I didn't want to bother with explanations myself, because I'd just remembered my watch-candid. It could take fifty pictures without reloading, and I had a reload in my pocket, if I stayed inside my own coat long enough to use it. It was a Undex B-29, the kind that can photograph the inside of your hat by starlight. Margie came up and touched my arm and said, "Bill?" I nodded, and she said, "This is me. Kiss me quick while we have a chance." It was a proposition I'd never turn down, but I'll admit I looked a bit scared when I put my arms around her and complied. She grinned impishly. "Sure, darling, Mother and Dad are probably looking, but so what? For all they know it's Mr. Wescott kissing the maid or your Slane O'Graeme making love to a mermaid, or the Senator--" When her lips were free again, she said, "Bill, I took some shots on your candid before, when I--when I had the chance. Some of them are wows, too! Look, quick! Don't miss that!" I laughed, and swung the candid around to get the shot. * * * * * When I awoke it was ten o'clock, but I felt as though I'd had one hour's sleep instead of six. At four o'clock in the morning, I'd left Mr. Ames talking to Slane O'Graeme. And when Mr. Ames had said he'd want to talk to me in the morning, I'd already kissed my job goodbye. The first thing I wanted to do was destroy those all-too-candid shots. But I wanted to develop them and have a look-see first. Maybe there'd be one or two mild ones it would be safe to take along as souvenirs. I was taking the last of the positives out of the acid when there was a knock on my door, and I said, "Come in." Mr. Ames, wearing a lounging robe, pushed through the door. I made a mental note to look in the mirror later to see if my face looked as bad as his. But, surprisingly, he grinned at me and sat down on the edge of the bed. "What a night!" he sighed. "But--" "But never again," I finished for him. "Yeah, I feel the same way. That stuff would have been dynamite to turn loose on the natives." He nodded gloomily. "I suppose so, but--Well, it was my fault it's all gone. There isn't a trace left for analysis, and because it was my fault, I gave O'Graeme his price for it. Somehow I liked the little cuss. What're you doing?" "Look," I said, and passed him the quick-drying rack. He stared from one to another of the shots, and gulped. Then he stared some more and his face turned red, then pale. "Bill," he said, "do you know these photographs would be worth a million credits to my enemies, and those of Wescott and the Senator? I hope you're not thinking of--" I shook my head firmly. "Just developed them out of curiosity. I'm destroying them right now, and the films, too. Then if you say so, I'll leave." I took the pictures back and started to tear them up.