As John Smith heard her ask the long-distance operator for Washington, D.C., he realized with regretful resignation that he would be forced to depart from the methods of the immortal George Joseph.
Through the failure of the knife, John Smith learned that Venusian blood has extraordinary quick-clotting powers and Venusian organs possess an amazingly rapid system of self-regeneration. And the bullet taught him a further peculiarity of the blood: that it dissolves lead—in fact thrives upon lead.
His skill as a cook was quite sufficient to disguise any of the commoner poisons from human taste; but the Venusian palate not only detected but relished most of them. Hester was particularly taken with his tomato aspic a l’arsenique and insisted on his preparing it in quantity for a dinner of her friends, along with his sole amandine to which the prussic acid lent so distinctively intensified, flavor and aroma.
While the faintest murmur of divorce, even after a year of marriage, evoked from Hester a frowning murmur of “Dossier . . .” the attempts at murder seemed merely to amuse her; so that finally John Smith was driven to seek out Professor Gillingsworth at the State University, recognized as the tiltimate authority (on this planet) on life on other planets.
The professor found the query of much theoretical interest. “From what we are able to hypothesize of the nature of Venusian organisms,” he announced, “I can almost assure you of their destruction by the forced ingestion of the best Beluga caviar, in doses of no less than one-half pound per diem.”
Three weeks of the suggested treatment found John Smith’s bank account seriously depleted and his wife in perfect health.
“That dear Gilly!” she laughed one evening. “It was so nice of him to tell you how to kill me; it’s the first time I’ve had enough of caviar since I came to Earth. It’s so dreadfully expensive.”
“You mean,” John demanded, “that Professor Gillingsworth is . . .”
She nodded.
“And all that money!” John protested. “You do not realize, Hester, how unjust you are. You have deprived me of my income and I have no other source.”
“Dossier,” said Hester through a mouthful of caviar.
America’s greatest physiologist took an interest in John Smith’s problem. “I should advise,” he said, “the use of crystallized carbon placed directly in contact with the sensitive gill area.”
“In other words, a diamond necklace?” John Smith asked. He seized a water carafe, hurled its contents at the physiologist’s neck, and watched his gills open.
The next day John purchased a lapel flower through which water may be squirted—an article which he thenceforth found invaluable for purposes of identification.
The use of this flower proved to be a somewhat awkward method of starting a conversation and often led the conversation into unintended paths; but it did establish a certain clarity in relations.
It was after John had observed the opening of the gills of a leading criminal psychiatrist that he realized where he might find the people who could really help him.
From then on, whenever he could find time to be unobserved while Hester was engaged in her activities preparatory to world conquest, he visited insane asylums, announced that he was a free-lance feature writer, and asked if they had any inmates who believed that there were Venusians at large upon Earth and planning to take it over.
In this manner he met many interesting and attractive people, all of whom wished him godspeed in his venture, but pointed out that they would hardly be where they were if all of their own plans for killing Venusians had not miscarried as hopelessly as his.
From one of these friends, who had learned more than most because his Venusian wife had made the error of falling in love with him (an error which led to her eventual removal from human society), John Smith ascertained that Venusians may indeed be harmed and even killed by many substances on their own planet, but seemingly by nothing on ours—though (his) wife had once dropped a hint that one thing alone on Earth could prove fatal to the Venusian system.
At last John Smith visited an asylum whose director announced that they had an inmate who thought he was a Venusian.
When the director had left them, a squirt of the lapel flower verified the claimant’s identity.
“I am a member of the Conciliationist Party,” he explained, “the only member who has ever reached this Earth. We believe that Earthmen and Venusians can live at peace as all men should, and I shall be glad to help you destroy all members of the opposition party.
“There is one substance on this Earth which is deadly poison to any Venusian. Since in preparing and serving the dish best suited to its administration you must be careful to wear gloves, you should begin your campaign by wearing gloves at all meals . . .”
This mannerism Hester seemed willing to tolerate for the security afforded her by her marriage and even more particularly for the delights of John’s skilled preparation of such dishes as spaghetti all’aglio ed all’arsenico which is so rarely to be had in the average restaurant.
Two weeks later John finally prepared the indicated dish: ox tail according to the richly imaginative recipe of Simon Templar, with a dash of deadly nightshade added to the other herbs specified by The Saint. Hester had praised the recipe, devoured two helpings, expressed some wonder as to the possibility of gills in its creator, whom she had never met, and was just nibbling at the smallest bones when, as the Conciliationist had foretold, she dropped dead.
Intent upon accomplishing his objective, John had forgotten the dossier, nor ever suspected that it was in the hands of a gilled lawyer who had instructions to pass it on in the event of Hester’s death.
Even though that death was certified as natural, John rapidly found himself facing trial for murder, with seven other
