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Mitchell beside him.
    Roomer said: "Well, well, well."
    "Well, as you say, well, well, well. Crafty old devil."
    Marina's voice came from the back. "Crafty he may be, but—"
    She broke off in a gasp as Mitchell whirled hi his seat and Roomer switched on his interior lights. The barrel of MitchelFs .38 was lined up between her eyes, eyes at the moment wide with shock and fear.
    Mitchell said in a soft voice: "Don't ever do that to me again. Next time it may be too late."
    She licked her lips. She was normally as high-spirited and independent as she was beautiful, but it is a rather disconcerting thing to look down the muzzle of a pistol for the first time in your life. "I was just going to say that he may be crafty but he's neither old nor a devil. Will you please put that gun away? You don't point guns at people you love."
    MitchelTs gun disappeared. He said: "You shouldn't fall in love with crazy young fools."
    "Or spies." Roomer was looking at Melinda. "What are you two doing here?"
    Melinda was more composed than her sister. After all, she hadn't had to look down the barrel of a pistol. She said: "And you, John Roomer, are a crafty young devil. You're just stalling for time." Which was quite true.
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    "What's that supposed to mean?'*
    "It means you're thinking furiously of the answer to the same question we're about to ask you. What are you two doing here?"
    "That's none of your business." Roomer's normally soft-spoken voice was unaccustomedly and deliberately harsh.
    There was a silence from the back seat, both girls realizing that there was more to the men than they had thought, and the gap between their social and professional lives wider than they had thought.
    Mitchell sighed. "Let's cool it, John. An ungrateful child is sharper than a serpent's tooth."
    "Jesus!" Roomer shook his head. "You can say that again." He hadn't the faintest idea what Mitchell was talking about.
    Mitchell said: "Why don't you go to your father and ask him? I'm sure he'll tell you— along with the roughest chewing-out you've ever had for interfering in his private business." He got out, opened the rear door, waited until the sisters got out, closed the rear door, said 'Goodnight' and returned to his seat, leaving the girls standing uncertainly at the side of the road.
    Roomer drove off. He said: "Very masterful, though I didn't like our doing it. God knows, they meant no harm. In any case, it may stand us in good stead in the future."
    "It'll stand us in even better stead if we get
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    to the phone booth right around the corner as soon as we can."
    They reached the booth in fifteen seconds, and one minute later Mitchell emerged from it. As he took his seat Roomer said: "What was all that about?"
    "Sorry, private matter." Mitchell handed Roomer a piece of paper. Roomer switched on the overhead light. On the paper Mitchell had scrawled: "This car bugged?"
    Roomer said: "Okay by me." They drove home in sitence. Standing in his carport Roomer said: "What makes you think my car's bugged?"
    "Nothing. How far do you trust Bentley?"
    "You know how far. But he—or one of his men—wouldn't have had time."
    "Five seconds isn't a long time. That's all the tune it takes to attach a magnetic clamp."
    They searched the car, then MitchelTs. Both were clean. In Mitchell's kitchen Roomer said: "Your phone call?"
    'The old boy, of course. I got to him before the girls did. Told him what had happened and that he was to tell them he'd received threats against their lives, that he knew the source, that he didn't trust the local law and so had sent for us to deal with the matter. Caught on at once. Also to give them hell for interfering."
    Roomer said: "He'll convince them."
    "More importantly, did he convince you?'*
    "No. He thinks fast on his feet and lies even
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    faster. He wanted to find out how seriously he would be taken in the case of a real emergency. He now has the preliminary evidence that he is being taken