Wes Farrell nodded. "Probably re-arranged some of the molecular patterns in the recording," he said. Joe put both bottles in the duplicator and turned the switch. They disappeared in seconds, and then Joe took another recording and made a bottle of a different brand. Again Walt tasted gingerly, smiled hugely, and took a full swallow. "Whew," he said. "That was almost enough to make a man give up liquor entirely." "And now," said Don Channing, "let us in on your big secret--or was this just a ruse to get us in this gilded bistro?" Walt nodded. He led them to the back of the bar and into the back room. "Refrigerator," he said. Arden took his arm with affected sympathy. "I know it's big enough but--" Walt swung the huge door open and stepped in. "I didn't really mean--" continued Arden, but her voice died off, trailing away into silence as Walt, motioning them to come in, also put his finger on his lips. "Are you going to beef?" demanded Channing. "No, you big ham," snorted Walt. "Just listen!" Wes blinked and slammed the door shut behind them. And then in the deep silence caused when the heavy door shut off the incident sounds from Joe's restaurant and bar, there came a faint, high-pitched hum. Don turned to Arden. "That it?" he asked. "You've got better pitch-sense than I have." "Sounds like it," admitted Arden. "Cold in here," said Wes. He swung open the door and they returned to the bar for their drink. "We can establish its identity easily enough," he told them. He finished the drink, and turned from the bar. "Walt, you bring the pick-up and amplifier; Don, you carry the audio generator, and I'll bring up the rear with the rest of the gadget." They left, and Joe threw his hands out in a gesture of complete helplessness. "Trouble?" asked Arden cheerfully. "I didn't mind when they used the tablecloths to draw on," he said. "I didn't really object when they took the tablecloths and made Warren use 'em as engineering sketches to make things from. But now, dammit, it looks like they're going to move into my refrigerator and for God knows what! I give up!" "Joe," said Arden sympathetically, "have one on me." "Don't mind if I do," chuckled Joe laconically. "If I'm to be shoved out of mine own bailiwick, I might as well enjoy these last few days." He was finishing the drink as the technical section of Venus Equilateral returned, laden with equipment. Arden shrugged. "Here we go again," she said. "Once more I am a gadget widow. What do you recommend, Joe? Knitting--or shall I become a dipsomaniac?" Joe grinned. "Why not present Don with a son and heir?" Arden finished her glass in one draught, and a horrified expression came over her face. "One like Don is all I can stand," she said in a scared voice. Then she smiled. "It's the glimmering of an idea, though," she added with brightening face. "It stands a fifty-fifty chance that it might turn out to be a girl--which would scare Don to death, having to live with two like me."