“I’m not asking that. Put it this way: I have a piece of information I think will be of use to you, and certainly of interest at least. It has nothing to do with anything that’s happened at the Dome--or in connection with the Dome--except that the person it concerns happens to be there.” He stood up, walked to the window. He wasn’t sure enough of his ability to use his face. His voice he could play with skill; but usually people weren’t watching him when he talked. “Frankly,” he said to the window, “I’m telling you this because I believe you’ll feel, as I do, that making it public would do no particular good to anyone, and might do great damage to the person involved. It’s something that could come out easily in the official inquiry, but--” He had to turn back because this way _he_ couldn’t see the other man. “--Look, I assume you record conversations here?” Mac looked pleasantly neutral; made no reply. “So I know I’m putting myself on a limb when I say this. But I’m hoping that what I tell you will help you decide what questions to ask me tomorrow--or which ones _not_ to ask.” He laughed, a bit nervously and it took no effort to sound that way either. “I guess I better put it on record, after that, that I’m not asking for preferential treatment for myself or anyone else, but merely attempting to provide you with certain background extraneous information which I believe will help you to frame your questions in such a way as to protect innocent persons from unnecessary publicity. Does that cover me?” He tried the laugh again. “Beautifully. Ever think of going into the law?” McLafferty’s manner was warm, inviting. “Often. I’ll return the compliment. _You_ ever think about headshrinking?” There was no perceptible difference in the warmth or sincerity of the laugh. “As a matter of fact--often. From the other end of the couch.” This man was much more his own type, as a matter of fact, than Jed Harbridge was. But Jed’s type, too--Phil became aware of an unfamiliar sensation of grave respect. The bland-looking man across the desk had _both_ kinds of awareness. _Talk about dangerous men_.... “All right,” Phil said. “I’ve wasted enough time.” “Just one thing,” Mac broke in. “Yes?” “You understand I have made no pledges of silence or secrecy?” “I do.” “Okay. Shoot.” “What I wanted to tell you is simply that Lisa Trovi is pregnant.” It was heart warming to see it register. _Bland_, hey? About as bland, behind the meringue face, as baked hot peppers.... “Man, you don’t think I can--?” “About _six months_ pregnant,” Phil said. He waited for the meaning to sink in, and added, “Well, five and a half.” McLafferty smiled, but it was weak. “Wendt, I suppose?” Phil shrugged. “The lady won’t say.” He managed to make it quite lewd. Mac’s eyebrows shot up briefly. “Well,” said the congressman, “I see what you mean. I’m not sure--” _Busy brain whirring away_, thought Phil admiringly.