'There were two known ones behind the Curtain,' Bernard corrected him. 'One of them was in the Irkutsk region, near the border of Outer Mongolia – a very grim affair. It was assumed that the women had been lying with devils, and they perished, as well as the Children. The other was right away to the east, a place called Gizhinsk, in the mountains north-east of Okhotsk. There may have been others that we didn't hear of. It's pretty certain it happened in some places in South America and in Africa, too, but it's difficult to check. The inhabitants tend to be secretive. It's even possible that an isolated village would miss a day and not know it – in which case the babies would be even more of a puzzle. In most of the instances we do know of, the babies were regarded as freaks, and were killed, but we suspect that in some they may have been hidden away.'

'But not, I take it, in Gizhinsk?' put in Zellaby.

Bernard looked at him with a small twitch to the corner of his mouth.

'You don't miss much, do you, Zellaby? You're right – not in Gizhinsk. The Dayout there took place a week before the Midwich one. We had the report of it three or four days later. It worried the Russians quite a lot. That was at least some consolation to us when it happened here; we knew that they couldn't have been responsible. They, presumably, in due course found out about Midwich, and were also relieved. Meanwhile, our agent kept an eye on Gizhinsk, and in due course reported the curious fact that every woman there was simultaneously pregnant. We were a little slow in appreciating any significance in that – it sounded like useless, if peculiar, tittle-tattle – but presently we discovered the state of affairs in Midwich, and began to take more interest. Once the babies were born the situation was easier for the Russians than for us; they practically sealed off Gizhinsk – a place about twice the size of Midwich – and our information from there virtually ceased. We could not exactly seal off Midwich, so we had to work differently, and, in the circumstances, I don't think we did too badly.'

Zellaby nodded. 'I see. The War Office view being that it did not know quite what we had here, or what the Russians had there. But if it should turn out that the Russians had a flock of potential geniuses, it would be useful for us to have a similar flock to put up against them?'

'More or less that. It was quite quickly clear that they were something unusual.'

'I ought to have seen that,' said Zellaby. He shook his head sadly. 'It simply never crossed my mind that we in Midwich were not unique. It does, however, now cross my mind that something must have happened to cause you to admit it. I don't quite see why the events here should justify that, so it probably happened somewhere else, say in Gizhinsk? Has there been a new development there that our Children are likely to display shortly?'

Bernard put his knife and fork neatly together on his plate, regarded them for a moment, and then looked up.

'The Far– East Army,' he said slowly, 'has recently been equipped with a new medium-type atomic cannon, believed to have a range of between fifty and sixty miles. Last week they carried out the first live tests with it. The town of Gizhinsk no longer exists...'

We stared at him. With a horrified expression, Angela leant forward.

'You mean – everybody there?' she said incredulously.

Bernard nodded. 'Everybody. The entire place. No one there could have been warned without the Children getting to know of it. Besides, the way it was done it could be officially attributed to an error in calculation – or, possibly to sabotage.'

He paused again.

'Officially,' he repeated, 'and for home and general consumption. We have, however, received a carefully channelled observation from Russian sources. It is rather guarded on details and particulars, but there is no doubt that it refers to Gizhinsk, and was probably released simultaneously with the action taken there. It doesn't refer directly to Midwich, either, but what it does do, is to put out a most forcefully expressed warning. After a description which fits the Children exactly, it speaks of them as groups which present not just a national danger, wherever they exist, but a racial danger of a most urgent kind. It calls upon all governments everywhere to "neutralize" any such known groups with the least possible delay. It does this most emphatically, with almost a note of panic, at times. It insists, over and over again, even with a touch of pleading, that this should be done swiftly, not just for the sake of nations, or of continents, but because these Children are a threat to the whole human race.'

Zellaby went on tracing the damask pattern on the table cloth for some time before he looked up. Then he said:

'And MI's reaction to this? To wonder what fast one the Russians were trying to pull this time, I suppose?' And he returned to doodling on the damask.

'Most of us, yes – some of us, no,' admitted Bernard.

Presently Zellaby looked up again.

'They dealt with Gizhinsk last week, you say. Which day?'

'Tuesday, the second of July,' Bernard told him.

Zellaby nodded several times, slowly.

'Interesting,' he said. 'But how, I wonder, did ours know...?'

Soon after luncheon, Bernard announced that he was going up to The Grange again.

'I didn't have a chance to talk to Torrance while Sir John was there – and after that, well, we both needed a bit of a break.'

'I suppose you can't give us any idea of what you intend to do about the Children?' Angela asked.

He shook his head. 'If I had any ideas I suppose they'd have to be official secrets. As it is, I'm going to see whether Torrance, from his knowledge of them, can make any suggestions. I hope to be back in an hour or so,' he added, as he left us.

Emerging from the front door, he made automatically towards his car, and then as he reached for the handle, changed his mind. A little exercise, he decided, would freshen him up, and he set off briskly down the drive, on foot.

Just outside the gate a small lady in a blue tweed suit looked at him, hesitated, and then advanced to meet him. Her face went a little pink, but she pushed resolutely on. Bernard raised his hat.

'You won't know me. I am Miss Lamb, but of course we all know who you are, Colonel Westcott.'

Bernard acknowledged the introduction with a small bow, wondering how much 'we all' (which presumably comprehended the whole of Midwich) knew about him, and for how long they had known it. He asked what he could do for her.

'It's about the Children, Colonel. What is going to be done?'

He told her, honestly enough, that no decision had yet been made. She listened, her eyes intently on his face, her gloved hands clasped together.

'It won't be anything severe, will it?' she asked. 'Oh, I know last night was dreadful, but it wasn't their fault. They don't really understand yet. They're so very young you see. I know they look twice their age, but even that's not very old, is it? They didn't really mean the harm they did. They were frightened. Wouldn't any of us be frightened if a crowd came to our house wanting to burn it down? Of course we should. We should have a right to defend ourselves, and nobody could blame us. Why, if the villagers came to my house like that I should defend it with whatever I could find – perhaps an axe.'

Bernard doubted it. The picture of this small lady setting about a crowd with an axe was one that did not easily come into focus.

'It was a very drastic remedy they took,' he reminded her, gently.

'I know. But when you are young and frightened it is very easy to be more violent than you mean to be. I know when I was a child there were injustices which positively made me burn inside. If I had had the strength to do what I wanted to do it would have been dreadful, really dreadful, I assure you.'