“Huh? Ben, you’ve been out in the sun without your hat. They’ve got a marine guard around him.” She thought about the fact that she herself had not found the guard too hard to circumvent, decided not to mention it.

“So they have. So we talk it over.”

“I don’t see what there is to talk about.”

“Later. I didn’t intend to let the subject come up until I had softened you with animal proteins and ethanol. Let’s eat first.”

“Now you sound rational. Where? Would your expense account run to the New Mayflower? You are on an expense account, aren’t you?”

Caxton frowned. “Jill, if we eat in a restaurant, I wouldn’t want to risk one closer than Louisville. It would take this hack more than two hours to get us that far. How about dinner in my apartment?”

“‘—Said the Spider to the Fly.’ Ben, I remember the last time. I’m too tired to wrestle.”

“Nobody asked you to. Strictly business. King’s X, cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I don’t know as I like that much better. If I’m safe alone with you, I must be slipping. Well, all right, King’s X.”

Caxton leaned forward and punched buttons; the taxi, which had been circling under a “hold” instruction, woke up, looked around, and headed for the apartment hotel where Ben lived. He then dialed a phone number and said to Jill, “How much time do you want to get liquored up, sugar foot? I’ll tell the kitchen when to have the steaks ready.”

Jill considered it. “Ben, your mousetrap has a private kitchen.”

“Of sorts. I can grill a steak, if that is what you mean.”

“I’ll grill the steak. Hand me the phone.” She gave orders, stopping to make sure that Ben liked endive.

The taxi dropped them on the roof and they went down to his flat. It was unstylish and old-fashioned; its one luxury was a live grass lawn in the living room. Jill stopped in the entrance hall, slipped off her shoes, then stepped bare-footed into the living room and wiggled her toes among the cool green blades. She sighed. “My, that feels good. My feet have hurt ever since I entered training.”

“Sit down.”

“No, I want my feet to remember this tomorrow, when I’m on duty.”

“Suit yourself.” He went into his pantry and mixed drinks.

Presently she pattered after him and became domestic. The steak was waiting in the package lift; with it were pre-baked potatoes ready to be popped into short-wave. She tossed the salad, handed it to the refrigerator, then set up a combination on the stove to grill the steak and have the potatoes hot simultaneously, but did not start the cycle. “Ben, doesn’t this stove have a remote control?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I can’t find it.”

He studied the setup on the control panel, then flipped an unmarked switch. “Jill, what would you do if you had to cook over an open fire?”

“I’d do darn well. I was a Girl Scout and a good one. How about you, smarty?”

He ignored it, picked up a tray and went back to the living room; she followed and sat down at his feet, spreading her skirt to avoid grass stains. They applied themselves seriously to martinis. Opposite his chair was a stereovision tank disguised as an aquarium; he switched it on from his chair, guppies and tetras faded out and gave way to the face of a commentator, the well-known winchell Augustus Greaves.

“—it can be stated authoritatively,” the stereo image was saying, “that the Man from Mars is being kept constantly under hypnotic drugs to keep him from disclosing these facts. The administration would find it extremely embarrassing if—”

Caxton flipped it off. “Gus old boy,” he said pleasantly, “you don’t know a durn thing more about it than I do.” He frowned. “Though you might be right about the government keeping him under drugs.”

“No, they aren’t,” Jill said suddenly.

“Eh? How’s that, little one?”

“The Man from Mars isn’t being kept under hypnotics.” Having blurted more than she had meant to, she added carefully, “He’s got a nurse and a doctor all to himself on continuous watch, but there aren’t any orders for sedation.”

“Are you sure? You aren’t one of his nurses—or are you?”

“No. They’re male nurses. Uh . . . matter of fact, there’s an order to keep women away from him entirely and a couple of tough marines to make sure of it.”

Caxton nodded. “I heard about that. Fact is, you don’t know whether they are drugging him or not. Do you?”

Jill stared into her empty glass. She felt annoyed to have her word doubted but realized she would have to tell on herself to back up what she had said. “Ben? You wouldn’t give me away? Would you?”