"I imagine," he suggested casually, "you were just sitting there in front of the fire. And then--" "Gosh, Mel, she was beautiful! It's _all_ so beautiful, you know ..." She recovered quickly. "I fell asleep and I had a dream, that's all. Why? What makes you ask?" She was beginning to look rather wild-eyed, but he had to find out. "I was just wondering," he said, "whether they'd left." "Why should they leave--Look, you oaf! I called you in to give you the privilege of looking at my paintings. Now get out. I've got to make a phone call." He stopped at the door, struck by a sudden suspicion. "You're not going to try to sell them, are you?" "_Try_ to sell them!" She laughed hoarsely. "There are circles, Mel Armstrong, in which a de Guesgne original is _understood_, shall we say? Circles not exactly open to the common herd ... This series," she concluded, rather prosaically, "will get me two thousand bucks as soon as I let one or two of the right people have a look at them!" * * * * * Brewing himself a pot of coffee at last, Mel decided that part of it, if true, wasn't any of his business. He had always assumed Maria was living on a monthly check she got from an unidentified source in Chicago, but her occasional creations might have a well-heeled following, at that. As for the way Miss Green had got in to sit for her portrait--the upstairs screens weren't in any better shape than the downstairs ones. The fiery background, of course, might have been only in Maria's mind. There was a scratching on top of the cupboard and whispery voices. Mel ignored the slight chill that drifted down his spine. Up to that moment, he'd been hoping secretly that Maria had provided a beacon for the rescue team to home in on while he slept, and that his guests had been picked up and taken home. But Miss Green was peering down at him over the edge of the cupboard. "Hi, salamander!" he greeted her politely. "Had a busy night? Too bad it didn't work." Her head withdrew. In the living room Mel stopped to look at the design of sand and pebbles, which was still on the table. Touching one of the threadlike lines, he discovered it was as hard and slick as lacquer. Otherwise the pattern seemed unremarkable in daylight, but Mel dropped a cloth across it to keep it out of sight. Miss Green fluttered past him to the sill of the bedroom window. He watched her standing on tiptoe against the screen, apparently peering about at the sky. After a while, it began to seem ridiculous to let himself become obsessed by superstitious fears about this tiny and beautiful, almost jewellike creature. Whatever abilities she might have, she and the princess were only trying to get home--and, having seen their home, he couldn't blame them for that.