A light flashed on upstairs. A shapely, feminine silhouette passed across the curtains as Gwyn crossed the room, pulling on her housecoat. Morrow stepped close to the wall, tuned up his gravitor, and rose easily up to the window. He grabbed the sill to stop himself and peered in. The room was empty. The window was raised slightly. He pushed it up, scrambled in, and lowered it behind him. The room was small and neat, littered with feminine knick-knacks, and smelling more clean and polished than sweetly perfumed. He strode past the rumpled bed and sat down in the chair against the wall, out of sight from the doorway. His gravitor tank kept him well-forward on the edge of the chair. His suit remained ice-cold and snug in the room's warmth, which he felt seeping in through the vents in his helmet collar. He shuddered violently, then sucked the wonderfully warm air into his lungs. He gazed around, noting that his helmet gave everything in the room a bluish tint, but he was so accustomed to that he didn't mind it. Then he saw himself in the dressing-table mirror, across the room, and almost doubled over with silent laughter. What a strange creature he was, with a shimmering, bright skin and a huge, dark globe of a head! Gwyn would scream her lungs out! He reached up hastily, broke the clamps on his helmet and swung it back. Best to let her see his face, first, and recognize him-- A door opened out in the hallway. "Who is it, Gwyn?" Old man Davidson's voice had the mellowness of a concrete mixer. "Nobody, Dad!" Gwyn's voice came from downstairs, puzzled. Small feet stamped on the stairs. "It's awfully cold out for anyone to be playing pranks. When I opened the door, there was nobody out there!" "Well, go back to sleep, honey." "All right. 'Night, Dad." The door closed in the hallway. The small footsteps trod disconsolately toward Gwyn's door. Then she was swirling into the room, closing the door, and pulling the housecoat off over her blue, pink-flowered pajamas. When she saw him, she froze and sucked in her breath. "_Bill!_" It wasn't a loud exclamation, but a faint, weak cry. Morrow had his finger over his lips, motioning her to silence. Her face went blank; then she tugged her housecoat frantically back on and strode over to him. Her voice was a low, insistent murmur. "Bill, how did _you_ get in here? What _is_ this, anyway?" Her wide eyes were sweeping over him from head to foot, unbelievingly. "What on earth's _happened_?" "Sit down," Morrow said gently. "Keep your voice low. Can't let anyone know I'm here, Gwyn--and I need your help!" * * * * * Gwyn looked at him steadily for a long moment. Then she said, with a kind of silent protest, "All right, Bill. I'll get Dad's car out and go with you. Now--how are you going to get out of here?" "Same way I got in," he told her, quietly. "I'll meet you outside."