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"What is the point, pray tell?" Holmes asked. "You were, I believe, telegraphing back and forth with Martians."
"The point is that I could not converse instantaneously with Martians-"
"I do see a certain difficulty in stringing the wires," Holmes said drily.
"-because it would take several minutes-I would have to do the arithmetic, but at least ten-for my 'hallo!' to reach Mars, and another length of time for their 'Good day to you' to return."
"Perhaps you should use the post," Holmes said.
"And that is what troubled me about Robert's description!" I exclaimed.
"Something troubled you?" Holmes said. "You have not mentioned it before."
"I could not think what it was. But of course! He thought he saw a signal from Mars, to the coracle, at the instant after its disappearance. This is impossible, you see, Holmes, because a message would take so long to reach us. He must have been mistaken in what he saw."
Holmes rode beside me in silence for some moments, then let his breath out in a long sigh.
"As usual, Watson, you shame me," he said. "You have provided the clue to the whole mystery, and now all is clear."
"I do?" I said. "I have? It is?" I turned to him. "But what about Sir Arthur? How can the mystery be solved if we have lost Sir Arthur? Surely we ca
"Stop!" Holmes cried.
Fearing Holmes had spied a sheep in the road while my attention was otherwise occupied, I engaged the brake abruptly. The autocar lurched to a halt, and Holmes used the momentum to leap from the seat to the roadway.
Sir Arthur sat upon a stone on the verge of the track.
"Good morning, Dr Conan Doyle," Holmes said. "I trust your adventure has left you none the worse for wear?"
Sir Arthur gazed up with a beatific expression, his eyes wide and glassy.
"I have seen things, Mr Holmes," he said. "Amazing things… "
Holmes helped him to the automobile and into the passenger seat. As Sir Arthur settled himself, Holmes plucked a bit of material from Sir Arthur's shoe.
"What have you found, Holmes?" I asked.
"Nothing remarkable," replied Holmes. "A shred of dusty silk, I believe." He folded the fabric carefully, placed it into his pocket, and vaulted into the autocar.
Sir Arthur made no objection to my driving us back to Undershaw. It was as if he had visited a different world, and still lived in it in his mind. He refused to speak of it until we returned to his home, and his worried wife.
A paragon of womanhood, Lady Conan Doyle accepted Sir Arthur's assurances that he was unharmed. She led us to the morning room and settled us all in deep chairs of maroon velvet.
Sir Arthur commenced his story.
"It was amazing," Sir Arthur said. "Absolutely amazing. I saw the lights, and it was as if I were mesmerized. I felt drawn to them. I hurried through the woods. I saw the ring of illumination, just as Robert described it. Brighter than anything we can manufacture, I'd warrant-never mind that it floated in the sky! I saw the coracle. A flying vehicle, turning slowly above me, and windows-and faces! Faces peering down at me."
Holmes shifted and frowned, but said nothing.
"Then I saw a flash of light-"
"We saw it, too," said I. "We feared you'd been injured."
"Far from it!" Conan Doyle said. "Uplifted, rather! Enlightened! I swooned with the shock, and when I awoke-I was inside the coracle!"
"How did you know where you were?" Holmes demanded. "Could you see out the windows? Were you high above the ground?"
"I was in a round room, the size of the coracle, and I could feel the wafting of the winds-"
It occurred to me that the previous night had been nearly windless. But perhaps the flying coracle had risen higher and the wind aloft had freshened.
"What of the portholes?" Holmes asked.
"There were no portholes," Sir Arthur said, still speaking in a dreamy voice. "The walls were smooth black, like satin. The portholes had closed over, without leaving a trace!"
"Sir Arthur-" Holmes protested.
"Hush, Mr Holmes, please," Lady Conan Doyle said, leaning forward, her face alight with concentration. "Let my husband finish his story."
"I was not at all frightened, strangely content, and immobile," Sir Arthur said. "Then… the people came in and spoke to me. They looked like-like nothing on this Earth! They were very pale, and their eyes were huge and bright, shining with otherworldly intelligence. They told me-they told me, without speaking, they spoke in my mind, without moving their lips!"
"Ah," Holmes murmured, "so at least they had lips."
"Shh!" Lady Conan Doyle said, dispensing with courtesy.
"What did they tell you, Sir Arthur?" I asked.
"They wished to examine me, to determine if their people and ours are compatible, to determine if we can live together in peace."
"Live together!" I ejaculated.
"Yes. They did examine me-I ca
"Ah, yes," Holmes murmured. "The needles."
"Who were these people?" I asked, amazed. "Where are they from?"
"They are," Sir Arthur said softly, "from Mars."
I felt dazed, not only because of my exhaustion. Lady Conan Doyle made a sound of wonder, and Holmes-Holmes growled low in his throat.
"From Mars?" he said drily. "Not from the spirit realm?"
Sir Arthur drew himself up, bristling at the implied insult.
"I'll not have it said I ca
Before Holmes could reply, Sir Arthur's butler appeared in the doorway.
"Sir Arthur," he said.
"Tell Robert," Holmes said without explanation, "that we have no need to examine any new field theorems. Tell him he may notify the constabulary, the journalists, and the king if he wishes."
The butler hesitated.
"And tell him," Holmes added, "that he may charge what he likes to guide them."
The butler bowed and disappeared.
"They'll trample the theorem!" Sir Arthur objected, rising from his chair. "We won't know-"
"But you already know, Sir Arthur," Holmes said. "The creators of the field theorem have spoken to you."
Sir Arthur relaxed. "That is true," he said. He smiled. "To think that I've been singled out this way-to introduce them to the world!" He leaned forward, spreading his hands in entreaty. "They're nothing like the Martians of Mr Wells," he said. "Not evil, not invaders. They wish only to be our friends. There's no need for panic."
"We're hardly in danger of panic," Holmes said. "I have done as you asked. I have solved your mystery." He nodded to me. "Thanks to my friend Dr Watson."
"There is no mystery, Mr Holmes," Sir Arthur said.
Holmes drew from his pocket the wooden stake, the metal spring, and the scrap of black silk. He placed them on the table before us. Dust drifted from the silk, emitting a burned, metallic scent and marring the polished table with a film of white.
"You are correct. There is, indeed, no mystery." He picked up the stake, and I noticed that a few green stalks remained wrapped tightly around it. "I found this in the center of the new field theorem, the one that so conveniently appeared after I expressed a desire to see one afresh. Unfortunately, its creators were unduly hurried, and could not work with their usual care. They left the center marker, to which they tied a rope, to use as a compass to form their circles."
Holmes moved his long forefinger around the stake, showing how a loop of rope had scuffed the corners of the wood, how the circular motion had pulled crop stalks into a tight coil.
"But that isn't what happened," Sir Arthur said. "The Martians explained all. They were trying to communicate with me, but the theorems are beyond our mental reach. So they risked everything to speak to me directly."