"Norma." His emotions were tangled beyond solution. He wanted to say, 'I'll stay behind when the others leave, will that make everything all right, you won't blame me, you won't blame me for it if I stay behind, will you?' His mind hurt with the confusion. "We thought, if you'd go away, if the people thought we'd actually lost you...." "It's not for me to make any kind of decision. I'll have to ask. Would that be all right, sir?" Norma blinked. She did not understand to whom the question was addressed. Her eyes followed his to the wall, a concealed microphone? She felt a little prickle of fear. The Oligarch stood in the doorway behind her. "That will be agreeable with us." She whirled guiltily. "Bud wanted to, to see Herb tonight...." Norma felt resentment against this man in the doorway. "I was told to bring Herb." "I will be able to speak for my government." "I was told to bring Herb," Norma said stubbornly. Bud had not specified, but she told herself that she would not yield to a stranger. She did not consider Herb a stranger. "Isn't it all right to take him?" "He may come, too, if you wish." He smiled. "Whatever you wish." His voice was not reassuring. "Thank you." She modified her tone. Some of the iciness went out of it. "I'll leave now. Bud will send two C.I.D. men over for you." * * * * * Sitting at his desk in his Georgetown apartment, Bud looked through a stack of letters. Norma, waiting, tried to become interested in a _Saturday Evening Post_ story and failed. She put the magazine aside. The knock they were waiting for came. Bud rose and crossed quickly to the door. "Ah, hello," he said with a genial smile. "If you gentlemen will wait downstairs, I'll call you when they are ready to leave." The C.I.D. men withdrew. "Hello, young fellow. Herb, I believe? And?" "George.... How would George be?" "George," the Senator said, pumping the Oligarch's hand and drawing him across the threshold. "I like your people's way of using first names. Very democratic. Just call me Bud." They arranged themselves around the room. "I don't suppose you'd care for a drink?" "I'd be delighted," George said. Bud, solemn faced, mixed the drinks, talking over his shoulder. "I hope you haven't taken our Committee report as a rejection of your generous offer.... You understand? I want to explain my position--what we, you and I, can do.... There we are." He turned from his labors and handed the drinks around. "Norma, Herb. I wonder if you'd mind if George and I stepped in there?" "It's all right with us," Norma said. Bud and the Oligarch went into the study. Bud closed the door. "Now," he said. Ambition was a sickness in him. _This is the boy I've got to sell_, he thought. That's all I've got to do: sell him. Once he's sold, the rest will follow. Ambition was like a hunger, and success hung in the air like smoke. "We can have a nice, private talk. I'm sure you'll appreciate my rather delicate position."