forward an inch or so. Then the thing came upon him in a flash. The
cylinder was artificial hollow with an end that screwed out! Something
within the cylinder was unscrewing the top!
Good heavens! said Ogilvy. There s a man in it men in it! Half
roasted to death! Trying to escape!
At once, with a quick mental leap, he linked the Thing with the flash
upon Mars.
The thought of the confined creature was so dreadful to him that he
forgot the heat and went forward to the cylinder to help turn. But
luckily the dull radiation arrested him before he could burn his hands
on the still-glowing metal. At that he stood irresolute for a moment,
then turned, scrambled out of the pit, and set off running wildly into
Woking. The time then must have been somewhere about six o clock. He
met a waggoner and tried to make him understand, but the tale he told
and his appearance were so wild his hat had fallen off in the pit that
the man simply drove on. He was equally unsuccessful with the potman
who was just unlocking the doors of the public-house by Horsell Bridge.
The fellow thought he was a lunatic at large and made an unsuccessful
attempt to shut him into the taproom. That sobered him a little; and
when he saw Henderson, the London journalist, in his garden, he called
over the palings and made himself understood.
Henderson, he called, you saw that shooting star last night?
Well? said Henderson.
It s out on Horsell Common now.
Good Lord! said Henderson. Fallen meteorite! That s good.
But it s something more than a meteorite. It s a cylinder an
artificial cylinder, man! And there s something inside.
Henderson stood up with his spade in his hand.
What s that? he said. He was deaf in one ear.
10