Stranger in a Strange Land

traffic lane and hovered. Where could she go? Where in all this swarming city could she hide a grown man who was half idiot and could not even dress himself?-a man who was the most sought-after person on the globe? Oh, if Ben were only here! Ben - - - where are you?
                She reached forward again, picked up the phone and rather hopelessly punched Ben's number, expecting to hear the detached voice of an automation inviting her to record a message. Her spirits jumped when a man's voice answered . - . then slumped again when she realized that it was not Ben but his majordomo, Osbert Kilgallen. "Oh. Sorry, Mr. Kilgallen. This is Jill Boardman. I thought I had called Mr. Caxton's home."
                "You did. But I always have his home calls relayed to the office when he is away more than twenty-four hours."
                "Then he is still away?"
                "I'm afraid so. Is there anything I can do for you?"
                "Uh, no. Look, Mr. Kilgallen, isn't it strange that Ben should just drop out of sight? Aren't you worried about him?"
                "Eh? Why should I be? His message said that he did not know how long he would be away."
                "Isn't that rather odd in itself?"
                "Not in Mr. Caxton's work, Miss Boardman."
                "Well ... I think there is something very odd about his being away this time! I think you ought to report it. You ought to spread it over every news service in the country-in the world!"
                Even though the cab's phone had no vision circuit Jill felt Osbert Kilgallen draw himself up. "I'm afraid, Miss Boardman, that I will have to interpret my employer's instructions myself. Uh - - . if you don't mind my saying so, there is always some . . 'good friend' phoning Mr. Caxton frantically every time he leaves town."
                Some babe trying to get a hammer lock on him, Jill interpreted angrily-and this Osbert character thinks I'm the current one. It put out of her mind the half-formed thought of asking Kilgallen for help; she switched off as quickly as possible.
                But where could she go? The obvious solution popped into her mind. If Ben was missing-and the authorities had a hand in it-the last place they would be likely to look for Valentine Smith would be Ben's apartment. Unless, she corrected, they connected her with Ben, which she did not think that they did.
                They could dig a bite to eat out of Ben's buttery-she wouldn't risk ordering anything from the basement; they might know he was away. And she could borrow some of Ben's clothes for her idiot child. The last point settled it; she set the combination for Ben's apartment house. The cab picked out the new lane and dropped into it.
                Once outside the door to Ben's fiat Jill put her face to the hush box by the door and said emphatically, "Karthago delenda est!"
                Nothing happened. Oh damn him! she said frantically to herself; he's changed the combo. She stood there for a moment, knees weak, and kept her face away from Smith. Then she again spoke into the hush box. It was a Raytheon lock, the same voice circuit actuated the door or announced callers. She announced herself on the forlorn chance that Ben might have returned. "Ben, this is Jill."
                The door slid open.
                They went inside and the door closed. Jill thought for an instant that Ben had let them in, then she realized that she had accidentally hit on his new door combination . . . intended, she guessed, as a gracious compliment combined with a wolf tactic. She felt that she could have dispensed with the compliment to have avoided the awful panic she had felt when the door had refused to open.
                Smith stood quietly at the edge of the thick green lawn and looked at the room. It again was a place so new to him as not to be grokked at once, but he felt immediately pleased with it. It was less exciting than the moving place they had just been in, but in many ways more suited for enfolding together the self. He looked with interest at the view window at one end but did not recognize it as a window, mistaking it for a living picture like those he had been used to at home-the suite he had been in at Bethesda contained no windows, it being in one of the newer wings, and thus far he had