"_That's a lie!_" I had to confess it to myself: Rena was beginning to mean something to me. But there were emotional buttons that even she couldn't push. If she had been a man, any man, I would have had my fist in her face before she had said that much; treason against the Company was more than I could take. "You can't convince me that the Company deliberately falsifies records. Don't forget, Rena, I'm an executive of the Company! Nothing like that could go on!" Her eyes flared, but her lips were rebelliously silent. I said furiously: "I'll hear no more of that. Theoretical discussions are all right; I'm as broad-minded as the next man. But when you accuse the Company of outright fraud, you--well, you're mistaken." We glowered at each other for a long moment. My eyes fell first. I said sourly, "I'm sorry if I called you a liar. I--I didn't mean to be offensive." "Nor I, Tom," she hesitated. "Will you remember that I asked you not to make me discuss it?" She stood up. "Thank you very much for a dinner. And for listening. And most of all, for giving me another chance to rescue my father." I looked at my watch automatically--and incredulously. "It's late, Rena. Have you a place to stay?" She shrugged. "N--yes, of course, Tom. Don't worry about me; I'll be all right." "Are you sure?" "Very sure." * * * * * Her manner was completely confident--so much so that I knew it for an act. I said: "Please, Rena, you've been through a tough time and I don't want you wandering around. You can't get back to Naples tonight." "I know." "Well?" "Well what, Tom?" she said. "I won't lie to you--I haven't a place to go to here. I would have had, this afternoon, if I had succeeded. But by now, everything has changed. They--that is, my friends will assume that I have been captured by the Company. They won't be where I could find them, Tom. Say they are silly if you wish. But they will fear that the Company might--request me to give their names." I said crisply, "Stay here, Rena. No--listen to me. You stay here. I'll get another room." "Thank you, Tom, but you can't. There isn't a room in Anzio; there are families of suspendees sleeping in the grass tonight." "I can sleep in the grass if I have to." She shook her head. "Thank you," she repeated. I stood between her and the door. "Then we'll both stay here. I'll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed." I hesitated, then added, "You can trust me, Rena." She looked at me gravely for a moment. Then she smiled. "I'm sure I can, Tom. I appreciate your offer. I accept." * * * * * I am built too long for a hotel-room couch, particularly a room in a Mediterranean coastal fleabag. I lay staring into the white Italian night; the Moon brightened the clouds outside the window, and the room was clearly enough illuminated to show me the bed and the slight, motionless form in it. Rena was not a restless sleeper, I thought. Nor did she snore.