He said, "They'd told me in the village that the Milner's had no electricity at all. But I heard earlier the sound of the circular saw; how was it possible?"

Simon wiped his forehead with his sleave without to look at the visitor. "I dunno 'nothing what are you talking about."

"Make yourself at home, sir," said the woman, "I'm just going to get us some cider. The Lord granted us a good apple crop this year."

The reporter extracted a handkerchief from a pocket and covered a perfectly clean stool with it before sitting down. He swirled the contents of his glass without trying the thick fluid at all.

"Are the two of you alone out here?" he asked.

"Of course not," laughed the woman. "All told, there's six of us in the family." "Ah," said the guest, becoming animated, "might I be able to talk with the other four, then?"

Simon looked at him with a smirk. "Try your luck, man. See if you can get a word out of 'em."

"You just leave that to me, lad," replied the stranger and once again pulled out the black box from his pocket. "You just show me where they are."

"Well, over there's Isaac." Simon pointed a dirty finger at the tabby that was basking in the sun on the window-sill. "Melisa I've got tied up out there in the field. I put her post down in another spot each mornin'. I don't see Melchior. Mum, do you know where he's roamin' today?"

The woman smiled happily. "Oh you know him, Simon. He's probably out chasin' moles again. Yesterday he dug out a real big one. And Ezekiel's down there, like always…"

The reporter's jaw dropped. "Do you mean to say—if I understood correctly—that you're going on about animals?"

The woman was visibly offended. She covered her mouth with her hand.

"Look here, man," objected Simon decisively. "It ain't like that. My dad had an accident in the wood but my mum and I ain't alone since—no way."

"You're right, Simon," agreed the woman. "You know, sir, these here are real members of our family, you can be sure of that. We get so much good things from them: Melisa gives us milk, Isaac chases the mice away, and you won't find a better watchdog than Melchior come nightfall. And that's not even to mention Ezekiel! He's not so long with us and he's already done so much good. I could tell you…"

"There's no need to," cut in the reporter dryly, and moved his fingers over the box, making it click. "I won't detain you any longer."

"But," said the woman, "you haven't even tried your cider!"

"And you ain't spoken' to Ezekiel yet, man," added Simon. "I tell yuh, he's the cleverest one of all. Take a walk with me down to the basement, if yer up to it. Ezekiel… well… you know, he never wants to come up here."

"No, I'd rather not, thank you," said the reporter sharply and removed himself from his stool. "I'll have to be going now. My photographer's waiting outside and it's getting damn late."

As the reporter was leaving he recollected his earlier experience and carefully stepped over the high threshold—but he hit his head against the low frame. He swore silently, wiped the sweat from his brow and walked across the yard. At that moment the memory of something strange flashed through his mind. In the corner of the hut's kitchen area he had seen a gleaming, obviously brand-new chromium pipe leading up to a tap. He shook his head. The villagers told him there wasn't any groundwater here around.

His driver noticed him and approached; the reporter tumbled into the back seat and sighed with relief on feeling the air-conditioned coolness.

"Such a long way to come," he said to the photographer, "and all for nothing. From now on I wasn't going to be taken in by any more asinine talk of UFO landings."

"I agree," said his fellow-worker. "You better just send one of our junior colleagues out on these useless expeditions; those guys were naïve enough to believe such stories."

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