accusively. "If I tell you something, can you keep it under your hat until the thing's done with?"

"Sure I can."

He didn't look at her. "There's a rumor going around among the delegates," he said. "They say a bomb has been smuggled in. Nothing to it, of course, but—"

"The Saturnians?"

He shrugged savagely. "How would I know?"

"Something is going to happen," Camilla said. "I feel it."

"Nonsense. Anyway, I only care about the building. Diplomats are a dime a dozen."

This isn't like him, Camilla was thinking. He's always predicting calamities, but now—

"You could be killed here," he said, with no particular inflection. "But I don't suppose you could be talked into leaving if you knew the roof was coming down on your head?"

"What?" she laughed, "and have the city editor slit my throat?" But her heart leaped. It had sounded almost as though he were just a little concerned for her safety.

"I suppose you're right," he said after a moment. "Where were you intending to have lunch?"

"N-nowhere in particular," she said eagerly.

"Don't eat here," he advised her glumly. "The vendomats are sluggish. The heating coils are inadequate, and the selectors should have had cadmium breakers instead of the cheap stuff. I designed it that way, but you can't tell them anything. Well, I've got to be getting along. See you later."

Telug Three-seven-gee, lately of Venus, was not so frivolous as his brilliantly red comb made him appear. It arched his carapaced back and stood stiffly erect upon his bald pate, like the plumed helmet of ancient Greek warriors, quivering slightly as he endeavored to hear and annotate everything that was said. He was Amanuensis Extraordinary to his party, and his keen ears were highly trained.

He was the first to hear the ticking sound. It was not like the tick of a watch. Subtly different. It was, however, rather like something else he had heard once. But that could not be.

Could it?

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