“I’m afraid I can’t discuss our long-term policy with regard to Earth,” said Danstor cagily. “All I can say is that this section of the Universe is being surveyed and opened up for development, and we’re quite sure we can help you in many ways.”

“That’s very nice of you,” said P.C. Hinks heartily. “I think the best thing is for you to come along to the station with me so that we can put through a call to the Prime Minister.”

“Thank you very much,” said Danstor, full of gratitude. They walked trustingly beside P.C. Hinks, despite his slight tendency to keep behind them, until they reached the village police station.

“This way, gents,” said P.C. Hinks, politely ushering them into a room which was really rather poorly lit and not at all well furnished, even by the somewhat primitive standards they had expected. Before they could fully take in their surroundings, there was a “click” and they found themselves separated from their guide by a large door composed entirely of iron bars.

“Now don’t worry,” said P.C. Hinks. “Everything will be quite all right. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Crysteel and Danstor gazed at each other with a surmise that rapidly deepened to a dreadful certainty.

“We’re locked in!”

“This is a prison!”

“Now what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if you chaps understand English,” said a languid voice from the gloom, “but you might let a fellow sleep in peace.”

For the first time, the two prisoners saw that they were not alone. Lying on a bed in the corner of the cell was a somewhat dilapidated young man, who gazed at them wearily out of one resentful eye.

“My goodness!” said Danstor nervously. “Do you suppose he’s a dangerous criminal?”

“He doesn’t look very dangerous at the moment,” said Crysteel, with more accuracy than he guessed.