“Wait a moment, Mr. Hutschnecker,” she told the white-haired man in the blue and orange business suit with whom she had been talking, and laid the printed price-schedule down, advancing to meet him.
“Ralph!” she greeted him. “Frank Cardon told me you were coming. I—”
For a moment, he thought of the afternoon, over two years ago, when she had entered his office at the school, and he had recognized her as the older sister of young Ray Pelton.
“Professor Prestonby,” she had begun, accusingly, “you have been teaching my brother, Raymond Pelton, to read!”
He had been prepared for that; had known that sooner or later there would be some minor leak in the security screen around the classrooms on the top floor.
“My dear Miss Pelton,” he had protested pleasantly. “I think you’ve become overwrought over nothing. This pretense to Literacy is a phase most boys of Ray’s age pass through; they do it just as they play air-pirates or hijackers a few years earlier. The usual trick is to memorize something heard from a record disk, and then pretend to read it from print.”
“Don’t try to kid me, professor. I know that Ray can read. I can prove it.”
“And supposing he has learned a few words,” he had parried. “Can you be sure I taught him? And if so, what had you thought of doing about it? Are you going to expose me as a corrupter of youth?”
“Not unless I have to,” she had replied coolly. “I’m going to blackmail you, professor. I want you to teach me to read, too.”
Now, with this gang of her father’s Illiterate store officials present, a quick handclasp and a glance were all they could exchange.
“How is he, Claire?” he asked.
“Out of danger, for the present. There was a medic here, who left just before you arrived. He brought nitrocaine bulbs, and gave father something to make him sleep. He’s lying down, back in his rest room.” She led him to a door at the rear of the office and motioned him to enter, following him. “He’s going to sleep for a couple of hours, yet.”
The room was a sort of bedroom and dressing room, with a miniscule toilet and shower beyond. Pelton was lying on his back, sleeping; his face was pale, but he was breathing easily and regularly. Two of the store policemen, a sergeant and a patrolman, were playing cards on the little table, and the patrolman had a burp gun within reach.
“All right, sergeant,” Claire said. “You and Gorman go out to the office. Call me if anything comes up that needs my attention, in the next few minutes.”
The sergeant started to protest. Claire cut him off.
“There’s no danger here. This Literate can be trusted; he’s a friend of Mr. Cardon’s. Works at the brewery. It’s all right.”
The two rose and went out, leaving the door barely ajar. Prestonby and Claire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast a quick glance at the door and then were in each other’s arms. Chester Pelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments.
It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively at her slumbering father.
“Ralph, what’s it all about?” she asked. “I didn’t even know that you and Frank Cardon knew each other, let alone that he had any idea about us.”
Prestonby thought furiously, trying to find a safe path through the tangle of Claire Pelton’s conflicting loyalties, trying to find a path between his own loyalties and his love for her, wondering how much it would be safe to tell her.
“And Cardon’s gone completely cloak-and-dagger-happy,” she continued. “He’s talking about plots against my father’s life, and against me, and—”
“A lot of things are going on under cloaks, around here,” he told her. “And under Literate smocks, and under other kinds of costume. And a lot of daggers are out, too. You didn’t know Frank Cardon was a Literate, did you?”
Her eyes widened. “I thought I was Literate enough to spot Literacy in anybody else,” she said. “No, I never even suspected—”
Somebody rapped on the door. “Miss Pelton,” the sergeant’s voice called. “Visiphone call from Literates’ Hall.”
Prestonby smiled. “I’ll take it, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I’m acting-chief-Literate here, now, I suppose.”
She followed him as he went out into Pelton’s office. When he snapped on the screen, a young man in a white smock, with the Fraternities Executive Section badge, looked out of it. He gave a slight start when he saw Prestonby.
“Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby, acting voluntarily for Pelton’s Purchasers’ Paradise during emergency,” he said.
“Literate First Class Armandez, Executive Section,” the man in the screen replied. “This call is in connection with the recent attack of Chester Pelton upon Literate First Class Bayne.”
“Continue, understanding that we admit nothing,” Prestonby told him.
“An extemporary session of the Council has found Pelton guilty of assaulting Literate Bayne, and has fined him ten million dollars,” Armandez announced.
“We enter protest,” Prestonby replied automatically.
“Wait a moment, Literate. The Council has also awarded Pelton’s Purchasers’ Paradise damages to the extent of ten million dollars, for losses incurred by suspension of Literate service, and voted censure against Literate Bayne for ordering said suspension without consent of the Council. Furthermore, a new crew of Literates, with their novices, guards, et cetera, is being sent at once to your store. Obviously, neither the Fraternities, nor Pelton’s, nor the public, would be benefitted by returning Literate Bayne or any of his crew; he has been given another assignment.”
“Thank you. And when can we expect this new crew of Literates?” Prestonby asked.
The man in the screen consulted his watch. “Probably inside of an hour. We’ve
