The inductance of his body actuated the automatic butler and the soft mechanical voice spoke from over the door. “The Di Costa residence. May I serve you?” “Mr. Brent Dalgreen to see Mr. Di Costa.” “I’m sorry, but I have no information regarding you, sir; if you care to leave a mess--” The robot tones stopped with a sharp click, to be replaced by a man’s voice. “I am very happy to greet you, Mr. Dalgreen. Won’t you please step in?” The door swung quietly open to reveal a small wood-panelled vestibule. It wasn’t until the door closed again that Brent recognized it as an elevator. There was a feeling of motion and the end wall slid back to reveal a book-lined sitting room. The occupant turned from his desk and stepped forward. Brent took the proffered hand--at the same time trying to penetrate the man’s smile. Di Costa was taller than Brent with a thinness that seemed to contradict his graceful movements. They shook hands, and his hand had the same qualities; thin, long and strong. At this point Brent realized he was staring; he hastened to respond to his host’s hospitality. “I hope you will excuse my just dropping in like this, Mr. Di Costa. I have seen some work of yours at the Metropolitan, and found it, well, very interesting.” Brent stopped, aware of how weak his reasons seemed when brought out in conversation. He was more than pleased when Di Costa interrupted him. “I understand perfectly, Mr. Dalgreen. I have had the same experience many times when looking at your paintings and those of _some_ of our fellow artists.” He smiled, “Not all of them, I assure you. I have looked at these works and said to myself, I would like to meet the man who did that. This very rarely happens, a fact which I deplore. That you feel the same way towards my work is both flattering and most enjoyable.” Di Costa’s friendliness broke the ice; they were soon on the best of terms. Brent sat in the comfortable leather chair while Di Costa mixed drinks at the built-in bar. This gave him a chance to look around the room. A brown study, it fitted the word. The decorations were all subdued to the room as a whole, the sort of things a man would buy for himself. The only clashing note was the rotary book rack in the corner. He suddenly realized that it was revolving slowly, had been doing so since he first entered the room. Something else ... yes, there on the desk, the bronze ashtray was also revolving with the same steady motion. They created an unusual effect, yet an oddly pleasing one. It fitted the room and the owner’s personality. “And here are the drinks. A toast first--always a good idea. Long life and good painting, to both of us.”