But between noon and evening, another child disappeared from Vainsville.
Just before sunset, Mr Carter came home. In his knapsack were two big rainbow trout. He greeted the Mallens gaily and went to the garage to clean his fish.
Jim Mallen stepped into the backyard and started to the garage after him, frowning. He wanted to ask the old man about something he had said a day or two ago. He couldn't quite remember what it was, but it seemed important.
His next-door neighbour, whose name he couldn't remember, greeted him.
"Mallen," he said. "I think I know."
"What?" Mallen asked.
"Have you examined the theories?" the neighbour asked.
"Of course." His neighbour was a skinny fellow in shirtsleeves and vest. His bald head glistened red in the sunset.
"Then listen. It can't be a kidnapper. No sense in their methods. Right?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"And a maniac is out. How could he snatch fifteen, sixteen people? And return the children? Even a gang of maniacs couldn't do that, not with the number of cops we've got watching. Right?"
"Go on." Out of the corner of his eye Mallen saw his neighbour's fat wife come down the back steps. She walked over to them and listened.
"The same goes for a gang of criminals, or even Martians. Impossible to do it, and no reason even if they could. We've got to look for something illogical — and that leaves just one logical answer."
Mallen waited, and glanced at the woman. She was looking at him, arms folded across her aproned chest. In fact, she was glaring at him. Can she be angry at me? Mallen" thought. What have I done?
"The only answer," his neighbour said slowly, "is that there is a hole somewhere around here. A hole in the space-time continuum."
"What!" blurted Mallen. "I don't quite follow that."
"A hole in time," the bald engineer explained, "or a hole in space. Or in both. Don't ask me how it got there; it's there. What happens is, a person steps into that hole, and bingo! he's somewhere else. Or in some other time. Or both. This hole can't be seen, of course — it's fourth-dimensional — but it's there. The way I see it, if you traced the movements of these people, you'd find every one of them passed through a certain spot — and vanished."
"Hmmm." Mallen thought it over. "That sounds interesting — but we know that lots of people vanished right out of their own homes."
"Yeah," the neighbour agreed. "Let me think — I know! The hole in space-time isn't fixed. It drifts, moves around. First it's in Carpenter's house, then it moves on aimlessly—"
"Why doesn't it move out of these four blocks?" Mallen asked, wondering why the man's wife was still glaring at him, her lips tightly compressed.
"Well," the neighbour said, "it has to have some limitations."
"And why were the children returned?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Mallen, you can't ask me to figure out every little thing, can you? It's a good working theory. We'll have to have more facts before we can work out the whole thing."
"Hello there!" Mr Carter called, emerging from the garage. He held up two beautiful trout, neatly cleaned and washed.
"The trout is a gamey fighter and makes magnificent eating as well. The most excellent of sports, and the most excellent of foods!" He walked unhurriedly into the house.
"I've got a better theory," the neighbour's wife said, unfolding her arms and placing her hands on her ample hips.
Both men turned to look at her.
"Who is the only person around here who isn't the least bit worried about what's going on? Who goes walking all over with a bag he says has fish in it? Who says he spends all his time fishing?"
"Oh, no," Mallen said. "Not Dad Carter. He has a whole philosophy about fishing—"
"I don't care about philosophy!" the woman shrieked. "He fools you, but he doesn't fool me! I only know he's the only man in this neighbourhood who isn't the least bit worried and he's around and gone every day and lynching would probably be too good for him!" With that she spun and went waddling into her house.
"Look, Mallen," the bald neighbour said. "I'm sorry. You know how women are. She's upset, even if Danny is safe in the hospital."
"Sure," Mallen said.
"She doesn't understand the space-time continuum," he went on earnestly. "But I'll explain it to her tonight. She'll apologize in the morning. You'll see."
The men shook hands and returned to their respective homes.
Darkness came swiftly, and searchlights went on all over town. Beams of light knifed down streets, into backyards, reflected from closed windows. The inhabitants of Vainsville settled down to wait for more disappearances.
Jim Mallen wished he could put his hands on whatever was doing it. Just for a second — that was all he'd need. But to have to sit and wait. He felt so helpless. His wife's lips were pale and cracked, and her eyes were tired. But Mr Carter was cheerful, as usual. He fried the trout over a gas burner, serving both of them.
"I found a beautiful quiet pool today," Mr Carter announced. "It is near the mouth of Old Creek, up a little tributary. I fished there all day, leaning back against the grassy bank and watching the clouds. Fantastic things, clouds! I shall go there tomorrow and fish in it one more day. Then I will move on. A wise fisherman does not fish out a stream. Moderation is the code of the fisherman. Take a little, leave a little. I have often thought—"
"Oh Dad, please!" Phyllis screamed, and burst into tears. Mr Carter shook his head sadly, smiled an understanding smile and finished his trout. Then he went into the living-room to work on a new fly.
Exhausted, the Mallens went to bed ...
Mallen awoke and sat upright. He looked over and saw his wife asleep beside him. The luminous dial of his watch read four fifty-eight. Almost morning, he thought.
He got out of bed, slipped on a bathrobe and padded softly downstairs. The searchlights were flashing against the living-room window, and he could see a guard outside.
That was a reassuring sight, he thought, and went into the kitchen. Moving quietly, he poured a glass of milk. There was fresh cake on top of the refrigerator, and he cut himself a slice.
Kidnappers, he thought. Maniacs. Men from Mars. Holes in space. Or any combination thereof. No, that was wrong. He wished he could remember what he wanted to ask Mr Carter. It was important.
He rinsed out the glass, put the cake back on the refrigerator and walked to the living-room. Suddenly he was thrown violently to one side.
Something had hold of him! He flailed out, but there was nothing to hit. Something was gripping him like an iron hand, dragging him off his feet. He threw himself to one side, scrambling for a footing. His feet left the floor and he hung for a moment, kicking and squirming. The grip around his ribs was so tight he couldn't breathe, couldn't make a sound. Inexorably, he was being lifted.
Hole in space, he thought, and tried to scream. His wildly flailing arms caught a corner of the couch and he seized it. The couch was lifted with him. He yanked, and the grip relaxed for a moment, letting him drop to the floor.
He scrambled across the floor towards the door. The grip caught him again, but he was near a radiator. He wrapped both arms around it, trying to resist the pull. He yanked again and managed to get one leg around, then the other.
The radiator creaked horribly as the pull increased. Mallen felt as though his waist would part, but he held on, every muscle stretched to the breaking point. Suddenly the grip relaxed completely.
He collapsed to the floor.