Gregor paced around for a few minutes, smoked a last cigarette, snapped off the light, and climbed into his bed. He was on the verge of sleep, when suddenly he sat upright. He thought he had heard a dull rumbling noise, like the sound of a giant walking underneath the castle. Nerves, he told himself.
Then the rumbling came again, the floor shook, and the death masks clattered angrily against the wall.
In another moment the noise had subsided.
"Did you hear it?" Gregor whispered.
"Of course I heard it," Arnold said crossly. "It almost shook me out of bed."
"What do you think?"
"It could be a form of poltergeist," Arnold answered, "although I doubt it. We'll explore the cellar tomorrow."
"I don't think this place has any cellar," Gregor said.
"It hasn't? Good! That would clinch it."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I'll have to accumulate a bit more data before I can make a positive statement," Arnold said smugly.
"Have you any idea what you're talking about? Or are you just making it up as you go along? Because if—"
"Look!"
Gregor turned and saw a gray and purple light in one corner of the room. It pulsed weirdly, throwing fantastic shadows across the bronze death masks. Slowly it approached them. As it drew nearer they could make out the reptilian outlines of a Skag, and through him they could see the walls of the room.
Gregor fumbled under his pillow, found the needler, and fired. The charge went through the Skag, and pocked a neat three-inch groove in the stone wall.
The Skag stood before them, its cloak swirling, an expression of extreme disapproval on its face. And then, without a sound, it was gone.
As soon as he could move, Gregor snapped on the light. Arnold was smiling faintly, staring at the place where the Skag had been.
"Very interesting," Arnold said. "Very interesting indeed." "What is?"
"Do you remember how Myra described the Undead Scarb?"
"Sure. She said it was nine feet tall, had little wings, and — oh, I think I see."
"Precisely," Arnold said. "This Skag or Scarb was no more than four feet in height, without wings."
"I suppose there could be two types," Gregor said dubiously. "But what bearing does this have on the underground noises? The whole thing is getting ridiculously complicated. Surely you must realize that."
"Complication is frequently a key to solution," Arnold said. "Simplicity alone is baffling. Complexity, on the other hand, implies the presence of a self-contradictory logic structure. Once the incomprehensibles are reconciled and the extraneous factors canceled, the murderer stands revealed in the glaring light of rational inevitability."
"What are you talking about?" Gregor shouted. "There wasn't any murder here!"
"I was quoting from Lesson Three in the Hepburn School for Scientific Detection Correspondence Course. And I know there was no murder. I was just speaking in general."
"But what do you think is going on?" Gregor asked.
"Something funny is going on," Arnold said. He smiled knowingly, turned over, and went to sleep.
Gregor snapped out the light. Arnold's course, he remembered, had cost ten dollars plus a coupon from Horror Crime Magazine. His partner had certainly received his money's worth.
There were no further incidents that night.
IV
Bright and early in the morning, the partners were awakened by Myra pounding on their door.
"A spaceship is landing!" she called.
Hurriedly they dressed and came down, meeting Jameson on the stairs. Outside they saw that a small spacer had just put down, and its occupant was climbing out.
"More trouble," Jameson growled.
The new arrival hardly looked like trouble. He was middle- aged, short, and partially bald. He was dressed in a severely conservative business suit, and he carried a briefcase. His features were quiet and reserved.
"Permit me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Frank Olson, a representative of Transstellar Mining. My company is contemplating an expansion into this territory, to take advantage of the new Terra-to-Propexis space lane. I am doing the initial survey. We need planets upon which we can obtain mineral rights."
Myra shook her head. "Not interested. But why don't you try Kerma?" she asked with a sly smile.
"I just came from Kerma," Olson said. "I had what I considered a very attractive proposition for this Edward the Hermit fellow."
"I'll bet he booted you out on your ear," Gregor said.
"No. As a matter of fact, he wasn't there."
"Wasn't there?" Myra gasped. "Are you sure?"
"Reasonably so," Olson said. "His camp was deserted."
"Perhaps he went on a hike," Arnold said. "After all, he has an entire planet to wander over."
"I hardly think so. His big ship was gone, and a spaceship is hardly a suitable vehicle for wandering around a planet."
"Very clever deduction," Arnold said enviously.
"Not that it matters," Olson said. "I thought I'd ask him, just for the record." He turned to Myra. "You are the owner of this planet?"
"I am."
"Perhaps you would be interested in hearing our terms?"
"No!" Myra said.
"Wait," Jameson said. "You should at least hear him."
"I'm not interested," Myra said. "I'm not going to have anyone digging up my little planet."
"I don't even know if your planet has anything worth digging for," Olson said. "My company is simply trying to find out which planets are available."
"They'll never get this one," Myra said.
"Well, it isn't too important," Olson said. "There are many planets. Too many," he added with a sigh. "I won't disturb you people any longer. Thank you for your time."
He turned, his shoulders slumping, and trudged back to his ship.
"Won't you stay for dinner?" Myra called impulsively. "You must get pretty tired of eating canned food in that spaceship."
"I do," Olson said with a rueful smile. "But I really can't stay. I hate to make a blastoff after dark."
"Then stay until morning," Myra said. "We'd be glad to put you up."
"I wouldn't want to be any trouble—"
"I've got about two hundred rooms in there," Myra said, pointing at the Skag Castle. "I'm sure we can squeeze you in somewhere."
"You're very kind," Olson said. "I — I believe I will!"
"Hope you aren't nervous about Undead Scarbs," Jameson said.
"What?"
"This planet seems to be haunted," Arnold told him. "By the ghost or ghosts of an extinct reptilian race."
"Oh, come now," Olson said. "You're pulling my leg. Aren't you?"
"Not at all," Gregor said.
Olson grinned to show that no one was taking him in. "I believe I'll tidy up," he said.
"Dinner's at six," Myra said.
"I'll be there. And thank you again." He returned to his ship.
"Now what?" Jameson asked.
"Now we are going to do some searching," Arnold said. He turned to Gregor. "Bring the portable detector. And we'll need a few shovels."
"What are we looking for?" Jameson asked.
"You'll see when we find it," Arnold said. He smiled insidiously and added, "I thought you knew everything."
Coelle was a very small planet, and in five hours Arnold found what he was looking for. In a little valley there was a long mound. Near it, the detector buzzed gaily.
"We will dig here," Arnold said.
"I bet I know what it is," Myra told them. "It's a burial mound, isn't it? And when you've uncovered it, we'll find row upon row of Undead Scarbs, their hands crossed upon their chests, waiting for the full moon. And we'll put stakes through their hearts, won't we?"