* * * * *
At the door to his car Norman paused, said, "I don't even know your
name."
"Call me the Duchess," she laughed.
"I'm Saint Clair, Norman Saint Clair."
Norman got behind the wheel. The Duchess stimulated him. She was a
little earthy perhaps, but clever. He wondered uncomfortably just how
he would explain her to Jennifer, decided not to cross that bridge
until he got there.
At the Duchess's direction, he parked the car in an alley behind the
warehouse where the protective green suits were stored.
"This is it," said the girl.
Norman got out, surveyed the massive stone structure. The windows
were barred like a jail. On the roof he could make out the edges of
shrubbery.
"It looks like there's a roof garden up there," he commented.
"There is," replied the Duchess. "The quarters of the men who work for
the Venusian Export Lines are on the top floors of the warehouse."
Norman frowned. "There doesn't seem to be any way in here. What about
the front?"
"It's guarded night and day."
"What's that building?" He pointed to the structure adjacent to the
warehouse. The two roofs were almost on a level.
"It's a slave barracks. That's where the women who work in the
surrounding factories live."
"Do you think that we could slip to the roof without attracting too
much attention?"
All about them they could hear the hum of machinery, the pulsing life
of the factory district.
The Duchess shrugged her shoulders. "They work in shifts. The factories
never close down. This is as good a time as any."
He crossed to the slave barracks, tried the rear door. It was unlocked.
Cautiously, he pulled it open. A long hall like a hotel corridor with a
stair well at the far end stretched before him. The slave barracks were
not equipped with lifts. The hall was empty.
"Come on," he said, and slipped inside.
They reached the stairs, crept up to the second floor. Again the
corridor was empty and they continued their ascent. At the fourth
stage, however, Norman halted, his eyes on a level with the floor. Two
women were gossiping not a dozen feet away.
"Go on," hissed the Duchess desperately. "There's someone coming up the
steps behind us!"
Norman heard the clatter of footsteps below them. He hadn't time to
hesitate, but leaped up the steps three at a time.
"Eeeek!" a startled shriek escaped one of the women. "Wasn't that a
man, Cheryl?"
"Yes! Yes, it was," replied the one addressed as Cheryl, "with a girl
chasing him like mad, the hussy!"
"What would a man be doing in here?"
"Now what do you think a man would be doing in the female slave
barracks?"
The excited chatter of feminine tongues all wagging at once overtook
the pair as they raced upward. Norman's heart sank like a stone. The
way was closed behind them. Unexpectedly, he popped out on the roof,
paused to catch his breath.
"Go on!" panted the Duchess. "Go on, for heaven's sake! The party on
the stairs below us. I caught a glimpse of them. They were plant men!"
"Plant men!"
"Yes! Yes! They must have been inspecting the barracks. Hurry!"
Norman cast a glance at the exquisitely landscaped roof gardens atop
the warehouse next door. The gap appeared wider than it had from the
street. Furthermore, the top of the warehouse was much lower, a wall
surrounding the garden having given it the appearance of being the same
height as the slave barracks.
An ominous mutter like the sound of a disturbed hornet's nest ascended
the stair well. Norman cast caution to the wind, sprinted across the
flat roof, launched himself into space.
He cleared the top of the wall by inches, glanced downward. A man lay
sunning himself directly beneath. The man had on trunks. He lay on his
back and his dark sun glasses gave him a goggle-eyed appearance. He
started to yell and sit up.
* * * * *
Norman landed with both feet in the pit of the man's stomach. There was
an explosive _ooof_ as Norman sprawled forward on the roof. Then the
Duchess sailed over the wall, lit full on the sun-bather, tumbled head
over heels, arms and legs flying.
Norman got to his hands and knees, surveyed their victim in
consternation. The man was unconscious.
"I hope he's not dead."
"You better hope he is," said the Duchess, sitting up.
He felt the man's pulse. It throbbed feebly.
"What'll we do with him?"
"Toss him over the edge," suggested the girl.
"We can't do that!" protested Norman in horror. "We'll bring him along.
Maybe we can find some place to lock him up." He took hold of the man,
heaved, grunted, got him over his shoulder. "There's the elevator
house, beyond that rock garden," he panted, staggering toward it.
They reached the elevator. It was an automatic lift, he saw. The
indicator showed that the cage was on the floor below them. He was
about to press the button when the Duchess's eyes widened. The needle
on the indicator was slowly revolving around the dial.
"Someone's coming up," gasped Norman. Feverishly, he heaved the
unconscious man behind a bush. The Duchess dived around the corner of
the elevator house as Norman plucked a stone the size of his head from
the rock garden, crouched behind a dwarf fir beside the doors.
The doors slid back. A man in civilian clothes stepped onto the roof.
"Bauer," he called. "Hey, Bauer."
Norman hit him over the head with the stone. The man crumpled.
The Duchess peered around the edge of the elevator house, stepped out.
"You're getting quite a collection."
Norman looked worried. He hauled the sun-bather from behind the bush
and stacked both of them inside the elevator. "Come on."
The Duchess shrugged her shoulders, stepped into the elevator.
"Where are the suits?" he asked.
"Basement."
He pressed the button. The car shot downward.
"Did you kill this one?" asked the Duchess hopefully.