‘Gee, Mr President, it’s just great!’ he said. ‘It’s unbelievable! It’s so enormous! And so . . . it’s kind of hard to find words to describe it, it’s so truly grand, especially the chandeliers and the carpets and all! I have the Chief Hotel Manager, Mr Walter W. Wall, beside me now. He would like the honour of a word with you, sir.’
‘Put him on,’ said the President.
‘Mr President, sir, this is Walter Wall. What a sumptuous hotel this is! The decorations are superb!’
‘Have you noticed that all the carpets are wall-to-wall, Mr Walter Wall?’ said the President.
‘I have indeed, Mr President.’
‘All the wallpaper is all wall-to-wall, too, Mr Walter Wall.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr President! Isn’t that something! It’s going to be a real pleasure running a beautiful hotel like this! . . . Hey! What’s going on over there? Something’s coming out of the lifts! Help!’ Suddenly the loudspeaker in the President’s study gave out a series of the most ghastly screams and yells. ‘Ayeeeee! Owwwww! Ayeeeee! Hel-l-l-lp! Hel-l-l-l-l-lp! Hel-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-lp!’
‘What on earth’s going on?’ said the President. ‘Shuckworth! Are you there, Shuckworth? . . . Shanks! Showler! Mr Walter Wall! Where are you all! What’s happening?’
The screams continued. They were so loud the President had to put his fingers in his ears. Every house in the world that had a television or radio receiver heard those awful screams. There were other noises, too. Loud grunts and snortings and crunching sounds. Then there was silence.
Frantically the President called the Space Hotel on the radio. Houston called the Space Hotel. The President called Houston. Houston called the President. Then both of them called the Space Hotel again. But answer came there none. Up there in space all was silent.
‘Something nasty’s happened,’ said the President.
‘It’s those men from Mars,’ said the Ex-Chief of the Army. ‘I told you to let me blow them up.’
‘Silence!’ snapped the President. ‘I’ve got to think.’
The loudspeaker began to crackle. ‘Hello!’ it said. ‘Hello hello hello! Are you receiving me, Space Control in Houston?’
The President grabbed the mike on his desk. ‘Leave this to me, Houston!’ he shouted. ‘President Gilligrass here receiving you loud and clear! Go ahead!’
‘Astronaut Shuckworth here, Mr President, back aboard the Transport Capsule . . . thank heavens!’
‘What happened, Shuckworth? Who’s with you?’
‘We’re most of us here, Mr President, I’m glad to say. Shanks and Showler are with me, and a whole bunch of other folks. I guess we lost maybe a couple of dozen people altogether, pastry chefs, hall porters, that sort of thing. It sure was a scramble getting out of that place alive!’
‘What do you mean you lost two dozen people?’ shouted the President. ‘How did you lose them?’
‘Gobbled up!’ replied Shuckworth. ‘One gulp and that was it! I saw a big six-foot-tall assistant-manager being swallowed up just like you’d swallow a lump of ice-cream, Mr President! No chewing — nothing! Just down the hatch!’
‘But who?’ yelled the President. ‘Who are you talking about? Who did the swallowing?’
‘Hold it!’ cried Shuckworth. ‘Oh, my lord, here they all come now! They’re coming after us! They’re swarming out of the Space Hotel! They’re coming out in swarms! You’ll have to excuse me a moment, Mr President. No time to talk right now!’
10
Transport Capsule in Trouble — Attack No. 1
While Shuckworth, Shanks and Showler were being chased out of the Space Hotel by the Knids, Mr Wonka’s Great Glass Elevator was orbiting the Earth at tremendous speed. Mr Wonka had all his booster-rockets firing and the Elevator was reaching speeds of thirty-four thousand miles an hour instead of the normal seventeen thousand. They were trying, you see, to get away from that huge angry Vermicious Knid with the purple behind. Mr Wonka wasn’t afraid of it, but Grandma Josephine was petrified. Every time she looked at it, she let out a piercing scream and clapped her hands over her eyes. But of course thirty-four thousand miles an hour is dawdling to a Knid. Healthy young Knids think nothing of travelling a million miles between lunch and supper, and then another million before breakfast the next day. How else could they travel between the planet Vermes and other stars? Mr Wonka should have known this and saved his rocket-power, but he kept right on going and the giant Knid kept right on cruising effortlessly alongside, glaring into the Elevator with its wicked red eye. ‘You people have bruised my backside,’ the Knid seemed to be saying, ‘and in the end I’m going to get you for that.’