The man said, still in hardly more than a whisper, "Fellows looking around. Three or four of them. Act like you know me. A thousand dollars. You're my wife or something like that." He had already arranged the cocktail glasses on the table so that it looked as if both of them had been drinking. He said, "Well?" "What did you mean about not expecting--?" "You. Back of your head was all I saw. A girl, I thought. Obscurity of a couple when they're looking for a single man. But you. You stand out like Niagara Falls in the middle of the Sahara. See what I mean?" "Thank you," Jeanne-Marie said. "Who is looking for you?" "Remember what I said. Start looking like we mean something to each other." * * * * * And, before Jeanne-Marie could offer a protest, the man slid his chair around the small table, clutched at Jeanne-Marie's hand with one of his hands and put his other arm around her shoulder. He smiled at her, his face inches from hers, holding a cocktail glass up as if making a toast. He seemed to be relaxed and having fun, but this close Jeanne-Marie could tell his face was set tensely, rigidly, in an easy cocktail smile. When she saw the tension leave, she knew that whoever it was who sought him was gone--at least for now. "All right," she said coolly. "I've shielded you. Now get out of here." "I said a thousand dollars, but you haven't earned it yet." Jeanne-Marie gave him the kind of scathing look which went very well with her new face but which, on Mary-Jean's face, would have been ludicrous. "Do I look as if I need a thousand dollars?" she asked. "No, but--" "So if you'll just find yourself another table." Actually, Jeanne-Marie did not mean those words. Her new face and body were designed to attract adventure. Were they, then, bait for this man? She decided that they were, but the conversation had taken a natural course which she instantly regretted. "But I can't do that," the man said. "Maybe they caught a glimpse of me here. Not enough to recognize me, but enough to know I belong with the gorgeous dame at such-and-such a table. See what I mean?" * * * * * "Who are you?" He smiled, still holding her hand. He squeezed it. "Call me Lucky. But I don't know about tonight--lucky or not, I mean." "Are they the police?" "Yeah. They're the police." "You did something?" "What do you think they're doing, practicing?" "I--I'm sorry. What did you do?" "Let's drop it. You wouldn't want to know." "Oh, but I would." "You'd make me beat it. Or you'd call them." "I will--if you don't tell me." He smiled. "I guess you kind of got me." "What did you do?" "It was a meeting. Call it a board of directors meeting and you'd be close. We--" "Board of directors of what?" The questions came quickly, unbidden almost, to Jeanne-Marie's lips. She felt suddenly very quick-minded and very capable. "Well, call it a syndicate."