“Well, well!” said P.C. Hinks, in tones which he hoped would inspire confidence and feelings of amity. (Not that it mattered much if they both became violent—they seemed a pretty skinny pair.) “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll see what we can do about it.”
“I’m so glad,” said Danstor. “You see, we’ve landed in this rather remote spot because we don’t want to create a panic. It would be best to keep our presence known to as few people as possible until we have contacted your government.”
“I quite understand,” replied P.C. Hinks, glancing round hastily to see if there was anyone through whom he could send a message to his sergeant. “And what do you propose to do then?”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss our long-term policy with regard to Earth,” said Danstor cagily. “All I can say is that this section of the Universe is being surveyed and opened up for development, and we’re quite sure we can help you in many ways.”
“That’s very nice of you,” said P.C. Hinks heartily. “I think the best thing is for you to come along to the station with me so that we can put through a call to the Prime Minister.”
“Thank you very much,” said Danstor, full of gratitude. They walked trustingly beside P.C. Hinks, despite his slight tendency to keep behind them, until they reached the village police station.
“This way, gents,” said P.C. Hinks, politely ushering them into a room which was really rather poorly lit and not at all well furnished, even by the somewhat primitive standards they had expected. Before they could fully take in their surroundings, there was a “click” and they found themselves separated from their guide by a large door composed entirely of iron bars.
“Now don’t worry,” said P.C. Hinks. “Everything will be quite all right. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Crysteel and Danstor gazed at each other with a surmise that rapidly deepened to a dreadful certainty.
“We’re locked in!”