enter, following him. "He's going to sleep for a couple of hours,
yet."

The room was a sort of bedroom and dressing room, with a miniscule
toilet and shower beyond. Pelton was lying on his back, sleeping; his
face was pale, but he was breathing easily and regularly. Two of the
store policemen, a sergeant and a patrolman, were playing cards on the
little table, and the patrolman had a burp gun within reach.

"All right, sergeant," Claire said. "You and Gorman go out to the
office. Call me if anything comes up that needs my attention, in the
next few minutes."

The sergeant started to protest. Claire cut him off.

"There's no danger here. This Literate can be trusted; he's a friend
of Mr. Cardon's. Works at the brewery. It's all right."

The two rose and went out, leaving the door barely ajar. Prestonby and
Claire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast a
quick glance at the door and then were in each other's arms. Chester
Pelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments.

It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively at
her slumbering father.

"Ralph, what's it all about?" she asked. "I didn't even know that you
and Frank Cardon knew each other, let alone that he had any idea about
us."