“You see, I live near—” The brown man’s finger tapped a certain quite common object that appeared in the photograph. “—and something funny keeps showing up now and then against it. But only with infra-red film. Now I know chlorophyll reflects so much infra-red light that grass and leaves photograph white. The sky comes out black, like this. There are tricks to using this kind of film. Photograph a tree against a cloud, and you can’t tell them apart in the print. But you can photograph through a haze and pick out distant objects the ordinary film wouldn’t catch. And sometimes, when you focus on something like this—” He tapped the image of the very common object again, “you get a very odd image on the film. Like that. A man with three eyes.” Lyman held the print up to the light. In silence he took the other one from the bar and studied it. When he laid them down he was smiling. “You know,” Lyman said in a conversational whisper, “a professor of astrophysics at one of the more important universities had a very interesting little item in the _Times_ the other Sunday. Name of Spitzer, I think. He said that, if there were life on Mars, and if Martians had ever visited earth, there’d be no way to prove it. Nobody would believe the few men who saw them. Not, he said, unless the Martians happened to be photographed....” Lyman looked at the brown man thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, “it’s happened. You’ve photographed them.” The brown man nodded. He took up the prints and returned them to his watch-case. “I thought so, too. Only until tonight I couldn’t be sure. I’d never seen one—fully—as you have. It isn’t so much a matter of what you call getting your brain scrambled with supersonics as it is of just knowing where to look. But I’ve been seeing _part_ of them all my life, and so has everybody. It’s that little suggestion of movement you never catch except just at the edge of your vision, just out of the corner of your eye. Something that’s _almost_ there—and when you look fully at it, there’s nothing. These photographs showed me the way. It’s not easy to learn, but it can be done. We’re conditioned to look directly at a thing—the particular thing we want to see clearly, whatever it is. Perhaps the Martians gave us that conditioning. When we see a movement at the edge of our range of vision, it’s almost irresistible not to look directly at it. So it vanishes.” “Then they can be seen—by anybody?” * * * * * “I’ve learned a lot in a few days,” the brown man said. “Since I took those photographs. You have to train yourself. It’s like seeing a trick picture—one that’s really a composite, after you study it. Camouflage. You just have to learn how. Otherwise we can look at them all our lives and never see them.” “The camera does, though.” “Yes, the camera does. I’ve wondered why nobody ever caught them this way before. Once you see them on film, they’re unmistakable—that third eye.”