The snick of a key in the lock did not break through their preoccupation with one another, but the cynical voice of Dusty Britton came as the shock of a bucket of cold water: "Very pleasant scene," he drawled. "I hope I've interrupted something." Scyth and Barbara parted in a whirl. Scyth felt a sinking sensation in his middle as he realized that the facts were far too clear; that the sensible course was a hasty retreat, but the only path was barred by Dusty Britton. Barbara took the woman's course. "Don't you ever use the doorbell?" she asked icily. Dusty smiled sourly. "I always have," he said. "Up to now. But this time I want words with the gentleman in question instead of losing him out through the back door." "I think I should explain," said Scyth uncertainly. Dusty chuckled. "What sort of explanation do you think I'll accept?" he asked the Marandanian. "But I--" "Stow it, Scyth. You couldn't explain a thing and you know it." Barbara snorted angrily. "See here, Dusty, you can't come in here and start--" "I'm not starting anything. I'm just seeking a conference with Scyth." "How did you know?" asked the Marandanian uncertainly. "By being just smart enough to find a tomcat by knowing where the tomcat is likely to prowl." "Meaning?" demanded Barbara icily. Dusty ignored her. To Scyth he said, "I don't know beans about barytrine fields or generators, but I guessed that you'd set it up on earth somewhere, start it cooking, and wetnurse it until it came to a boil. That would leave you on Earth with time to kill. Since time hangs heavy, you'd probably look up one of the only two people you know. The more attractive one, Scyth. So I've been haunting the front door like a private eye." Barbara coughed. "You took that right out of The Space Patrol Fights The Overlords of Delgon." "So I've got good writers," grinned Dusty. "What do you intend to do?" asked Scyth nervously. Dusty faced Scyth. Dusty topped the Marandanian by perhaps an inch or two and covered him by a good twenty pounds. He guessed that if it came to roughhouse he would probably win. He poised himself on the balls of his feet, just in case. He had no way of guessing the speed or power of the wiry-looking Scyth Radnor and so he was taking no chances. "I became a professional bum because of you and your phanobands and your menslators and your barytrine fields," he said bluntly. "I was laughed out of everything I had. So now you're going to go with me and tell 'em all that I was right. We'll have the big domes out to take a look at your spacecraft, have 'em inspect your barytrine doodad, take a gander at whatever it is you call phanobands, and so on."