense as this one, he couldn't have spoken at all.
LaFitte said cheerfully: "Why not? Who needs all this? Besides, some new blood in the firm might perk things up." He gazed benevolently at the Martian, who quailed. "Our friend here has been lethargic lately. All right, I'll make you work for it, but you can have half."
"Th-Th-Thank-"
"You're welcome, Dunlop. How shall we do it? I don't suppose you'd care to take my word-"
Dunlop smiled.
LaFitte was not offended. "Very well, we'll put it in writing. I'll have my attorneys draw something up. I suppose you have a lawyer for them to get in touch with?" He snapped his fingers. Death stepped brightly forward with a silver pencil and Chlorophyll with a pad.
"G-G-Good," said Dunlop, terribly eager. "My l-lawyer is P. George Metzger, and he's in the Empire State Building, forty-first fi-"
"Fool!" roared the Martian with terrible glee. LaFitte wrote quickly and folded the paper into a neat square. He handed it to the man who smelled of chlorophyll chewing gum.
Dunlop said desperately: "That's not the s-same lawyer."
LaFitte waited politely. "Not what lawyer?"
"My other lawyer is the one that has the p-p-papers."
LaFitte shook his head and smiled.
Dunlop sobbed. He couldn't help it. Before his eyes a billion dollars had vanished, and the premium on his life-insurance policy had run out. They had Metzger's name. They knew where to find the fat manila envelope that contained the sum of eight years' work.
Chlorophyll, or Death, or any of LaFitte's hundreds of confidential helpers, would go to Metzger's office, and perhaps present phony court orders or bull a way through, a handkerchief over the face and a gun in the hand. One way or another they would find the papers. The sort of organization that LaFitte owned would surely not be baffled by the office safe of a recent ex-law clerk, now in his first practice.
Dunlop sobbed again, wishing he had not economized on lawyers; but it really made no difference. LaFitte knew where the papers were kept and he would get them. It remained only for him to erase the last copy of the information-that is, the copy in the head of Hector Dunlop.
Chlorophyll tucked the note in his pocket and left. Death patted the bulge under his arm and looked at LaFitte.
"Not here," said LaFitte.
Dunlop took a deep breath.
"G-Good-bye, Martian," he said sadly, and turned toward the door. Behind him the thick, hateful voice laughed.
"You're taking this very well," LaFitte said in surprise.
Dunlop shrugged and stepped aside to let LaFitte precede him through the doorway.
"What else can I d-do?" he said. "You have me cold. Only-" The Death man was through the door, and so was LaFitte, half-turned politely to listen to Dunlop. Dunlop caught the edge of the door, hesitated, smiled and leaped back, slamming it. He found a lock and turned it. "Only you have to c-catch me first!" he yelled through the door.
Behind him the Martian laughed like a wounded whale.
"You were very good," complimented the thick, tolling voice.
"It was a matter of s-simple s-self-defense," said Dunlop.
He could hear noises in the corridor, but there was time. "N-Now! Come, Martian! We're going to get away from LaFitte. You're coming w-with me, because he won't dare shoot you and-and certainly you, with your great mind, can find a way for us both to escape."
The Martian said in a thick sulky voice: "I've tried."
"But I can help! Isn't that the k-k-key?"
He clawed the bright bit of metal off the wall. There was a lock on the door of steel bars, but the key opened it. The Martian was just inside, ropy arms waving.
"V-r-r-room," it rumbled, eyes like snake's eyes staring at Dunlop.