The ground became dimly visible through the mist at a height of seventy feet. "Airspeed's a hundred and ten; headwind was reported at twenty miles." Smitty chanted glumly. Morrow said nothing for a moment, knowing Smitty meant that if they were flying any faster their dim, wavering view of the ground would mean nothing. Then he started and looked up. "A hundred and ten? In a twenty-mile wind? That's ninety miles an hour!" Smitty stared at his instruments and nodded slowly. "We're doing better than we did," he agreed. "Either that, or this wind has twisted its tail. We'll check it again." They flew onward through the swirling, dark mist. The dark blurs of trees flashed past below, and houses, roads, and telephone lines. Dim, shadowy objects, hardly recognizable. And there were moments when the mist closed in completely, hiding everything. Morrow felt a cold sweat forming on his face. The jets made a deep, mournful rumbling sound in the ship's tail. A highway swept past below, with car headlights revealed as moving blobs of yellow in the darkness. "This is the block," Morrow said, finally. "Swing across it and come down in that alleyway in its center. I'll tell you where to land then." Below them were the familiar rooftops of the houses, rising darkly out of a thin ground mist. Smitty brought the ship over them, cutting the jets, and let it coast to a stop over the narrow, vague band of the alleyway. Slowly, they drifted downward. Morrow consulted the street-map on his lap again. "Up a little further," he directed. The jets gave a brief, rumbling sigh and they glided forward. "Here--ground her!" Gravel rasped against the ship's belly. They unfastened their belts and scrambled down into the ship. "What time is it?" Smitty whispered, as Morrow swung open the door. Morrow glanced at his wrist-watch. "Three-ten a.m.," he said half-humorously. He wondered if Foster was still waiting up for him. "Fasten your helmet down, and let's go!" They dropped down from the ship and went over to the low, white fence behind Foster's house. Passing through the gate, they strode across the yard. The mist-shine glimmered faintly off their bodies. Their blue-tinted helmets were grotesque globes of darkness, like the heads of nightmare creatures. Light glowed from a window in the side of the house. "Somebody's up!" Morrow observed softly. "Do we go 'round and ring the front doorbell?" Smitty wondered. "Or do we just walk in?" Morrow shrugged. "It won't make much difference. Let's try the back door--if it's locked, well go around." They reached the door and he tested its knob, careful not to make any noise. It yielded readily. They entered. The faint light filtering down the short hallway was enough to guide them across the dark kitchen. Then they had to pass the dark doorways of what were probably two bedrooms, on either side of the hall. They reached the lighted doorway near the front, and stood looking into the living room.