He recounted the incident as rationally as he could, trying to keep his voice steady. The young man's face failed to register the shock or disbelief Hendley had expected. As he listened the youth fingered his glass and pursed his lips. His expression was grave, but that might have been only in deference to Hendley's obvious emotion. When Hendley had finished, the young man's sole comment was to raise his glass to his lips and drink.
"Don't tell me that sort of thing happens every day!" Hendley protested, stung by the lack of response.
"Hardly," the other replied. "Though golf bugs are pretty unpredictable, and it's true about going into the game at your own risk. But murder is frowned upon, of course, even in golf."
"Frowned upon!"
"Oh, yes. We're not all barbarians here." The young man smiled.
"Isn't there something that can be done? Aren't there any Investigators—any penalties?"
The young man's tone was cool. "We are the free," he said. When Hendley continued to stare at him, he explained, "Oh, your bald friend went too far. There's no denying that. And he won't get away with much of that conduct. The community will take care of him. We have our own ways. But you must see that what you're suggesting—Investigators, penalties, courts of order, that sort of thing—is quite out of place here."
"But there has to be some order! Violence, murder—such things are unheard of outside!"
His companion smiled again indulgently. "Isn't everything we have here unheard of outside?"
Hendley had no answer. The Freeman's casual acceptance of equally casual crime was another shock. Yet he could not argue with the simple assertion that freedom did not admit arbitrary external controls, even those guaranteeing order and safety. But perhaps—he grasped the young man's passing reference with a kind of desperation—such methods as group pressure, ostracism, some form of social coercion did work. They must. Otherwise....