“Well, have you brought any?”
“No I thought you—”
Before Danstor could finish, their tormentors took to their heels and disappeared down a side street. Coming along the road was a majestic figure in a blue uniform.
Crysteel’s eyes lit up.
“A policeman!” he said. “Probably going to investigate a murder somewhere. But perhaps he’ll spare us a minute,” he added, not very hopefully.
P.C. Hinks eyed the strangers with some astonishment, but managed to keep his feelings out of his voice.
“Hello, gents. Looking for anything?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Danstor in his friendliest and most soothing tone of voice. “Perhaps you can help us. You see, we’ve just landed on this planet and want to make contact with the authorities.”
“Eh?” said P.C. Hinks startled. There was a long pause—though not too long, for P.C. Hinks was a bright young man who had no intention of remaining a village constable all his life. “So you’ve just landed, have you? In a spaceship, I suppose?”
“That’s right,” said Danstor, immensely relieved at the absence of the incredulity, or even violence, which such announcements all too often provoked on the more primitive planets.