it then as I watched; no one on earth dreamed of that unerring

missile.

That night, too, there was another jetting out of gas from the

distant planet. I saw it. A reddish flash at the edge, the slightest

projection of the outline just as the chronometer struck midnight; and

at that I told Ogilvy and he took my place. The night was warm and I

was thirsty, and I went stretching my legs clumsily and feeling my way

in the darkness, to the little table where the siphon stood, while

Ogilvy exclaimed at the streamer of gas that came out towards us.

That night another invisible missile started on its way to the

earth from Mars, just a second or so under twenty-four hours after the

first one. I remember how I sat on the table there in the blackness,

with patches of green and crimson swimming before my eyes. I wished I

had a light to smoke by, little suspecting the meaning of the minute

gleam I had seen and all that it would presently bring me. Ogilvy

watched till one, and then gave it up; and we lit the lantern and

walked over to his house. Down below in the darkness were Ottershaw

and Chertsey and all their hundreds of people, sleeping in peace.

He was full of speculation that night about the condition of Mars,

and scoffed at the vulgar idea of its having inhabitants who were

signalling us. His idea was that meteorites might be falling in a

heavy shower upon the planet, or that a huge volcanic explosion was in

progress. He pointed out to me how unlikely it was that organic

The War of the Worlds