“It’s a little tough even for us,” Bill said.

Douglas moved nervously toward the door. “You can’t think of any explanation? Something thought extinct that might still be roaming around these mountains?”

“None that we know of. If I should hear of any—”

“You said it looked down,” Jean said. “Not bending down to peer in at you. Then it couldn’t have been an animal or terrestrial being.” She was deep in thought. “Maybe we’re being observed.”

“Not you,” Douglas said miserably. “Just me.”

“By another race,” Bill put in. “You think—”

“Maybe it’s an eye from Mars.”

Douglas opened the front door carefully and peered out. The night was black. A faint wind moved through the trees and along the highway. His car was dimly visible, a black square against the hills. “If you think of anything, call me.”

“Take a couple of phenobarbitals before you hit the sack,” Jean suggested. “Calm your nerves.”

Douglas was out on the porch. “Good idea. Thanks.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m out of my mind. Good Lord. Well, I’ll see you later.”

He walked down the steps, gripping the rail tightly. “Good night!” Bill called. The door closed and the porch light clicked off.

Douglas went cautiously toward his car. He reached out into the darkness, feeling for the door handle. One step. Two steps. It was silly. A grown man—practically middle-aged—in the twentieth century. Three steps.

He found the door and opened it, sliding quickly inside and locking it after him. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks as he snapped on the motor and the headlights. Silly as hell. A giant eye. A stunt of some sort.

He turned the thoughts over in his mind. Students? Jokesters? Communists? A plot to drive him out of his mind? He was important. Probably the most important nuclear physicist in the country. And this new project…

He drove the car slowly forward, onto the silent highway. He watched each bush and tree as the car gained speed.