The sloping canvas top of Rowley's tent bulked dimly in the starlight. Spliid laid a heavy hand on Rowley's arm. "I've been thinking, Cliff. There was never a body in that grave." Rowley started. "Never was?" "Don't ask me. It's your idea, with talk of stage plays and phoney accidents. You made me feel it. I come down to find out. You've been the victim of something ... I don't know what. Are you comforted?" "No. If only we had more time!" "We've got a few days," Spliid reassured him. "You've got a good idea in that stage play simile. But the actors aren't very good, and the directing is abominable. It takes a lot of rehearsal to make a good play, Cliff." For a long time after the pilot boat drifted down from the upper air and whispered away toward the stars with Commander Spliid, Rowley stood brooding, looking down into the pool of shadows hiding the village. Stage play. Actors. What happens to the scenery when the audience goes home? Rowley shrugged and went to bed. * * * * * In the morning, Rowley stirred together an unpalatable breakfast, then went down into the village. The natives were already stirring. Children ran in the grassy streets. The solid stone of the houses gleamed white and gray, streaked and spotted with brown, crumbling at the corners. The thatched roofs were ochre, glistening blue-grey with dew. Painted scenery? The slender, racing children--hired extras? And Tsu--the leading lady? He felt miserable about disturbing Tsu and Smarin today. It was intrusion on their period of mourning. Did they mourn on Hume? There was nothing of mournful bereavement about the little stone house, gay in the sunshine, with its clustering border of purple, rose and yellow flowers. The inside was dark-brown dim, but he caught a glimpse of movement. He stepped to the door, leaned with his hand on the jamb, waiting to be noticed. "_Sintaha_ Rowley! Good morning. Here is Tsu." Rowley dug his nails into the door post. Tsu came out skipping, but he was unaware of her. Torl ... Torl who was dead yesterday ... smiled at him and retreated into the interior. Tsu took his hand, brushing against him with her usual easy familiarity. He realized that his fingers trembled in her grip. He said, hoarsely, "That was Torl ... in there!" Tsu laughed up into his face, long eyes bright. "Why not? It is Torl's house, too!" "But ... but ... yesterday...." He couldn't bring himself to say that yesterday Torl had died and he had seen her buried. Tsu seemed to divine the thought in his mind. "Yesterday was yesterday, _sintaha_ Rowley. Yesterday, Torl died, and you saw how it was. We hope you could make a good report of it." He was silent as they walked. He stole occasional glances at her, wondering. Somehow, the death and resurrection of Torl provided a key. His brain was swamped with conjecture. * * * * *