"Who wouldn't?" said Westervelt. The mere conception of what it must have been like made him feel sick. "As long as I know it's there," muttered Lydman. "As long as I know it's there. I can use that way any time. Just don't anybody pull that little ladder down." "Would...?" The meek little syllable came from Beryl, who had now managed to stand without the support of the partition. Every head in the room swiveled to bear upon her. She gulped, and found part of her voice. "Would there be an old martini lying around in the locker?" she asked. "I'm afraid to go for it myself because my knees feel as if they'll collapse at the first step." There was a general outburst of laughter that revealed the enormity of their relief. Parrish hurried over to put an arm around the blonde, and Smith himself went to the locker and opened it. With the break in the tension, Beryl managed to walk pretty well, perhaps with a little more swagger of the hips than usual, Westervelt thought. Smith found a drink for her, and insisted that Lydman have tea. The chief pulled the tab himself and held the cup for the few seconds required to heat the beverage. Most of them, like Westervelt, had had too many coffees or sandwiches, and were content to sit down and regain their composure. Westervelt was mildly surprised to see Parrish take a position behind Lydman and knead the big man's neck muscles to relax him. "Did they tell you the news yet?" asked Smith. "We got two out--Syssoka and Greenhaven!" "No!" said Lydman, managing a smile. "Tell me, but if I get up to leave in the middle, I'd rather you didn't stop me." "Nobody is stopping anybody tonight!" said Smith, and fell to giving his assistant an account of Taranto and Meyers. Westervelt got up quietly and padded into the switchboard cubbyhole. "Lend me your headset, Pauline," he murmured, "and punch Joe's number." "Sure," said the little blonde. She left the screen off and kissed him behind the ear just as Rosenkrantz answered. "Nothing personal, Willie," she giggled. "I just feel so relieved!" "Who is it now?" demanded Rosenkrantz's voice. "You left the lens off, did you know that?" "It's Willie, Joe. He came back and he's sitting down having tea." "_Back?_ Where was he?" Westervelt told him. Then he told him again and switched off. Joe, he thought, would have to live with it for a while. When he stepped out of the cubicle, everyone was watching Smith narrate, with broad gestures, the flummoxing of the staid authorities of Greenhaven. The chief was not above calling upon Parrish for an estimate of the charms of Maria Ringstad that caused an outcry among the girls. Lydman smiled politely, but not from the heart. He was still quietly reserved. Everyone was watching Smith. No one paid any attention to the redhaired man who drifted into the office area just as Westervelt squirmed past Pauline and stepped out of the switchboard room.