He lifted it out of the croup-compartment, straightened its red samite covering, and cradled it in his arms. Too weak to remount Easy Money, he encephalopathed the two rohorses to follow and began walking toward the _Yore_. Rowena must have seen him coming on one of the telewindows, for she had the lock open when he arrived. Her face went white when she looked at him, and when she saw the Grail, her eyes grew even larger than plums. He went over and set it gently down on the rec-hall table, then he collapsed into a nearby chair. He had just enough presence of mind left to send her for the bottle of blood-restorer pills, and just enough strength left to swallow several of them when she brought it. Then he boarded the phantom ship that had mysteriously appeared beside him and set sail upon the soundless sea of night. VI "No," said the rent-a-mammakin, "you cannot see her. She is displeased with your score in the get-rich-quick race." "I did my best," the boy Mallory sobbed. "But when it came to stepping on all those faces, I just couldn't do it!" The rent-a-mammakin arranged its features into a severe frown and strengthened its grip on the boy Mallory's arm. "You knew that they were only painted on the game floor to symbolize the Competitive Spirit," it said. "Why couldn't you step on them?" The boy Mallory made a final desperate effort to gain the bedroom door which his mother had just slammed and before which the rent-a-mammakin stood, then he sank defeated to the floor. "I don't know why--I just couldn't, that's all," he sobbed. He raised his voice. "But I _will_ step on them! I'll step on real faces too--just you wait and see. I'll be a bigger get-rich-quickman than my father ever dreamed of being. I'll show her!" "I'll show her," the man Mallory murmured, "just you wait and see." He opened his eyes. Save for himself, the bedroom-office was empty. "Rowena?" No answer. He raised his voice. "Rowena!" Again, no answer. He frowned. The door to the bedroom-office was open, and the "castle" certainly wasn't so large that his voice couldn't carry from one end of it to the other. His shoulder throbbed faintly, but otherwise he was unaware of his wound. Rowena had bound it neatly--it was said that Age-of-Chivalry gentlewomen were quite proficient in such matters--and apparently she had once again got hold of the right counteragent. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. So far, so good. Tentatively, he stood up. A wave of vertigo broke over him. After it passed, he was as good as new. The blood-restorer pills had done their work well. Nevertheless, everything was not as it should be. Something was very definitely wrong. "Rowena!" he called again. Still no answer. She had removed his armor and piled it neatly at the foot of the bed. He stared at the various pieces, trying desperately to think. Something had awakened him--that was it. The slamming of a door ... or a lock.