"What would I say?" objected Westervelt. "He's probably dictating his remarks and wouldn't like me hanging around." Smith chewed on his lower lip. "For the questions I sent him," he muttered thoughtfully, "five minutes should have been enough. Goldilocks has been with him over half an hour." "But he must be tired of my face," said Westervelt. "I don't have anyone else to send, unless you want me to think up an excuse for Pauline. Asking him to help with her homework would be pretty thin." Westervelt thought it over. Parrish, in his present mood, was not likely to be of any help. Simonetta had just done her stint, and Joe was needed on the space set. It would have been nice if there were a message for Lydman to listen to, but that was wishful dreaming. "All right, Mr. Smith," he surrendered. "Maybe I can take along this article and ask if he's seen it yet. If he's taking an inventory or trying out something in the lab, I'll take my life in my hands and volunteer to help!" Smith laughed. "It can't be that bad, Willie," he said, slapping the other on the shoulder. Westervelt was not so sure, but he folded the magazine open to the beginning of his article and went out. Pauline peered at him as he passed. "Don't look like that!" he said. "You'll see me again, I hope!" "You might try looking a little more confident of that yourself," Simonetta called after him. Westervelt turned the corner and walked slowly down the hall, trying out more confident expressions as he went. None of them felt exactly right. Passing the spare office where the dead files were kept, he heard a sound. _They must have come up here for something_, he thought. _That's why it seemed so long to Smitty._ He had opened the door and taken one step inside before he realized that the room was dark. Without thinking, he reached out to flip the light switch. Beryl Austin leaped to her feet with a flash of thigh that hardly registered on Westervelt in the split-second of his astonishment. Then he saw that she had not been alone on the settee that stood beside the door. Parrish rose beside her. The suddenness of their movements and the ferocity of their combined stares had the impact of a stunning blow upon Westervelt. The implications of the blonde's slightly disheveled appearance, however, were obvious. He could not, for a moment, think at all. Then he began to have a feeling that he ought to say something to cover his escape. Beneath that, somewhere, surged the conviction that he had nothing to apologize for. In the face of such hostility and tension, it called for a lot of courage. "You little sneak!" spat Beryl.