followers were amateurs, you could shake them off easily. If they were professionals, you might or might not evade them. If they were dedicated experts, your skin would radiate a set coded wave-lengths. You would be surrounded by flying spy cells, each no larger than a droplet of water, and when you tried to cut them off by ducking into subway cars, they would already have settled into your clothing.”
“Then there may be spy cells in this room right now!'
“I think not,” said Xantief. “During my own dealings I am often obliged to take precautions, and I have installed instruments which would warn me of such nuisances on the instant. More than likely, you are suffering from nervous fatigue and imagining a great deal.”
“I hope so.”
“Now then: as to my involvement with the Naturalist Society papers. It is a strange story in itself. By any chance, did you notice the shop next door?”
'I spoke with Alvina; she told me of your hours.”
“Twenty years ago she was approached by a gentleman named Adrian Moncurio, who wished to sell a holding of fourteen tanglets. Alvina called in experts who determined that the tanglets were not only authentic but highly important. Alvina was happy to sell them on a consignment basis. Moncurio, who seems to have been something of an adventurer, went off in search of new merchandise. After a time he returned, with twenty more tanglets. These, however, were declared counterfeit by the experts.
Moncurio tried to bluster but Alvina refused to sponsor them for sale. Moncurio snatched up his false tanglets, and departed Trieste, before the Tanglet Association was able to act.
“For a period nothing was heard of Moncurio, but during this time, posing as a half-demented aged junk dealer he was selling the counterfeits to inexperienced collectors, who thought they were taking advantage of the blundering old fool. Before the Tanglet Association could act, all twenty counterfeits had been sold and Moncurio was seen no more.”
“But what of the Naturalist Society documents?'
Xantief made a placid gesture. “When Moncurio first approached Alvina, he also wanted her to sell the Naturalist Society material. She referred him to me. I was interested only in the material concerning Count Raul, but Moncurio insisted on selling all or nothing. So I took the lot for a rather nominal figure, and passed them on to Count Raul for the same sum.”
“You found nothing to do with the planet Cadwal? No Charter, for instance? No grant, or deed, or title certificate?'
“There was nothing of that sort whatever.”
Wayness slumped back into the chair. After a moment she asked: “Did Moncurio mention the source of the papers? Were he had found them, who had sold them?'
Xantief shook his head. “Nothing definite, as I recall.”
“I wonder where he is now.”
“Moncurio? I have no idea. If he is on Earth, he is lying low.”
“If Alvina sent him money for the first fourteen tanglets, she must have an address where he could be reached.'
“Hm. If so, she did not notify the Association, but perhaps she felt that the information had come to her in confidence.' Xantief reflected a moment. “If you like, I will have a word with her. She might tell me but hesitate to tell you.”
“Oh please do!” Wayness jumped to her feet and spoke in a rush: “I'd like to tell you everything but mainly this: unless I succeed, Cadwal may be swarmed over and the Conservancy will be gone.”
“Aha,” said Xantief. “I am beginning to understand. I will call Alvina at once; like myself she keeps late hours.” He picked up the black and green scarf and tied it around Wayness' head. “Where are you staying?”
“At the Hotel Sirenuse.”
“Goodnight then. If I learn anything useful, I will instantly let you know.”
'Thank you very much.”
Xantief opened the door. Wayness stepped out into the Street. Xantief looked right and left. 'All seems quiet. As a rule the streets are safe this time of night, with all proper footpads snug in their beds.”
Wayness walked quickly up Via Malthus. At the corner she looked back to where Xantief still stood watching. She raised her hand and waved farewell, then turned into the Way of the Ten Pantologues.
The night seemed even darker than before. On the Ponte Orsini the woman in black no longer sang her soft song. The air carried a chill as well as the dank odors of Old Trieste.
Wayness set off along the street, her footsteps echoing crisply along the pavement. From behind a pair of clamped iron shutters came a mutter of low voices and an undertone of woeful sobbing. Wayness' footsteps faltered an instant, then hurried on past. She came to a place where shadows marked the entrance into a narrow alley descending toward the wharf. As Wayness went by, a man moved forward from the shadows: a tall person wearing dark clothes and a soft black hat. He seized Wayness around the shoulders and forced her into the alley. She opened her mouth to scream; he clasped a hand over her face. Wayness' knees went limp; he half-carried her, half- led her stumbling down the alley. She began to struggle and to bite; he said without emotion: “Stop, or I will hurt you.”
Wayness again let herself go limp; then she gave a frantic lurch and broke free; she had nowhere to go but down the alley, and she ran at full speed. To the side a door opened into a yard. She pushed through the door, slammed it shut behind her and shot the latch just as her pursuer thrust against it. The door rattled and creaked. He struck with his shoulder again; the door was a flimsy affair and would not hold him back. Wayness picked up an empty wine bottle from what appeared to be a potting table. The man crashed into the door it burst open and he came through. Wayness hit him over the head with the bottle; he staggered and fell. She pushed the potting table over on top of him and was away and up the alley as fast as she could run. She arrived at the Way and looked back; her assailant had not appeared.
Wayness moved onward at a trot toward the hotel, slowing to a fast walk the last thirty yards.
In the entrance Wayness paused to look back along the Way and to catch her breath. The full impact of the episode began to work on her. She realized that she had never been so frightened before, though at the time she had felt no particular emotion, save a furious exaltation when she had felt the glass bottle strike home. She shuddered to a complex mix of emotions. Wayness shivered again, this time from the chill. She went into the hotel, and approached the desk. The clerk smiled at her. “You are back in good time.' She glanced curiously at Wayness. 'Have you been running?”
“Yes, just a bit,” said Wayness, trying to bring her breathing under control. She looked over her shoulder. “Actually, I became frightened.”
“That is nonsense,” said the clerk. “There is nothing out there to be frightened about, especially when you are wearing the scarf properly.”
The scarf had slipped back from Wayness' head so that she was wearing it as a neckerchief. “Next time I'll be more careful,” said Wayness. She untied the scarf and returned it to the clerk. “Thank you very much.”
“It was nothing in particular. I was glad to help.'
Wayness went up to her room. She bolted the door and pulled the curtains across the windows. She settled into the armchair, and sat thinking about the episode in the alley. Had the attack been a random sexual assault, or had it been intended upon the life and limb of Wayness Tamm? There was no definite evidence in either direction, but her intuition seemed content to operate without the benefit of evidence. Or perhaps there had been evidence, at the subliminal level. The timbre of his voice had seemed familiar. And, unless she had imagined this, his person had extruded an almost imperceptible scent, mixed of fern, violet and perhaps a few off-world essences. He had felt young and strong.
Wayness did not care to think any more definitely, not at this time.
Five minutes passed. Wayness rose to her feet and started to undress for bed. The telephone tinkled. Wayness stared. Who could be calling her at this hour. Slowly she went to the telephone, and without activating the screen asked: “Who is it?”
“Alcide Xantief.'
Wayness sat down and turned on the screen. Xantief said: “I hope I am not disturbing you?”
'Of course not.”
“I spoke to Alvina. You made a good impression on her. I explained that any help she could give you would be
