"It's one-thirty," said Celia softly, achingly. "We were so worried." "Let's go eat," I suggested, suddenly aware of hunger pangs. "We already have, but it'll be much nicer this time." We went to the tea room. Alongside was the sunken garden, with its dwarf trees and moist green grass and bubbling waterfall. Three or four pieces of ancient sculpture--smooth white marble of the Greeks--stood in the garden on pedestals. Somehow these had survived the destruction. "Nothing else remained of the whole collection," said Celia sadly. "Renoirs, Rembrandts, Raphaels--all, all gone." "I'm tired, mommy. Why can't we go home now?" "After a while, dear. Poor kid! He's weary of looking at pictures, and so am I." "Freddie," I asked, "why didn't you like to play games with the other children at school?" Celia glanced at me disapprovingly. "Oh, I like to play games. But ... it just seems that when everyone's trying so hard to win ... it spoils the fun. You know." "Leave him alone, Bart." I finished my ersatz soup and my synthetic sandwich, and drank down a cup of chemical coffee, and felt much better. Freddie napped on one of the garden benches, and that was a good thing for him and for us. We had to talk, weigh alternatives, make plans. "The real crisis," I said, "is at five o'clock when this place closes. Then we have to get into our ship and fly somewhere. Wherever we go there'll be police looking for a green Cad Super with Iowa license plates." "We have one advantage at that time," said Celia. "Rush hour. If you can stay in the thick of traffic ... and not hedge-hop." "Don't worry!" "The real crisis, I think, is when we board the Venus ship," said Celia. "The police will be watching all departures, checking identities, just as a matter of routine." "That's true, but we don't go aboard as a threesome. You and Freddie earlier. And I at the last minute, with false identity papers." Celia shook her head as if warding off an unpleasant thought. "Aren't you afraid that when Spacker wakes up he'll tell them about the Venus ship?" "According to my information, the sleep bomb knocks you out for ten or eleven hours. A doctor can bring you out of it a little sooner, but you still don't regain your full senses right away." "Even allowing ten hours, Bart. One and ten is eleven. Our ship leaves at twelve o'clock. That means we face one hour of supreme risk." She was right, of course. And there was one more source of anxiety that I thought it best not to mention. Claire. What would Claire say if she found out about the sleep bomb? If she went back to the office for any reason this afternoon? Or if the police found out in some manner? Surely they would go looking for the detectives. Surely they would question Claire. What would she tell them? * * * * * Five o'clock. Exit separately through the rear door to the parking lot.