Rena was a most self-possessed girl, in fact. She had overruled me when I tried to keep the bellboy from clearing away the dinner service. "Do you think no other Company man ever had a girl in his room?" she innocently asked. She borrowed a pair of the new pajamas Defoe's thoughtful expediters had bought and put in the bureau. But I hadn't expected that, while the bellboy was clearing away, she would be softly singing to herself in the bath. He had seemed not even to hear. He had also leaped to conclusions--not that it was much of a leap, I suppose. But he had conspicuously not removed the bottle of champagne and its silver bucket of melting ice. It felt good, being in the same room with Rena. I shifted again, hunching up my torso to give my legs a chance to stretch out. I looked anxiously to see if the movement had disturbed her. There is a story about an animal experimenter who left a chimpanzee in an empty room. He closed the door on the ape and bent to look through the key-hole, to see what the animal would do. But all he saw was an eye--because the chimp was just as curious about the experimenter. In the half-light, I saw a sparkle of moonlight in Rena's eye; she was watching me. She half-giggled, a smothered sound. "You ought to be asleep," I accused. "And you, Tom." I obediently closed my eyes, but I didn't stop seeing her. _It only she weren't a fanatic._ And if she had to be a fanatic, why did she have to be the one kind that was my natural enemy, a member of the group of irresponsible troublemakers that Defoe had ordered me to "handle"? What, I wondered, did he mean by "handle"? Did it include chlorpromazine in a lytic solution and a plastic cocoon? I put that thought out of my mind; there was no chance whatever that her crazy belief, that the Company was using suspension as a retaliatory measure, was correct. But thinking of Defoe made me think of my work. After all, I told myself, Rena was more than a person. She was a key that could unlock the whole riddle. She had the answers--if there was a movement of any size, she would know its structure. I thought for a moment and withdrew the "if." She had admitted the riot of that afternoon was planned. It _had_ to be a tightly organized group. And she had to have the key. * * * * * At last, I had been getting slightly drowsy, but suddenly I was wide awake. There were two possibilities. I faced the first of them shakily--_she might be right_. Everything within me revolted against the notion, but I accepted it as a theoretical possibility. If so, I would, of course, have to revise some basic notions. On the other hand, she might be wrong. I was certain she _was_ wrong. But I was equally certain she was no raddled malcontent and if she was wrong, and I could prove it to her, she herself might make some revisions. Propped on one elbow, I peered at her. "Rena?" I whispered questioningly. She stirred. "Yes, Tom?"