she said in a dead voice. "The
third contains the keys to the houses and business places. Each key is
tagged with the correct address. Good-by, Mr. Myles."

"Good-by," Philip said.

He looked around the room intending to say good-by to Zarathustra, but
Zarathustra was nowhere to be seen. Finally he went into the hall,
opened the front door and stepped out into the night. A full moon was
rising in the east. He walked down the moonlit walk, climbed into his
car and threw his brief case and the manila envelopes into the back
seat. Soon, Valleyview was far behind him.

But not as far as it should have been. He couldn't get the green rose
out of his mind. He couldn't get Judith Darrow out of his mind either.
Nor could he exorcise the summer breeze that kept wafting through the
crevices in his common sense.

A green rose and a grass widow and a breeze with a green breath. A whole
town taking off for greener pastures....

He reached into his coat pocket and touched the rose. It was no more
than a stem and a handful of petals now, but its reality could not be
denied. But roses do not bloom in autumn, and green roses do not bloom
at all--

"Ruf!"

He had turned into the new highway some time ago, and was driving along
it at a brisk sixty-five. Now, disbelievingly, he slowed, and pulled
over onto the shoulder. Sure enough, he had a stowaway in the back
seat--a tawny-haired stowaway with golden eyes, over-sized ears, and a
restless, white-tipped tail. "Zarathustra!" he gasped. "How in the
dickens did you get in there?"

"Ruf," Zarathustra replied.

Philip groaned. Now he would have to go all the way back to Valleyview.
Now he would have to see Judith Darrow again. Now he would have to--He
paused in midthought, astonished at the abrupt acceleration of his
heartbeat. "Well I'll be damned!" he said, and without further preamble
transferred Zarathustra to the front seat, U-turned, and started back.

* * * * *

The gasoline lantern had been moved out of the living-room window, but a
light still showed beyond the panes. He pulled over to the curb and
turned off the ignition. He gave one of Zarathustra's over-sized ears a
playful tug, absently noting a series of small nodules along its lower
extremity. "Come on, Zarathustra," he said. "I may as well deliver you
personally while I'm at it."

After locking the car, he started up the walk, Zarathustra at his heels.
He knocked on the front door