"But why here--in this plush joint?"
"Why not. It's open for business. Would you prefer a reeking skid row
dive?"
From anyone but Mr. Clifford, Lee thought, that would have been an
insult. "I'd be more at home there," he mumbled.
"The greatest spacial flight theorist who ever lived? I think not."
Clifford's voice was a trifle sharp and the _something_ stood out
again, holding back Lee's retort. At that moment the waiter arrived. He
poured the drinks and Mr. Clifford motioned. The waiter set the bottle
on the table and left.
Lee knocked off his drink. His belligerence returned. "If you're doing
this for laughs, that's okay. I've got it coming. If you want an
autograph--no soap. I couldn't hold a pencil."
Mr. Clifford picked up the bottle and poured a second drink for Lee. He
had not touched his own. "So you failed," he said, pensively.
"Yes, I failed."
"So have others."
Lee sneered. "You can pass it off with such beautiful casualness. Do
you realize eleven men were killed on that ship?"
"I know. And it seems to me they faced their destiny with a lot more
courage than you are facing yours."
"If I have to take a lecture with your liquor, I'd rather--"
"Certainly not. Have another."
Mr. Clifford poured and Lee had the grace to feel ashamed. "Look--I'm
done--washed up--I'm at the bottom. Why should you--?"
"On the bottom, yes. But sometimes people have to hit the bottom in
order to ascend to the top."
Lee tossed off the third scotch. "Well I've hit bottom, that's for
sure."
"You asked me why I brought you here, Mr. Hayden. That's the reason."
"_What's_ the reason?"
"To see if you've really hit bottom."
"You make it sound important," Lee sneered.
"Believe me, it is."
"To my enemies?"
"No, not them alone. To your friends also--to all mankind."
"What kind of guff you handing me?"
"It is also important to you."
"Nothing's important to me." Lee's head began swimming. And he
knew--without seeing it or being able to prove it--that Mr. Clifford
had drugged the last one. He eyed Mr. Clifford's throat and tried to
raise his hands. Impossible....
Mr. Clifford, a blurred figure spinning in a whirlpool said,
"Important, Mr. Hayden, because I think you are now ready to see the
man with the golden eyes."
"The ma-man--wha' silly nonsense--"
Lee Hayden passed out.
* * * * *
He awoke in softness. He opened his eyes and knew he was in bed. He
was also aware of three other things--a horrible taste in his mouth--a
splitting headache--and the fact he was not alone. He blinked and the
form beside the bed sharpened from a blur and turned into a beautiful
girl; a girl he felt he should know. Then he remembered. He had met her
the previous night in the Lotus Room. She had been introduced to him as
Daphne. She was still very beautiful; cool as a summer afternoon in the
woods.
Though he had on completely adequate pajamas, Lee felt naked and ducked
again behind his belligerence. "What the hell are you doing here?"
She regarded him with an almost childlike seriousness. "Mr. Clifford
thought you ought not to be alone when you awakened."
"Very thoughtful of him since he was the guy who put me under. How
long have you been here?"
"About two hours."
Filled with contempt for himself, Lee unconsciously used the device of
redirecting it on the first handy person. Daphne was handy. His mouth
twisted knowingly. "Sure you're not here for another reason?"
"What reason?"
"Trying to pick up a few bucks, maybe?"
The question in her eyes was obviously sincere, her look entirely
innocent, and he knew she was not that kind of a girl.
Her expression changed only in that the question vanished. The
innocence remained. Yet there was something about this last that caught
Lee's attention. He tried to define it. The innocence of knowledge
rather than that of ignorance? He wondered.
"If you want me to," Daphne said. "But no money would be required."
Stunned, Lee forgot his headache and slowly swung his feet to the
floor. He studied her, the analytical mind that had made him a great
scientist while still a young man now framing the questions.
"Why?"
"I do not need money."
"I mean why are you willing to--"
"Because Mr. Clifford asked that I serve you in any way I'm able."
"Why the rotten--!"
"Oh, no! Mr. Clifford is one of the Great Ones." There was reverence in
her voice.
"You must be a fool! Trusting a man who would ask you to do a thing
like that!"
"You're putting words in my mouth. Mr. Clifford did not mention
sleeping with you. He only asked that I render any service possible."
"And you don't think that was included?"
"Possibly it was."
"And you respect a man who would _let_ it be included?"
Daphne smiled, brilliantly, quietly. "Perhaps Mr. Clifford knew I would
not be asked to render any such service."
"How could any man know that?"
"I told you. Mr. Clifford is one--"
"I know--I know. One of the Great Ones. What's that? A lodge of some
kind?"