Chapter III

In spite of all the preparations by the Stewards Department, the dance was not a success. Everyone drank too much, tried too hard to be gay, but the shadow of the terror hung over the little floating world turning the celebrations tawdry.

Norman and Jennifer were seated at a table against the bulkhead. The orchestra was playing _My Man's Done Left For Outer Space_ while a Martian girl gyrated in a barbaric dance which stirred Norman's pulse and shocked him beyond measure.

"There he is," said Jennifer in a low excited voice. "There's Vermeer now."

The Venusian Export Lines man had just entered the saloon. Norman saw him glance casually about the hall, saunter across to the bar.

"Come on," said Jennifer. "Let's get started."

Norman gulped down a last drink of the brandy, rose from the table. Jennifer took his arm. He could feel her grip tighten. They passed out a side entrance, down a companionway to the deck where Vermeer's cabin was located. Before the door of 312 they paused.

"This is it," said Jennifer in a whisper.

Norman gingerly tried the door. "It's locked," he said with relief. "Let's get back to the dance."

"Here," said Jennifer fumbling in her purse. "Try this. It's a pass key."

He stared at the little sliver of metal in consternation. "Where did you get it?"

"I bribed the steward."

Norman took the key. The door opened easily. Vermeer's stateroom contained a bunk, desk, two chairs, and a dresser. A spot reading light threw a round beam from the overhead to the desk. A door on the right opened into the bath. There was a second door on the left, but it was closed.

He drew Jennifer inside, closed and locked the door.

"Look through the desk," he commanded. He went to the closed door, opened it, revealing a closet.

"Look," he said. "What's this?"

Jennifer glanced up from the desk. Norman had pulled out a single piece garment with shoes, gloves and helmet attached like a diver's suit. It was made of a very sheer translucent material resembling oiled silk. A zipper-like fastener ran up the back. The suit was pale green, even the eye pieces being the same color.

Jennifer shook her head. "I never saw anything like it before. It isn't heavy enough for a space suit. What do you suppose it could be?"

Norman shrugged, put it back on the rack. He went through the pockets of the remaining clothes, found exactly nothing. From the closet, he turned to the built-in dresser. Again his search was fruitless.

"Have you found anything, Jennifer?"

The girl shook her head. "Not a thing. Except papers from the Venusian Export Lines. He seems to be an accredited agent of theirs after all."

"Let's get out of here," said Norman uneasily.

Jennifer clutched his arm. "Listen!"

He heard the grate of a key in the lock. He and the girl looked at each other in consternation.

"Quick," said Norman, struck by an inspiration. He embraced Jennifer clumsily. "Put your arms around me! Hurry! Now kiss me!"

Bewildered but obedient, she held up her lips. Norman kissed her. He held it until a discreet cough behind them caused them to spring apart guiltily.

Mr. Vermeer was regarding them from the open door, his black eyes sardonic. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but you've got the wrong cabin."

"I know it," said Jennifer in confusion. "My stateroom's next door. Silly mistake, isn't it?"

"Sorry, Vermeer," apologized Norman hastily. "Come on, Jennifer." He led the girl into the corridor. Vermeer closed and locked the door after them.

Jennifer unlocked her cabin, said, "Come in."

Norman limply followed her inside, collapsed on a chair.

"You were wonderful," she cried. "I never would have thought of that. It explained everything, even our confusion."

He began to feel rather proud of himself. He glanced about the girl's room. It was similar to Vermeer's except that it was not so tidy. Gauzy white undergarments of finest spun microweb lay on the chairs. He recognized a tiny vial of Venusian perfume on the dresser surrounded by a litter of brushes, mirrors, combs. There was a picture of a tall elderly man in a uniform.

"That's papa," exclaimed Jennifer.

"I wish I knew what that suit was used for," said Norman thoughtfully. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"You know," said the girl seating herself on the edge of the bed, "you're not like most Earth men. You're not stodgy and patronizing. You're cute."

He felt ridiculously pleased. He was convinced that he'd never met a more intelligent, a more charming, a more beautiful girl than Jennifer Scott. He said, "I've had to revise all my opinions of Outlanders since I met you."

Jennifer laughed, jumped to her feet. Stooping over, she kissed him lightly. "That's for a very pretty compliment. Now let's get back to the dance before I lose all my maidenly modesty."