hat's Marco, the new mentalist," said Pell.

Ciel shrugged to show that she wasn't particularly impressed. Neither
was Pell, to tell the truth. Mentalists were all the rage, partly
because everybody could practice a little amateur telepathy and
hypnotism in his own home. Mentalists, of course, made a career of it
and were much better at it than anybody else.

Their drinks came and they watched Marco go through his act in a rather
gloomy silence. Marco was skillful, but not especially unusual. He did
the usual stuff: calling out things that people wrote on slips of paper,
calling out dates on coins, and even engaging in mental duels wherein
the challenger wrote a phrase, concealed it from Marco, and then
deliberately tried to keep him from reading it telepathically. He had
the usual hypnotism session with volunteers who were certain they could
resist. He made them hop around the stage like monkeys, burn their
fingers on pieces of ice, and so on. The audience roared with laughter.
Pell and Ciel just kept staring.

When Marco had finished his act and the thundering applause had faded
the Venusian dancing girls came back on the stage again.

Ciel yawned.

Pell said, "Me, too. Let's get out of here."

It wasn't until they were home in their underground apartment and
getting ready for bed that Ciel turned to him and said, "You see?"

He was buttoning his pajamas. "See what?"

"It's _us_, Dick. It's not the floor show, or the meth, or
anything--it's _us_. We can't enjoy _anything_ together any more."

He said, "Now wait a minute...."

But she had already stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door. He
heard the lock click.

"Hey," he said, "what am I supposed to do, sleep out here?"

He took the ensuing silence to mean that he was.

And he did.

* * * * *

The next morning, as he came into the office, Pell scowled deeply and
went to his desk without saying good morning to anybody. Ciel had kept
herself locked in the bedroom and he had made his own breakfast. How it
was all going to end he didn't know. He had the feeling that she was
working herself up to the decision to leave him. And the real hell of it
was that he couldn't exactly blame her.

"Morning, partner," said a voice above him. He looked up. Way up. Steve
Kronski was built along the general lines of a water buffalo. The usual
battered grin was smeared across his face. "I see we got a new
assignment."

"Oh--did La