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creeps. I’ve been questioned till I’m ready to vomit. Where did Hal get his information about this Caselius character? Why was I kept so long in the hospital over there? Why was Hal’s body cremated? Did I really see him dead… See him ?” she breathed. “I was on the floor of the car, strangling on my own blood, feeling the bullets smash into him as he shielded me…”
    She shivered, drew a long breath, then let her glance drop to the camera suspended from my shoulder, and spoke in a totally different tone of voice. “I certainly hope that little thing isn’t what you’re planning to work with when we get up to Kiruna.”
    I said, “That and three others like it.”
    “Dear God,” she said flatly, “I ask for an industrial photographer, and they send me a cowboy with a candid camera!”
    I looked at her for a moment, and grinned. “Don’t take it out on me just because you’ve been heckled by a bunch of morons. And don’t squawk about the pix until you’ve seen the proofs.”
    She said, still sharply, “I did get some money out of it, insurance and compensation and stuff, but Hal was kind of casual about paying his debts and I had to clean up after him. I want this story to be good enough so they’ll let me do another one. Frankly, Helm, I need the dough.”
    “Who doesn’t?” I said. “Have you got anything to wear besides those pants?”
    She glanced down. “What’s wrong with my pants?”
    I said, “I’d rather not say. But if you’ve got a dress around the place, I’ll buy you a dinner. Pick a restaurant that’s got some light, and bring a copy of your article. The one I read in New York I had to give back to the editor.”
    She hesitated, and looked me over from head to foot, and smiled faintly. “I’ve got a dress,” she said. “Have you got a dark suit, a white shirt, and a tie? They don’t go in for sports clothes much here in Stockholm.”
    “Sounds almost like dressing for a funeral,” I said. “Do I got to wear shoes, too, ma’am, or is it okay if I come barefoot?”
    She looked a little startled; then she laughed. When she laughed she was quite a good-looking girl, in spite of the pants and whacked-off hair.

6
    I brought her back to the hotel a little before ten, took her as far as the door of her room, and put the manuscript, which I was carrying, into her hands.
    “Well, I think we’ve got it pretty well worked out, at least for the first couple of days,” I said. “Now all we have to do is shoot it. Good night, Lou.”
    A hint of surprise showed in her eyes. She’d obviously been prepared to put up at least a token resistance to a token pass. For me not to test her defenses at all was disconcerting. Well, that was a good way to leave her: disconcerted.
    “The plane leaves at ten,” I said. “I’ve got some errands to run in the morning, so I’ll just meet you at the airport, if it’s all right with you.” I smiled down at her innocently from my six feet four. “I didn’t know I was going to have company on this jaunt or I’d have planned it differently. But I guess you can find your own way out there.”
    “I’ll manage,” she said, a little stiffly. “It’s perfectly all right. Don’t worry about me. Hal trained me well. I won’t be any trouble to you. I may even be some help, since I know the country and the people you’ll be dealing with. Good night, Matt.”
    I watched her unlock the door. She didn’t look bad at all. I’d been afraid, from the outfit in which she’d greeted me, that she’d turn out to be one of the dirndl girls—at least that was what those peasant costumes used to be called, I think. Maybe they’ve got a new name for them now: the ones that went with bare legs and thong sandals and artsy conversations.
    However, she’d surprised me by appearing in a simple, long-sleeved cocktail dress of thin wool jersey—if that’s the proper name for that clinging, knitted-looking material—dead black and quite plain except for