Lockley found himself questioning the driver’s statements just after they got in.  Driving for the Army.  The Army kept track of where the terror beams existed, and notified this truck by truck radio, and he dodged all such road barriers.  That was what he said.  It seemed plausible, but—­

“One thing strikes me funny,” said the driver, musingly.  “Those critters blindfoldin’ you and those other guys.  What’ you think they did it for?”

“To keep us from seeing them,” said Lockley, curtly.

“But why’d they want to do that?”

“Because,” said Lockley, “they might not have been Martians.  They might not have been critters.  They might have been men.”

On the instant he regretted bitterly that he’d said it.  It was a guess, only, with all the evidence against it.  The driver visibly jumped.  Then he turned his head.

“Where’d you get that idea?” he demanded.  “What’s the evidence?  Why d’you think it?”

“They blindfolded me,” said Lockley briefly.

A pause.  Then the driver said vexedly, “That’s a funny thing to make you think they was men!  Hell!  Excuse me, ma’m!—­they coulda had all kindsa reasons for blindfoldin’ you!  It coulda been part of their religion!”

“Maybe,” said Lockley.  He was angry with himself for having said something which was needlessly dramatic.

“Didn’t you have any other reason for thinkin’ they were men?” demanded the driver curiously.  “No other reason at all?”

“No other at all,” said Lockley.

“It’s a crazy reason, if you ask me!”

“Quite likely,” conceded Lockley.

He’d been indiscreet, but no more.  He’d said what he thought, perhaps because he was tired of watching all the country round him for a menace to Jill, and then watching every word he spoke to keep her from abandoning hope for Vale.

Jill said, “Where are we headed for?  I hope I can get to a telephone.  I want to ask about somebody....  He wants to tell the soldiers something.”

“We’re headed for a army supply dump,” said the driver comfortably, “to load up with stuff for the guys that’re watching all around the Park.  We’ll be goin’ through Serena presently.  Funny.  Everybody moved out by the Army.  A good thing, too.  The folks in Maplewood couldn’t ha’ been got out last night before the Martians got there.”

The trailer-truck went on through the night.  The driver lounged in his seat, keeping a negligent but capable eye on the road ahead.  The headlights showed a place where another road crossed this one and there was a filling station, still and dark, and four or five dwellings nearby with no single sign of life about them.  Then the crossroads settlement fell behind.  A mile beyond it Jill said startledly, “Lights!  There’s a town.  It’s lighted.”

“It’s Serena,” said the driver.  “The street lights are on because the electricity comes from far away.  With the lights on it’s a marker for the planes, too, so they can tell exactly where they are and the Park too.  They can’t see the ground so good at night, from away up there.”