"We lie in each other's arms. We show affection for each other."
"You lie in the same bed together?"
"Yes. Of course."
"If you were married, what would you do?"
"I said--we would live together."
"Would you make love?"
"Yes."
"Would you lie in the same bed together?"
"Yes."
"Is there anything you would do if you were married that you don't do
now?"
"Of course. We would live together. We would be man and wife. It would
be--well, legal."
"It is not legal to make love and lie in the same bed together now?"
"No--well, yes--you see--"
He was joking, of course. Rhoda was sure of this. She wanted to explain
it all to him but he suddenly lost interest.
"Frank Corson knew nothing else about William Matson?"
"The man with two hearts?"
"Only that?"
"It was all he told me."
"I think he knows more. I want you to ask him. Then I will come and ask
you."
"I'll ask him if he knows anything more than what he told me."
"Ask him if he knows of any other men with two hearts. I want to know
where they are and what happened to them."
"I'll try to find out."
"You _must_ find out."
"Will you come back soon?"
"I will come back. You must do as I tell you."
"I will do as you tell me."
John Dennis had been sitting by the window so that Rhoda had to stare
into the light. He got up and approached her. She stood up and waited
for him, motionless. He came close and looked at her curiously. His eyes
went up and down her body. He laid a hand on her left breast and pressed
gently. She did not move.
"I will come back. You will not tell anyone I have been here or that we
talked." He left without saying good-bye.
After he was gone, Rhoda stood where she was, motionless, for several
minutes. Her mind was on the place he had touched her. She had never
before experienced such a reaction. Never before had a man's hand, even
on her bare flesh, produced such thrill and excitement. Desperately, her
common sense struggled with this new thing. She dismissed with annoyance
the callow, schoolgirl thought that this was the way love finally
came--in the door, unannounced, to take over a woman's heart and soul
and body. Ridiculous.
The intellectual Rhoda agreed, but the emotional Rhoda continued to toy
with the idea, finding it a fascination, a joy. But there was something
more than the intellectual and the emotional; a deeper, frightening
numbness; a strange paralysis of mind she could not come to grips with;
it kept eluding her even as she reached out for it.
Fear? She wondered.
But mainly she thought of John Dennis, the strange man who had walked in
her door and to whom she had surrendered without a struggle.
_My God. What happened to me? What happened to Rhoda Kane?_
Abruptly she dropped the thought--it did not seem important.
* * * * *
Senator Crane sat in the dining room of the Mayflower Hotel. His guest
was Matthew Porter, a mystery man, also, of the Brent Taber type, but a
little more clearly defined in that he had a title and a department of
government. But far more important to Crane, he outranked Taber.
One other point of importance: Matthew Porter was, in the terms even
Senator Crane used, "something of a fathead."
"Maybe I am a Senator," Crane said jovially, "and maybe we boys up there
think we have a hand in directing you fellows--still I'm flattered that
you could find time to lunch with me."
Porter had a thin, aristocratic face, delicate features. His expression
was usually benign, but there was steel behind it. He could scowl and
hurl righteous invective, for instance, when a policeman questioned his
right to park by a fireplug in spite of his official license plates.
But mainly he was a shy person who nursed his inferiority complex in
secret.
"That's very flattering, Senator. But the truth is quite the opposite.
It's we fellows who are honored to put ourselves at your beck and call.
After all, you're the ones the people elect to office."
The flattery boomeranged nicely and put Porter one up on Crane.
"The people must be served, of course," Crane said, "and that's one of
the things I want to talk to you about. The people's interests."
Matthew Porter cocked an alarmed eye as he bit into a roll. "Have their
interests been violated?"
Crane glanced around and lowered his voice. "There's been too much loose
talk going around about that project you've got Brent Taber on."
Porter laid the roll down very carefully, as though he feared it might
go off. "I'm not sure I know what you're referring to, Senator."
"Your reticence is quite understandable. That I bring it up at all must
shock you, but--" Crane hesitated, a touch of sadness brushing across
his face.
"But what, Senator?"
"You understand, certainly, that I hold the greatest respect for Brent
Taber. That's why I hesitated to come to you."
"It seems to me Halliday said something about calling Taber in.
It had to do with a mild reprimand over Taber's attitude on
legislative-executive relations."
"Halliday?" Senator Crane asked innocently. "He's another of the really
good men you picked for government service."
"I trust Halliday implicitly, but he's carrying a big load so I'm glad
you came directly to me, Senator. Exactly what is the trouble?"
"In plain words, there have been some bad leaks out of Taber's office.
There is in existence a taped recording of a meeting."
Porter was aghast. He tried to hide it, which made his greenish
expression all the more ludicrous--as though he'd swallowed a worm out
of his salad.
"Impossible."
"You'd think so, with all the top-secret precautions that have been
taken."
"How did you discover this?"
Crane held up a restraining hand. "I'd be happy to tell you if it would
serve any purpose, but believe me, it wouldn't. I would only tend to
eliminate a contact who is extremely loyal to me and--I might add--to
good government."
"I understand. But I certainly can't imagine what has happened to Taber.
I would have backed him with my last dime."
"I actually don't think it was Taber's fault. A man can't personally see
to every detail in his department."
"That's the responsibility of whoever is in charge."
Crane sighed. "Yes, I guess that's a cold, hard fact of life in this
time of danger. But don't be too hard on him. Perhaps there's an
explanation."
"He'll have his chance to explain," Porter said grimly.
"I'm sure you understand how it pains me to have to--well, put this
black mark on the record of a good man. I debated many hours and
searched my soul before I came to you. With a man's career at stake--"
"Men are expendable," Porter snapped. "The nation's safety is not."