"There's no keyhole there, Willie," he said at last. Westervelt had the feeling that he ought to offer the perfectly simple explanation with which he had been living for what seemed like hours. The words refused to come. "Does this have anything to do with the message Si just brought me?" demanded Smith. "What message?" asked Westervelt, clearing his throat. "The police called and claimed someone reported seeing, from the air, three helicopters being stolen from our roof." "Did she say that?" asked Westervelt. "She had the sense to write it down and show me while they were talking about submarines. Something about the way she winked made me think I'd better come out, so I told the boys I was going down the hall a minute." Westervelt heaved a sigh. He would not have to be alert to duck an aroused Lydman charging down the corridor. "Then, Mr. Smith," he suggested, "let's walk down that way in case someone comes out and sees us, and I'll tell you all about it." "They shouldn't be out for a while," Smith commented, examining the youth doubtfully. "I started a little argument before I came out." Nevertheless, he followed Westervelt around the far corner, to the wing leading to the laboratory and rest rooms. They had gone perhaps ten feet past the corner when Westervelt finished the report on the elevators and came to the frozen locks on the stairway door. Smith stopped in his tracks, as if to run back and check for himself; but restrained himself. "You're absolutely sure, Willie?" he asked. "You can check with Joe Rosenkrantz, Mr. Smith. Or you can call the office of the building manager downstairs." Smith rubbed his high-bridged nose as he pondered. His lips moved, and Westervelt thought he read the name "Lydman." Then Smith checked off on his fingers, muttering, the stairs, elevators, and helicopters. "No wonder they were stolen," he said. "Someone saw a chance to make some easy money with all the helitaxis taken. The police will find them tomorrow." "Meanwhile, I guess it's some trouble to us," said Westervelt. "Yes, it might be some trouble," admitted Smith, and this time said it aloud: "Lydman! We won't mention it to him yet, right, Willie?" EIGHT The room would have been nearly a cube except for the fact that hardly any parallel lines appeared in its design. The corners were rounded and the ceiling slightly arched. The floor, though much of it was obscured by a plentiful supply of cushions, was obviously several inches higher in the center than where it curved up to meet the walls. All surfaces were the color of old ivory but seemed to be of a more porous material. The cushions could have been cut from slabs of some foamy, resilient substance that had been manufactured in several rather dull colors.