* * * * *
Gavin turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice. He saw a
tall man with a lean wolfish face. The man, in handsome black shorts,
was standing in the doorway to the outer office, one hand braced
against the frame. Just behind the man, peering wide-eyed over his
shoulder, was a girl.
"Don't allow us to disturb you," said the man and, waving his companion
inside, closed the door. He came stiffly, a little unsteadily, around
in front and seated himself in Trev's chair. He was drunk, Gavin
realized, drunk as a lord. The girl stood against the wall.
"Not at all, Captain Cabot," said Trev to the newcomer, in a faintly
sarcastic voice. "After all it's for your own protection." He patted
Gavin's chest, found a small flat dart-gun no larger than a deck of
cards. It was secured in a delicate spring clip--strapped beneath his
left arm.
"Lethal toy for a legitimate spaceman to be carting around," observed
the Martian. "Hand tailored, isn't it?"
When Gavin didn't reply, he added, "He's wearing a plastic dart-proof
vest too."