`Okay. What do you propose?’
`I’d say that Sance and I had better slide over to England and find out just how tight they have the “Flower of Forgetfulness” nailed down – and who does the nailing and what his weaknesses are.’
Clare’s eyes travelled past her to Francis, who was looking blank in the fashion that indicated assent to his intimates. `Okay,’ agreed Clare, `it’s your baby. Taking a special?’
`No, we’ve got time to get the midnight out of New York. Bye-bye.’
`Bye. Call me tomorrow.’ –
When Grace screened the Chief the next day he took one look at her and exclaimed, `Good Grief, kid! What have you done to your hair?’
`We located the guy,’ she explained succinctly. `His weakness is blondes.’
`You’ve had your skin bleached, too.’
`Of course. How do you like it?’
`It’s stupendous – though I preferred you the way you were. But what does Sance think of it?’
`He doesn’t mind – it’s business. But to get down to cases, Chief, there isn’t much to report. This will have to be a lefthanded job. In the ordinary way, it would take an earthquake to get anything out of that tomb.’
`Don’t do anything that can’t be fixed!’
`You know me, Chief. I won’t get you in trouble. But it will be expensive.’
`Of course.’
`That’s all for now. I’ll screen tomorrow.’
She was a brunette again the next day. `What is this?’ asked Clare. `A masquerade?’
`I wasn’t the blonde he was weak for,’ she explained, `but I found the one he was interested in.’
`Did it work out?’
`I think it will. Sance is having a facsimile integrated now. With luck, we’ll see you tomorrow.’
They showed up the next day, apparently empty handed. `Well?’ said Clare, `well?’
`Seal the place up, Jay,’ suggested Francis. `Then we’ll talk.’ Clare flipped a switch controlling an interference shield which rendered his office somewhat more private than a coffin. `How about it?’ he demanded. `Did you get it?’
`Show it to him, Grace.’
Grace turned her back, fumbled at her clothing for a moment, then turned around and placed it gently on the Chief’s desk.
It was not that it was beautiful – it was beauty. Its subtle simple curve had no ornamentation, decoration would have sullied it. One spoke softly in its presence, for fear a sudden noise would shatter it.
Clare reached out to touch it, then thought better of it and drew his hand back. But he bent his head over it and stared down into it. It was strangely hard to focus – to allocate – the bottom of the bowl. It seemed as if his sight sank deeper and ever deeper into it, as if he were drowning in a pool of light.
He jerked up his head and blinked. `God,’ he whispered, `God – I didn’t know such things existed.’
He looked at Grace and looked away to Francis. Francis had tears in his eyes, or perhaps his own were blurred.
`Look, Chief,’ said Francis. `Look – couldn’t we just keep it and call the whole thing off?’
`There’s no use talking about it any longer,’ said Francis wearily. `We can’t keep it, Chief. I shouldn’t have suggested it and you shouldn’t have listened to me. Let’s screen O’Neil.’
`We might just wait another day before we do anything about it,’ Clare ventured. His eyes returned yet again to the `Flower of Forgetfulness’.
Grace shook her head. `No good. It will just be harder tomorrow. I know.’ She walked decisively over to the stereo and manipulated the controls.
O’Neil was annoyed at being disturbed and twice annoyed that they had used the emergency signal to call him to his disconnected screen.
`What is this?’ he demanded. `What do you mean by disturbing a private citizen when he has disconnected? Speak up
– and it had better be good, or, so help me, I’ll sue you!’
`We want you to do a little job of work for us, Doctor,’ Clare began evenly.
`What!’ O’Neil seemed almost too surprised to be angry. `Do you mean to stand there, sir, and tell me that you have invaded the privacy of my home to ask me to work for you?’