"I have another appointment with you now," Ermine said at his elbow. * * * * * They reached the pedestrian level. Sollenar said: "There's a cafe. We can talk there." "Too public, Mr. Sollenar. Let's simply stroll and converse." Ermine lightly took his arm and guided him along the walkway. Sollenar noticed then that Ermine was costumed so cunningly that no one could have guessed the appearance of the man. "Very well," Sollenar said. "Of course." They walked together, casually. Ermine said: "Burr's driving you to your death. Is it because you tried to kill him earlier? Did you get his Martian secret?" Sollenar shook his head. "You didn't get it." Ermine sighed. "That's unfortunate. I'll have to take steps." "Under the By-Laws," Sollenar said, "I cry _laissez faire_." Ermine looked up, his eyes twinkling. "_Laissez faire?_ Mr. Sollenar, do you have any idea how many of our members are involved in your fortunes? _They_ will cry _laissez faire_, Mr. Sollenar, but clearly you persist in dragging them down with you. No, sir, Mr. Sollenar, my office now forwards an immediate recommendation to the Technical Advisory Committee of the IAB that Mr. Burr probably has a system superior to yours, and that stock in Sollenar, Incorporated, had best be disposed of." "There's a bench," Sollenar said. "Let's sit down." "As you wish." Ermine moved beside Sollenar to the bench, but remained standing. "What is it, Mr. Sollenar?" "I want your help. You advised me on what Burr had. It's still in his office building, somewhere. You have resources. We can get it." "_Laissez faire_, Mr. Sollenar. I visited you in an advisory capacity. I can do no more." "For a partnership in my affairs could you do more?" "Money?" Ermine tittered. "For me? Do you know the conditions of my employment?" * * * * * If he had thought, Sollenar would have remembered. He reached out tentatively. Ermine anticipated him. Ermine bared his left arm and sank his teeth into it. He displayed the arm. There was no quiver of pain in voice or stance. "It's not a legend, Mr. Sollenar. It's quite true. We of our office must spend a year, after the nerve surgery, learning to walk without the feel of our feet, to handle objects without crushing them or letting them slip, or damaging ourselves. Our mundane pleasures are auditory, olfactory, and visual. Easily gratified at little expense. Our dreams are totally interior, Mr. Sollenar. The operation is irreversible. What would you buy for me with your money?" "What would I buy for myself?" Sollenar's head sank down between his shoulders. Ermine bent over him. "Your despair is your own, Mr. Sollenar. I have official business with you."