The hands darted with quick, practiced precision over him after he nodded. He felt the sleeve-holster slip out by way of his armpit, was given a numbered check for both weapons as the girl hip-wagged away and suspended their weapons from hooks in her arsenal. They were then led to a table near the bandstand, where they ordered cocktails. "It's an awful lot of fuss just to eat lunch," Tracy said. "Every time that weapon hen paws me like that, I want to scratch her big, wide eyes out. Darius, I'm still afraid for you. Is Wainwright here?" "I haven't looked, but don't worry. I have till next week, anyway." "They could kidnap you and hold you somewhere till they're ready to kill you." McLeod tried to hide his momentary confusion by making a production of lighting his cigaret and smiling at someone he hardly knew at a nearby table. Tracy certainly had a good point--which he hadn't considered until now. Tracy glanced about uneasily in the dim light. "Did Overman think of that? I don't see any Security men around." McLeod exhaled a long plume of smoke and watched it get sucked into the unseen currents of the climatizer. "They don't let themselves get seen," he said easily. "They wouldn't be good Security men if they did, would they?" "But what are _you_ going to do, Darius? Can't you take some kind of positive action? It's not like you, just sitting around and waiting." McLeod wanted to change the subject, for Tracy had a way of ferreting out the truth even if she suspected nothing. He'd always thought she was wasting her time as a co-respondent and often told her so, but she'd always countered by striking a bump-and-grind pose and saying she had all the equipment. "Have you heard about Cripp?" he asked her now. "Only that he was going out on an assignment. Suicide I think." "Unfortunately, the guy had a change of heart. They had to tear up the obit." "Was it Cripp's fault?" "I doubt it. Suicide and murder are two different things. Psychology fouled up, that's all." "But Overman must have been furious, anyway. Poor Cripp." "Overman'll get over it. Cripp's a good man." Tracy shook her head slowly. "Thanks for saying it, but Cripp isn't cut out for the newspaper racket and you know it. A couple more flubs and Overman will begin to think Cripp belongs to the Anti-Newspaper League or something." "Very funny," McLeod told her. "I can just see it now: Cripp a subversive." "Shh!" said Tracy, raising a finger to her lips. "We shouldn't even talk about things like that. Mentioning the Anti-Newspaper League in here is like eating beefsteak in Delhi."