Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 9.pdf/172

 "No," I say with decision; "it can't be explained like that."

He looks down at his feet. "Go on," he says.

I try to give the thing a quiet, matter-of-fact air. "You see," I say, in the tone one adopts for really lucid explanations, "we come from another world. Consequently, whatever thumbmark registration or numbering you have in this planet doesn't apply to us, and we don't know our numbers because we haven't got any. We are really, you know, explorers, strangers"

"But what world do you mean?"

"It's a different planet—a long way away. Practically at an infinite distance."

He looks up in my face with the patient expression of a man who listens to nonsense.

"I know it sounds impossible," I say, "but here is the simple fact—we appear in your world. We appeared suddenly upon the neck of Lucendro—the Piz Lucendro—yesterday afternoon, and I defy you to discover the faintest trace of us before that time. Down we marched into the St. Gotthard road and here we are! That's our fact. And as for papers—! Where in your world have you seen papers like this?"

I produce my pocket-book, extract my passport, and present it to him.

His expression has changed. He takes the document and examines it, turns it over, looks at me, and smiles that faint smile of his again.

"Have some more," I say, and proffer the card of the T.C.F.