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seen with you the better.”
    â€œAs you wish.”
    As he straightened up from putting her shoes on, she took his head in both hands and kissed him. “Dear Ben! No good can come of this and I hadn’t realized you were a criminal—but you’re a good cook as long as I set the combination . . . I might marry you if I can trap you into proposing again.”
    â€œThe offer remains open.”
    â€œDo gangsters marry their molls? Or is it ‘frails’?” She left hurriedly.
    Â 
    Jill placed the bug easily. The patient in the room in the next corridor was bedfast; Jill often stopped to gossip. She stuck it against the wall over a closet shelf while chattering about how the maids just never dusted the shelves.
    Changing spools the next day was easy; the patient was asleep. She woke while Jill was perched on a chair; Jill diverted her with a spicy ward rumor.
    Jill sent the exposed wire by mail, as the postal system seemed safer than a cloak and dagger ruse. But her attempt to insert a third spool she muffed. She waited for the patient to be asleep but had just mounted the chair when the patient woke. “Oh! Hello, Miss Boardman.”
    Jill froze. “Hello, Mrs. Fritschlie,” she managed to answer. “Have a nice nap?”
    â€œFair,” the woman answered peevishly. “My back aches.”
    â€œI’ll rub it.”
    â€œDoesn’t help. Why are you always fiddling in my closet? Is something wrong?”
    Jill tried to reswallow her stomach. “Mice,” she answered.
    â€œ ‘Mice’? Oh I’ll have to have another room!”
    Jill tore the instrument loose and stuffed it into her pocket, jumped down. “Now, now, Mrs. Fritschlie—I was just looking to see if there were mouse holes. There aren’t.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œQuite sure. Now let’s rub the back. Easy over.”
    Jill decided to risk the empty room which was part of K-12, the suite of the Man from Mars. She got the pass key.
    Only to find the room unlocked and holding two more marines; the guard had been doubled. One looked around as she opened the door. “Looking for someone?”
    â€œNo. Don’t sit on the bed, boys,” she said crisply. “If you need chairs, we’ll send for them.” The guard got reluctantly up; she left, trying to conceal her trembling.
    The bug was still in her pocket when she went off duty; she decided to return it to Caxton. Once in the air and headed toward Ben’s apartment she breathed easier. She phoned him in flight.
    â€œCaxton speaking.”
    â€œJill, Ben. I want to see you.”
    He answered slowly, “I don’t think it’s smart.”
    â€œBen, I’ve got to. I’m on my way.”
    â€œWell, okay, if that’s how it’s got to be.”
    â€œSuch enthusiasm!”
    â€œNow look, hon, it isn’t that I—”
    â€œ ’Bye!” She switched off, calmed down and decided not to take it out on Ben—they were playing out of their league. At least she was—she should have left politics alone.
    She felt better when she snuggled into his arms. Ben was such a dear—maybe she should marry him. When she tried to speak he put a hand over her mouth, whispered, “Don’t talk. I may be wired.”
    She nodded, got out the recorder, handed it to him. His eyebrows went up but he made no comment. Instead he handed her a copy of the afternoon Post .
    â€œSeen the paper?” he said in a natural voice. “You might glance at it while I wash up.”
    â€œThanks.” As she took it he pointed to a column, then left, taking with him the recorder. The column was Ben’s own:
    THE CROW’S NEST
    by Ben Caxton
    Everyone knows that jails and hospitals have one thing in common: they can be very hard to get out of. In some ways a prisoner is less cut off than a patient; a prisoner can send for his lawyer, demand a Fair Witness,