He rose to his feet, went into the dining-room, and picked the phone out of its cradle. There was no hum. He jiggled the hook. Still there was no hum.
He put the receiver back. The line had been cut. There was at least one of the things in the house. There was at least one of them outside.
He strode to the front door, jerked it open, then slammed it shut again — and locked and bolted it.
He stood shaking, with his back against it and wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve.
My God, he told himself, the yard is boiling with them!
He went back to the kitchen.
They had wanted him to know. They had prodded him to see how he would react.
Because they had to know. Before they moved they had to know what to expect in the way of human reactions, what danger they would face, what they had to watch for. Knowing that, it would be a cinch.
And I didn’t react, he told himself. I was a non-reactor. They picked the wrong man. I didn’t do a thing. I didn’t give them so much as a single lead.
Now they will try someone else. I am no good to them and yet I’m dangerous through my very knowledge. So now they’re going to kill me and try someone else. That would be logic. That would be the rule. If one alien fails to react, he may be an exception. Maybe just unusually dumb. So let us kill him off and try another one. Try enough of them and you will strike a norm.