They saw as from a height. There was the light car that had chased them from the frontier. Standing near it was a man in an officer's uniform and another in civilian clothes. They were talking and gesturing. Beside the car was a tank. As they watched, its gun fired and the structure they were in shuddered, but they heard no sound. Lumbering up the mountain road were more tanks and a self-propelled gun. One of the tanks became enveloped in smoke and flames as they watched. After a moment the smoke cleared. The tank was gone; where it had been there was a deep crater. Gradually, the figures in the drama below grew smaller. At the same time the vista widened, so that they saw more and more countryside. It twisted beneath them and the horizon came giddily into view. A few moments later the curvature of the earth could be plainly seen. Everything fitted together at once. Some of the things, anyway. "We're in a ship," he said. "Some kind of rocket-ship." "It's a planet plane," the girl said. "We're safe now." "Safe from what?" he asked. "What's this all about?" She smiled enigmatically. "Hafitz could tell you, if he chose. He's the boss." "The man in the wheelchair?" She nodded and took out a compact. As she added lipstick to her mouth, she looked him over, between glances in her mirror. "You don't look like the spy type. If there is a type." "I'm not a spy. I don't know what you're talking about." "The innocent! Go on, take off your coat and shirt. We'll save Hafitz some time." "I'll be glad to, just to prove this is all ridiculous. A case of mistaken identity. You've made a mistake, that's what you've done." He stood there, hesitating. The girl gave a burst of laughter. Then she said: "All right, Sweetheart. I'll turn my back." She did, and he pulled his shirt out of his trousers. Then he froze. Taped to the skin of his back was a flat package. _Paul Asher made the decision. He bent forward, feeling perspiration in the palms of his hands. There was a faint click._ * * * * * Quickly he ripped the adhesive from his back. There was an instant of pain as the plaster came free. He wadded up the sticky package, dropped it to the floor and kicked it under the desk. Then he took off his coat, tie and shirt. "You can turn around now," he said. "A more modest spy I've never seen. Okay," she said, "now _you_ turn around." "As you see," he said, "there are no plans--no papers." "No--not now. But there is a red mark on your back. What is it?" "Oh," he said. "Oh--that's a birthmark." She spun him around to face her. Her face was harsh. She slapped his cheek. "Where is the sticking plaster? Don't trifle with me." Her eyes bored into his. He returned the gaze, then shrugged. "Under the desk," he said. "I tore it off and kicked it under the desk." "You are sensible to confess," she said. She bent down, unwisely.