were all they could exchange.

"How is he, Claire?" he asked.

"Out of danger, for the present. There was a medic here, who left just
before you arrived. He brought nitrocaine bulbs, and gave father
something to make him sleep. He's lying down, back in his rest room."
She led him to a door at the rear of the office and motioned him to
enter, following him. "He's going to sleep for a couple of hours,
yet."

The room was a sort of bedroom and dressing room, with a miniscule
toilet and shower beyond. Pelton was lying on his back, sleeping; his
face was pale, but he was breathing easily and regularly. Two of the
store policemen, a sergeant and a patrolman, were playing cards on the
little table, and the patrolman had a burp gun within reach.

"All right, sergeant," Claire said. "You and Gorman go out to the
office. Call me if anything comes up that needs my attention, in the
next few minutes."

The sergeant started to protest. Claire cut him off.

"There's no danger here. This Literate can be trusted; he's a friend
of Mr. Cardon's. Works at the brewery. It's all right."

The two rose and went out, leaving the door barely ajar. Prestonby and
Claire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast a
quick glance at the door and then were in each other's arms. Chester
Pelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments.

It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively at
her slumbering father.

"Ralph, what's it all about?" she asked. "I didn't even know that you
and Frank Cardon knew each other, let alone that he had any idea about
us."

Prestonby thought furiously, trying to find a safe path through the
tangle of Claire Pelton's conflicting loyalties, trying to find a path
between his own loyalties and his love for her, wondering how much it
would be safe to tell her.

"And Cardon's gone completely cloak-and-dagger-happy," she continued.
"He's talking about plots against my father's life, and against me,
and--"

"A lot of things are going on under cloaks, around here," he told her.
"And under Literate smocks, and under other kinds of costume. And a
lot of daggers are out, too. You didn't know Frank Cardon was a
Literate, did you?"

Her eyes widened. "I thought I was Literate enough to spot Literacy in
anybody else," she said. "No, I never even suspected--"

Somebody rapped on the door. "Miss Pelton," the sergeant's voice
called. "Visiphone call from Literates' Hall."