"Nothing yet," Ragle said, with no loss of satisfaction. "But don't you see? _We know they're there_."
"We knew that already," Vic said. "Every time they flew over."
Both Ragle and Margo -- and Sammy, too -- seemed a little taken aback. After a pause, Margo glanced at her brother. Ragle said, "It's a hard concept to explain."
From outside the clubhouse a voice called, "...hayfeloz. Whirya."
Margo raised her hand warningly. They listened.
Someone, in the yard, was looking for them. Vic heard footsteps on the path. And then the voice again, this time closer:
"People?"
Softly, Margo said, "It's Bill Black."
Sammy slid back a peep-slot. "Yeah," he whispered. "It's Mr. Black."
Lifting his son aside, Vic got down and peeped through the peep-slot. Bill Black stood in the center of the walk, obviously searching for them. On his face was an expression of aggravation and puzzlement. No doubt he had gone inside the house, finding it unlocked and nobody there.
"I wonder what he wants," Margo said. "Maybe if we keep quiet he'll go away. Probably wants us all to have dinner with them, or go out somewhere."
They waited.
Bill Black strolled about aimlessly, kicking at the grass. "Hey fellows!" he called. "Where the heck are you?"
Silence.
"I'd sure feel silly if he caught us hiding in here," Margo said, with a nervous laugh. "It's as if we were children or something. He certainly looks funny, craning his neck like that, trying to spot us. As if he thought we were hiding in the tall grass."
Mounted on the wall of the clubhouse was a toy gun that Vic had given his son one Christmas. It had fins and coils sticking up from it, and the box had described it as a "Robot Rocket Blaster from the 23rd Century, Capable of Destroying Mountains." Sammy had scampered about clicking it for a few weeks, and then the spring had broken and the gun had gone up on the wall, trophy-like, to scare by its presence alone.
Vic lifted the gun down. He unlocked the clubhouse door, pushed it open, and stepped out.
Standing with his back to him, Bill Black called. "Hey, people! Where are you?"
Vic crouched down and held the gun up, pointed at Black. "You're a dead man," he said.
Spinning to face him, Black saw the gun. He blanched and half-raised his arms. Then he noticed the clubhouse, Ragle and Margo and Sammy peeping out, and the fins and coils and bright enamel of the gun. His hands dropped and he said, "Haha."
"Ha-ha," Vic said.
"What were you doing?" Black said. From inside the Nielsons' house, Junie Black appeared. She descended the porch steps, slowly, to join her husband; both she and Bill frowned and drew together. She put her arm around his waist. Black said nothing, then.
"Hi," Junie said.
Margo stepped from the clubhouse. "What were you doing?" she asked Junie in a voice that any woman would shrink at. "Just making yourself at home in our house?"
The Blacks gazed at them.
"Oh come on," Margo said, standing with her arms folded. "Just make yourself at home."
"Take it easy," Vic said.
To him, his wife said, "Yes, they just walked right in. Into every room, I imagine. How did you find it?" she asked Junie. "Beds made properly? Any dust on the curtains? Find anything you liked?"
Ragle and Sammy came out of the clubhouse and joined Vic and his wife. The four of them faced Bill and Junie Black.
At last Black said, "I apologize for trespassing on your property. We wondered if you'd like to go bowling with us tonight."
Beside her husband, Junie smiled idiotically. Vic felt a little sorry for her. She had clearly no idea that she would offend anyone; probably she had not even been conscious of a transgression. In her sweater and blue cotton trousers, her hair tied up with a ribbon, she looked very cute and childlike.
"I'm sorry," Margo said. "But you shouldn't barge into other people's houses; you know that, Junie."
Junie drew back, flinching and unhinged. "I--" she murmured.
"I said I apologize," Black said. "What do you want, for Christ's sake?" He seemed equally perturbed.
Vic put out his hand and they shook hands. All was over.
"You stay if you want," Vic said to Ragle, indicating the clubhouse. "We'll go on inside and see about dinner."
"What do you have in there?" Black said. "I mean, if it's none of my business, tell me. But you're sure in a serious mood."
Sammy spoke up, "You can't come in the clubhouse."
"Why not?" Junie said.
"You're not members," Sammy said.
"Can we join?" Junie asked.
"No," Sammy said.
"Why not?"
"You just can't," Sammy said, glancing at his father.
"That's right," Vic said. "I'm sorry."
He and Margo and the Blacks walked up the steps, onto the back porch of the house. "We haven't had dinner," Margo said, still tense with hostility.
"We didn't mean go bowling now," Junie protested. "We just wanted to catch you before you made plans. Look, kids, if you haven't started dinner, why don't you come over and eat with us? We've got a leg of lamb, and there's plenty of frozen peas and Bill picked up a quart of ice cream on the way home from work." She appealed to Margo with tremulous urgency. "What say?"
"Thanks," Margo said, "but maybe some other time."
Bill Black did not seem to have quite calmed down; he kept aloof from them, dignified and somewhat cool. "You know you're always welcome in our house," he said. He led his wife in the direction of the front door. "If you feel like going bowling with us, drop over about eight. If not--" He shrugged. "Well, no harm done."
"We'll see you," Junie called, as Bill led her out of the house. "I hope you'll come." She smiled yearningly at them, and then the door shut after them.
"What a pill," Margo said. Opening the hot-water tap she ran water into a kettle.
Vic said, "A whole psychological technique could be erected on how people act when they're startled, before they have time to think."
As she fixed dinner, Margo said, "Bill Black just seems rational. He put up his hands until he saw it was only a toy gun and then he put them down again."
Vic said, "What are the chances of his wandering over at that particular moment?"
"One of them is always over here. You know how they are."
"True," he said.
In the locked clubhouse, Ragle Gumm sat with the earphones on, monitoring a strong signal and making occasional notes. Over the years, in his contest work, he had learned excellent systems of quick notation, all his own; as he listened he not only made a permanent record of what he heard but he also jotted down comments and ideas and reactions of his own. His ball-point pen -- one that Bill Black had given him -- flew.
Watching him, Sammy said, "You sure write fast, Uncle Ragle. Can you read it when you get finished?"
"Yes," he said.
The signal, beyond a doubt, emanated from the nearby landing field. He had got so he recognized the voice of the operator. What he wanted to find out was the nature of the traffic coming into and leaving the field. Where did they go? They shot overhead at terrific speed. How fast? Why did nobody in town know about the flights? Was it a secret military installation, some new experimental ships that the public was ignorant of? Reconnaissance missiles... tracking devices...
Sammy said, "I'll bet you helped crack the Japanese code during World War Two."