A smiling fat man clad in pearl gray sports clothes came through one of the curtained archways. Willard recognized Jan Tregarron from his pictures, but did not at once offer to speak to him. Instead he let his gaze wander with an ostentatious contempt around the crammed walls, take in the bar and the set table with its many wine glasses, and finally return to his host. "And where," he asked with harsh irony, "are the dancing girls?" The fat man's eyebrows rose. "In there," he said innocently, indicating the second archway. The curtains parted. "Oh, I _am_ sorry," the fat man apologized. "There seems to be only one on duty. I hope that isn't too much at variance with your tastes." She stood in the archway, demure and lovely in an off-the-bosom frock of pale blue skylon edged in mutated mink. She was smiling the first smile that Willard had ever had from her lips. "Mr. Willard Farquar," the fat man murmured, "Miss Arkady Simms." * * * * * Jorj Helmuth turned from the conference table with its dozen empty chairs to the two mousily pretty secretaries. "No word from the door yet, Master," one of them ventured to say. Jorj twisted in his chair, though hardly uncomfortably, since it was a beautiful pneumatic job. His nervousness at having to face the twelve rocket physicists--a feeling which, he had to admit, had been unexpectedly great--was giving way to impatience. "What's Willard Farquar's phone?" he asked sharply. One of the secretaries ran through a clutch of desk tapes, then spent some seconds whispering into her throat-mike and listening to answers from the soft-speaker. "He lives with Morton Opperly, who doesn't have one," she finally told Jorj in scandalized tones. "Let me see the list," Jorj said. Then, after a bit, "Try Dr. Welcome's place." This time there were results. Within a quarter of a minute he was handed a phone which he hung expertly on his shoulder. "This is Dr. Asa Welcome," a reedy voice told him. "This is Helmuth of the Thinkers' Foundation," Jorj said icily. "Did you get my communication?" The reedy voice became anxious and placating. "Why, yes, Mr. Helmuth, I did. Very glad to get it too. Sounded most interesting. Very eager to come. But...." "Yes?" "Well, I was just about to hop in my 'copter--my son's 'copter--when the other note came." "What other note?" "Why, the note calling the meeting off." "I sent no other note!" The other voice became acutely embarrassed. "But I considered it to be from you ... or just about the same thing. I really think I had the right to assume that." "How was it signed?" Jorj rapped. "Mr. Jan Tregarron." Jorj broke the connection. He didn't move until a low sound shattered his abstraction and he realized that one of the girls was whispering a call to the door. He handed back the phone and dismissed them. They went in a rustle of jackets and skirtlets, hesitating at the doorway but not quite daring to look back.