He reached out and took West by the arm. "Maybe we'll have a lot to talk about," he said. "We'll have to compare our notes." Together they moved up the hillside, the man's gloved hand clutching West by the arm. "You're Langdon," West hazarded, as casually as he could speak. The man chuckled. "Not Langdon. Langdon got lost." "That's tough," commented West. "Bad place to get lost on ... Pluto." "Not Pluto," said the man. "Somewhere else." "Maybe Darling, then ..." and he held his breath to hear the answer. "Darling left us," said the man. "I'm Cartwright. Burton Cartwright." On the top of the tiny plateau in front of the laboratory, they stopped to catch their breath. The dim starlight painted the valley below with silver tracery. West pointed. "That ship!" Cartwright chuckled. "You recognize it, eh? The _Alpha Centauri_." "They're still working on the drive, back on Earth," said West. "Someday they'll get it." "I have no doubt of it," said Cartwright. He swung back toward the laboratory. "Let's go in. Dinner will be ready soon." * * * * * The table was set with white cloth and shining silver that gleamed in the light of the flickering dinner tapers. Sparkling wine glasses stood in their proper places. The centerpiece was a bowl of fruit--but fruit such as West had never seen before. Cartwright tilted a chair and dumped a thing that had been sleeping there onto the floor. "Your place, Mr. West," he said. The thing uncoiled itself and glared at West with an eye of fishy hatred, purred with lusty venom and slithered out of sight. Across the table Louis Nevin apologized. "The damn things keep sneaking through all the time. I suppose, Mr. West, you have trouble with them, too." "We tried rat traps," said Cartwright, "but they were too smart for that. So we get along with them the best we can." West laughed to cover momentary confusion, but he found Nevin's eyes upon him. "Annabelle," he said, "is the only one that ever bothered me." "You're lucky," Nevin told him. "They get to be pests. There is one of them that insists on sleeping with me." "Where's Belden?" Cartwright asked. "He ate early," explained Nevin. "Said there were a few things he wanted to get done. Asked to be excused." He said to West, "James Belden. Perhaps you've heard of him." West nodded. He pulled back his chair, started to sit down, then jerked erect. A woman had appeared in the doorway, a woman with violet eyes and platinum hair and wrapped in an ermine opera cloak. She moved forward and the light from the flaring tapers fell across her face. West stiffened at the sight, felt the blood run cold as ice within his veins. For the face was not a woman's face. It was like a furry skull, like a moth's face that had attempted to turn human and had stuck halfway. Down at the end of the table, Cartwright was chuckling. "You recognize her, Mr. West?"