“I think,” said Johnny, “think—. Come on! Let’s get out of here! I got ’em in my pocket.”
“Got what?”
“The things they came back after.”
“Let’s see!” Goggles held out a hand.
“Not now. I say, let’s go!”
“All right,” Goggles agreed reluctantly. “Guess I’ve got all the dust I need.”
After locking the door, they hurried away to Goggles’ basement where he had rigged up a sort of laboratory and workshop.
“Now,” Goggles breathed, snapping on the light, “we’ll have a look at that stuff from the sweeper.” He emptied the contents of the paper sack into a sheet of wrapping paper.
“Now.” With a needle set into the end of an old pen-holder, he began dragging the stuff about, at the same time naming his findings: “Hairs, dark ones, three or four of them. Their hair is dark. That don’t matter; but here’s some coarse sand they tracked in. Say! What color is the stuff they have out on the landing field?”
“Red sand,” Johnny replied. “Brought it in trucks.”