She put on the dress Trigger had been wearing and smoothed it down. Mihul surveyed the result. She nodded. "Perfect." She took Trigger's robe and scarf from the back of a chair where someone had draped them and handed them over. "You won't wear the scarf," she said. "Just shove it into a pocket of the coat." The girl slung the cloak over her shoulder and stood holding the scarf. Mihul looked her over once more. "You'll do," she said. She smiled briefly. "All right." The facsimile glanced at Trigger again, turned and moved attractively out of the room. Trigger frowned. "Something wrong?" Mihul asked. She had gone over to a wall basin and was washing out a tumbler. "Why does she walk like that?" "The little swing in the rear? She's studied it." Mihul half filled the tumbler with water, fished a transparent splinter of something out of a pocket and cracked the splinter over the edge of the glass. "Among your friends it's referred to as the Argee Lilt. She's got you down pat, kid." Trigger didn't comment. "Am I supposed to put on her clothes?" "No. We've got another costume for you." Mihul came over, holding out the glass. "This is for you." Trigger looked at the glass suspiciously. "What's in it?" The blue eyes regarded her mildly. "You could call it a sedative." "Don't need any. Thanks." "Better take it anyway." Mihul patted her hip with her other hand. "Little hypo gun here. That's the alternative." "What!" "That's right. Same type of charge as in your fancy Denton. Stuff in the glass is easier to take and won't leave you groggy." "What's the idea?" "I've known you quite a while," said Mihul. "And I was watching you the last twenty minutes in that room through a screen. You'll take off again if you get the least chance. I don't blame you a bit. You're being pushed around. But now it's my job to see you don't take off; and until we get to where you're going, I want to be sure you'll stay quiet." She still held out the glass, in a long, tanned, capable hand. She stood three inches taller than Trigger, weighted thirty-five pounds more. Not an ounce of that additional thirty-five pounds was fat. If she'd needed assistance, the hunting lodge was full of potential helpers. She didn't. "I never claimed I liked this arrangement," Trigger said carefully. "I did say I'd go along with it. I will. Isn't that enough?" "Sure," Mihul said promptly. "Give word of parole?" There was a long pause. "No!" Trigger said. "I thought not. Drink or gun?" "Drink," Trigger said coldly. She took the glass. "How long will it put me out?" "Eight to nine hours." Mihul stood by watchfully while Trigger emptied the tumbler. After a moment the tumbler fell to the floor. She reached out and caught Trigger as she started down. "All right," she said across her shoulder to the open doorway behind her. "Let's move!" * * * * *