dered what happened to you?"

"Nothing. Just shopping. There wasn't a bit of food in the place--and
I must say, Will, you aren't much of a housekeeper. I bought pounds of
soap!"

He followed her up the stairs, and his key opened the door. He was
still operating on the general belief that they'd be least likely to
spot him where they had already found him once. If the girl had tipped
them off, then they had it figured out that he had run off, and
probably wouldn't be back.

He hoped so, at any rate.

She was talking too briskly, and she was too careful not to mention
that the iron was cool, with its cord wrapped neatly around the
handle. He offered no explanation, but let her babble on about the
strange coincidence of his being _the_ Will Hawkes, and how she'd
almost forgotten the childhood days.

"How come the Ibanez?" he asked, finally.

"Stage name! I tried to make a go of the musicals, but it wasn't my
line, I found. But the name stuck."

"And where'd you learn how to drug coffee that way?"

She didn't change expression. There was even a touch of a twinkle in
her eye. "Waitress in a combination bar and restaurant. You needed the
sleep, Will. And I guess I still feel as much of a mother to you as I
did when you used to get hurt, so long ago."

She had things out of the bags now, and he saw that she had been doing
a lot of shopping. There had still been time enough to call the slim
young man, though--or, he suddenly realized, the fat man. He had no
more reason to believe her an enemy than a friend. Then he corrected
that. If she'd known enough to call the fat man, and had been his
friend, she could have told him things. She'd denied knowing anything,
though.

He couldn't understand why he trusted her--and yet, somehow, he did.
Even if he knew she'd called them, he would still have to trust her.
He was sure now that she was lying, and that she had been the girl at
the door--but that meant she'd been with the fat man. And the fat man
had seemed to be his friend. Or, had the man been set to lure him out,
but miscalculated, and gotten only what had been meant for him?

His head was spinning, and he gave it up. He was a fool to trust her
simply because the fear feeling subsided around her--but he had
nothing better to do than to follow his hunches, and then try to play
the odds as best he could.

* * * * *

"Cigarettes," she said, handing him a pack of his brand. "And for me.