More clearly than the rest, she realized that very little was left of the old relation between the sexes. What would happen when the forceful Stevens made the discovery also? Probably he would make a thinking robot of her to serve his ambition. Well, she had chosen to go with them--they seemed to offer more amusement than the stuffy prigs of the colony.... What was that? She listened intently. A subdued rattling, slightly metallic in character. It might be a rat--no, too mechanical. The men--probably it was them, or one of them, returning. She glanced out of the window. Not there. The sound again--not from outdoors, but behind her--within the room? She gripped the gun Vanderschoof had given her. Rattle, rattle. She wished furiously for a light. The birds? No--birds sleep at night. Rattle, rattle. Persistently. She stood up, trying to pierce the gathering dimness. No, the birds would make more noise. They moved surely, with hoarse screams, as though they thought themselves the lords of the world. This sound was small, like the chatter of a mechanical rat. What new horror in this strange world might it not conceal? On slenderest tiptoes she backed cautiously across the rug toward the outer door. Better the chance of the birds than this unknown terror of the darkness. Holding the gun before her firmly, she stepped back, back, feeling with one hand for the door. Her hand met its smooth surface, then clicked as the metallic joints came in contact with the doorknob. She paused, breathless. Rattle, rattle, went the small sound, undiscouraged. With a sudden jerk she flung the door open and tumbled down the steps, half-falling, and as she fell, as though in answer to the metallic clang of her body on the stone, a long pencil of violet light sprang silently out from somewhere back in the hills, moved thrice across the sky and then faded as swiftly as it had come. She felt the beam of a flashlight in her eyes, and got up, hearing her voice with a sort of inward surprise as it babbled something slightly incoherent about "things--in there." Stevens' voice, rough with irritation. "What is it you're saying?" He shook her arm. "Come on, little woman, pull yourself together." "There must be someone else around here," remarked Vanderschoof, irrelevantly. "Did you see that searchlight?" Marta Lami pulled herself up short, shaking loose the hand with a touch of the arrogance that had made her the queen of the night life of New York. "Something in there gives me the heeby-jeebies," she said, pointing. "Sounds like some guy shooting craps with himself." * * * * * Stevens laughed, somewhat forcedly. "Well, it's nothing to be scared of, unless it's one of those damn birds, and if it was that he'd be taking us apart now. Come on!" He flung the door open and plunged in, the flashlight flickering before him. Empty.