Westervelt lifted a hand in assent. He climbed out of his chair and went to the phone on Beryl's desk, where he would be as nearly private as possible. "Who is it, Pauline?" he asked when she came on. "It's Joe. He wants to talk to Mr. Smith." "Give it here on number seven," said Westervelt. "The boss is talking." Pauline blanked out and was replaced by the communications man. Rosenkrantz showed a flicker of surprise at the sight of Westervelt. "Smitty's in a crowd," murmured the youth. "Something up?" "Not much, maybe," said the other. "A message came in by commercial TV. I guess they didn't think it was too urgent, but I'll give you the facts if you think Smitty would like to know." "Hold on," said Westervelt. "Let's see ... where does Beryl keep a pen?" He dug out a scratch pad and something to scribble with, and nodded. "One of our own agents," said Joe, "named Robertson, signed this. You've seen his reports, I guess." "Yeah, sounds familiar." "It says, after reading between our standard code expressions, that two spacers and a tourist were convicted of inciting revolution on Epsilon Indi II. They gave the names, and all, which I taped." "That's practically in our back yard," said Westervelt. "Maybe he just wants to alert us, but the D.I.R. ought to be working on that publicly. Sure there wasn't any hint it was urgent?" "No, and like I said, it came by commercial relay." "Okay. The boss has enough on his mind at the moment. Let's figure on having a tape for him to look at in the morning. I'll find a chance to mention it to him, so he'll know about it. All right?" "All right with me," grinned Rosenkrantz. "If anything goes wrong, I'll refer them to you. Be prepared to have your other eye spit in." He cut off, leaving Westervelt with his mouth open and his regained aplomb shaky. The youth waited until he caught Smith's eye, and shook his head to indicate the unimportance of the call. He wondered if he ought to take time to phone downstairs for a report on the situation. It did not strike him as worth the risk with all the people in the same room. He saw Beryl strolling his way and rose from her chair. "That's all right, Willie," she said calmly, setting her packaged drink on the desk. "I just wanted to give you back your handkerchief." She produced it from the purse lying on her desk and said, "Thanks again. I'm sorry about the make-up marks." "Forget it," said Westervelt. "I'm sorry about the eye too," said Beryl, raising her eyes for the first time to examine the damage. "It ... doesn't look as bad as Si said." "Well, that's a comfort, anyway. I got something in it and rubbed too hard, you know." "Yes, she told me," said Beryl. "To tell the truth, Willie, I didn't know I could do it." "Aw, it was a lucky swing," muttered Westervelt. "Yes ... I, well ... you might say I was a little upset." "I'm sorry I started it all," said Westervelt. "How about letting me buy you a lunch to make up."