already-made notes.
He was back to work drawing in a large ring of symbols of the things named and others. It was hard to follow the symbols and labelling because he was writing very small and very fast.
He asked her to get him another half a dozen books and he spun through them quickly.
Shifting ink color to red, he drew a dwindling spiral from the outside to the inside center of his plot. He stopped and gave a short laugh.
She was sitting beside him again. "It's very pretty."
"And it's absurd," said Heller in a low voice. "When you add up all the interlocking points given in just these available books, it says the planet DOES have an emperor, that the emperor has two planetary command posts and TOTAL planetary control. I'm wasting my time."
"Where are the command posts and WHO is the emperor?" said the Countess Krak.
"I know a nice place to have lunch," said Heller.
"No, no, Jettero. Except for certain females, I have never seen you do an absurd thing ever. You are always right on. Tell me."
"You'll laugh. The planet doesn't have an emperor and its royal palaces are actually just tourist attractions. But I'll finish it anyway, if you like."
Under "command posts" he wrote in the center of the plot OCTOPUS OIL COMPANY BUILDING and POKANTICKLE ESTATE, HAIRYTOWN, NEW YORK.
In the center of the plot, in red, he printed, EMPEROR: DELBERT JOHN ROCKECENTER.
He laughed again and spun the big sheet with its geometric symbols and names to the Countess Krak. "Here. You can use it to teach the cat to run in circles. Now let's go have some lunch."
She looked at it. She carefully folded it up and put it in her shoulder purse.
She began to help him pile the book tonnage back on the counters.
My hair was standing straight up!
Heller was dead right!
And even though he discounted it, I could see from the careful way she had folded it and preserved it that SHE KNEW IT!
She seemed very preoccupied as they went down the broad steps of the huge Grecian-design library building.
They jogged north on Fifth Avenue, dodging adroitly through the lunch hour crowds. They came to 53rd Street, crossed and went a short distance west. I carefully spotted place after place where a sniper's bullet could have hit the Countess in the back. And now she was simply standing still, staring at two revolving doors. An easy target!
"The Museum of Modern Art?" she said. "I thought you were taking me to lunch. Are we going to eat paintings?"
He laughed and pushed her through the revolving doors and was beside her again in the entrance lobby. He paid four dollars for two tickets and walked her through the main hall. Glass and marble were everywhere, and invitations to go this way and that to special exhibitions, but he steered her right on through the main hall and out a door and they were in a huge garden. Amongst the trees could be seen numerous odd-shaped sculptures, but he was guiding her along a terrace. He turned and edged her through a door. A cafeteria.
He gave her a tray and knives and forks and they went on down the line. The cases full of attractive food were all a mystery to her. She wound up with five different salads, several sweet rolls, hot chocolate and three different kinds of ice cream. His was not much more sensible than hers.
Heller pointed the way and they went back outside and sat down at a table. The noonday spring sun was
flickering down through the budding leaves of trees. A nearby fountain tinkled. Spread before them was the garden.
"Nice," said the Countess Krak. And then she began, experimentally, to eat. She had mastered forks but regarded them with some caution.
Heller was an old hand by now. He chomped away and then at last sat back. His eyes were on the garden but he wasn't looking at Rodin or Renoir.
Suddenly he started chuckling. "Crown Prince Junior," he said. He laughed again and then said it again.
The Countess Krak was still working on the ice cream, but she said, "What are you going on about?"
He said,
He was back to work drawing in a large ring of symbols of the things named and others. It was hard to follow the symbols and labelling because he was writing very small and very fast.
He asked her to get him another half a dozen books and he spun through them quickly.
Shifting ink color to red, he drew a dwindling spiral from the outside to the inside center of his plot. He stopped and gave a short laugh.
She was sitting beside him again. "It's very pretty."
"And it's absurd," said Heller in a low voice. "When you add up all the interlocking points given in just these available books, it says the planet DOES have an emperor, that the emperor has two planetary command posts and TOTAL planetary control. I'm wasting my time."
"Where are the command posts and WHO is the emperor?" said the Countess Krak.
"I know a nice place to have lunch," said Heller.
"No, no, Jettero. Except for certain females, I have never seen you do an absurd thing ever. You are always right on. Tell me."
"You'll laugh. The planet doesn't have an emperor and its royal palaces are actually just tourist attractions. But I'll finish it anyway, if you like."
Under "command posts" he wrote in the center of the plot OCTOPUS OIL COMPANY BUILDING and POKANTICKLE ESTATE, HAIRYTOWN, NEW YORK.
In the center of the plot, in red, he printed, EMPEROR: DELBERT JOHN ROCKECENTER.
He laughed again and spun the big sheet with its geometric symbols and names to the Countess Krak. "Here. You can use it to teach the cat to run in circles. Now let's go have some lunch."
She looked at it. She carefully folded it up and put it in her shoulder purse.
She began to help him pile the book tonnage back on the counters.
My hair was standing straight up!
Heller was dead right!
And even though he discounted it, I could see from the careful way she had folded it and preserved it that SHE KNEW IT!
She seemed very preoccupied as they went down the broad steps of the huge Grecian-design library building.
They jogged north on Fifth Avenue, dodging adroitly through the lunch hour crowds. They came to 53rd Street, crossed and went a short distance west. I carefully spotted place after place where a sniper's bullet could have hit the Countess in the back. And now she was simply standing still, staring at two revolving doors. An easy target!
"The Museum of Modern Art?" she said. "I thought you were taking me to lunch. Are we going to eat paintings?"
He laughed and pushed her through the revolving doors and was beside her again in the entrance lobby. He paid four dollars for two tickets and walked her through the main hall. Glass and marble were everywhere, and invitations to go this way and that to special exhibitions, but he steered her right on through the main hall and out a door and they were in a huge garden. Amongst the trees could be seen numerous odd-shaped sculptures, but he was guiding her along a terrace. He turned and edged her through a door. A cafeteria.
He gave her a tray and knives and forks and they went on down the line. The cases full of attractive food were all a mystery to her. She wound up with five different salads, several sweet rolls, hot chocolate and three different kinds of ice cream. His was not much more sensible than hers.
Heller pointed the way and they went back outside and sat down at a table. The noonday spring sun was
flickering down through the budding leaves of trees. A nearby fountain tinkled. Spread before them was the garden.
"Nice," said the Countess Krak. And then she began, experimentally, to eat. She had mastered forks but regarded them with some caution.
Heller was an old hand by now. He chomped away and then at last sat back. His eyes were on the garden but he wasn't looking at Rodin or Renoir.
Suddenly he started chuckling. "Crown Prince Junior," he said. He laughed again and then said it again.
The Countess Krak was still working on the ice cream, but she said, "What are you going on about?"
He said,
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