Tassifer had caught out of the corner of his eye the dangling ends of a pair of trousers supplemented by a heavy pair of mud-covered shoes swaying outside the window of the limousine. "Here you! Come down out of that!" he roared, grabbing at the legs and loosening the owner from his perch. "If anybody's going to sit up there, _I'm_ going to! I paid for this car." The man landed heavily amid the jeers of the onlookers, and Bentham, opening the door, climbed on the driver's seat and swung himself up to the roof. Here, at a height of nine feet above the crowd, he had a magnificent view on all sides. The great bulk of the Ring loomed dark in the moonlight. High in the heavens, a little east of the meridian and not far from the red-flushed planet Mars, Medusa shone with a pale, greenish light. It was easy for a trained eye to pick it out, though it was not a conspicuous object, even at its present distance of less than two million miles. "Speech! Speech!" yelled the spectators, instinctively recognizing that Bentham was a ridiculous person. "Shut up!" he retorted, in his most aggressive manner, and somehow suggesting a fugitive cat on a fence. "Mind your own business!" "Hooray!" cheered the crowd unanimously. "Speech!" Tassifer glowered at them mutely. There was nothing to throw. "Don't mind them, Bentham," came plaintively from within the car. He might have jumped on their heads--committed any degree of manslaughter--had not a sudden murmur directed his attention toward the Ring. A dull purring sound filled the air. Then Tassifer grabbed at his tall hat.