In spite of all the preparations by the Stewards Department, the dance
was not a success. Everyone drank too much, tried too hard to be gay,
but the shadow of the terror hung over the little floating world
turning the celebrations tawdry.
Norman and Jennifer were seated at a table against the bulkhead. The
orchestra was playing _My Man's Done Left For Outer Space_ while a
Martian girl gyrated in a barbaric dance which stirred Norman's pulse
and shocked him beyond measure.
"There he is," said Jennifer in a low excited voice. "There's Vermeer
now."
The Venusian Export Lines man had just entered the saloon. Norman saw
him glance casually about the hall, saunter across to the bar.
"Come on," said Jennifer. "Let's get started."
Norman gulped down a last drink of the brandy, rose from the table.
Jennifer took his arm. He could feel her grip tighten. They passed out
a side entrance, down a companionway to the deck where Vermeer's cabin
was located. Before the door of 312 they paused.
"This is it," said Jennifer in a whisper.
Norman gingerly tried the door. "It's locked," he said with relief.
"Let's get back to the dance."
"Here," said Jennifer fumbling in her purse. "Try this. It's a pass
key."
He stared at the little sliver of metal in consternation. "Where did
you get it?"
"I bribed the steward."
Norman took the key. The door opened easily. Vermeer's stateroom
contained a bunk, desk, two chairs, and a dresser. A spot reading light
threw a round beam from the overhead to the desk. A door on the right
opened into the bath. There was a second door on the left, but it was
closed.
He drew Jennifer inside, closed and locked the door.
"Look through the desk," he commanded. He went to the closed door,
opened it, revealing a closet.
"Look," he said. "What's this?"
Jennifer glanced up from the desk. Norman had pulled out a single piece
garment with shoes, gloves and helmet attached like a diver's suit. It
was made of a very sheer translucent material resembling oiled silk. A
zipper-like fastener ran up the back. The suit was pale green, even the
eye pieces being the same color.
Jennifer shook her head. "I never saw anything like it before. It isn't
heavy enough for a space suit. What do you suppose it could be?"
Norman shrugged, put it back on the rack. He went through the pockets
of the remaining clothes, found exactly nothing. From the closet, he
turned to the built-in dresser. Again his search was fruitless.
"Have you found anything, Jennifer?"
The girl shook her head. "Not a thing. Except papers from the Venusian
Export Lines. He seems to be an accredited agent of theirs after all."
"Let's get out of here," said Norman uneasily.