He walked loosely past Simonetta, who stared at him unbelievingly, and started to enter Smith's office again. Behind him, he heard the sounds of a door being closed and high heels clicking subduedly on the springy flooring. Beryl's voice said something as he began to look around. He stopped. "What did she say?" he asked Simonetta. Beryl had already disappeared toward the hall. "She said Mr. Parrish invited her downstairs for a cocktail. He thinks they should have about twenty minutes to relax before going back to work." "You're kidding!" gasped Westervelt. "No, I'm not! Willie, you've been acting awfully strange. Where have you been ducking to every time--" Westervelt was already running for the hall. He skidded and nearly fell going through the entrance. Beryl was standing near the elevator. "Did you ring yet?" asked Westervelt. "No, I'm waiting for Mr. Parrish," said Beryl, in a tone that emphasized unwieldiness of an assembly of three persons. "Your lipstick is smeared," said Westervelt. Beryl gave him an even less believing stare than had Simonetta, but, glancing hastily at her watch, began to fumble out her compact. "In here, where the light is better," said Westervelt. He grabbed her by an elbow and dragged her into the office before it occurred to her to resist. "Please, Willie! You're _handling_ me!" she protested coldly. Westervelt was already out the door again, bent upon taking the other entrance to Smith's office, when he saw the hall door of Parrish's office open. He reversed direction in time to meet Parrish as the latter stepped into the corridor. "Beryl said to tell you she'll be right back," he said, waving a thumb vaguely in the direction of the rest rooms. "Oh. Thanks, Willie," answered Parrish. "I'll wait inside." Westervelt reached Smith's office before Parrish had completely closed his own door. From the corner of his eye, he saw the blue of Beryl's dress. "Mr. Smith!" he called as he thrust his head inside. "I think I need help!" TEN The first sensation that penetrated, agonizingly, to Taranto's consciousness was that of heat. Heat, and then the damp itch of soaking sweat. The next feeling, as he groggily sought to take up the slack in his hanging jaw, was thirst. It was a raging demand that brought him entirely awake. Before he could control himself, he had emitted a groan. Immediately, he was dropped from whatever had been supporting him in a swaying, dipping fashion. He landed with a thud on the hard ground. A chatter of Syssokan broke out above him. It was answered by other Syssokan voices farther away. Taranto kept his eyes closed and lay limply where he had sprawled, while he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Shortly before dawn, he and Meyers had each swallowed his capsule as directed. He remembered a period of vague drowsiness after that, then nothing more until he had been awakened just now. From his still dizzy mind, he sought to drag the outline of events expected.