dangerous."
"Maybe," speculated Clark, almost hopefully, "Benton will close our case for us."
Adams smiled thinly. "Somehow I think Ash may have spent the afternoon thinking up a dirty deal for our Mr. Benton."
Anderson had fished the pipe out of his pocket, was loading it from his pouch. Clark was fumbling for a cigarette.
Adams looked at Shulcross. "You have something, Mr. Shulcross."
The language expert nodded. "But it's not too exciting. We opened Sutton's case and we found a manuscript. We photostated it and replaced it exactly as it was. But so far it hasn't done us any good. We can't read a word of it."
"Codes," said Blackburn.
Shulcross shook his head. "If it were code our robots would have cracked it. In an hour or two. But it's not a code. It's language. And until you get a key a language can't be cracked."
"You've checked, of course."
Shulcross smiled glumly. "Back to the old Earth languages…back to Babylon and Crete. We cross-checked every lingo in the galaxy. None of them came close."
"Language," said Blackburn. "A new language. That means Sutton found something."
"Sutton would," said Adams. "He's the best agent that I have."
Anderson stirred restlessly in his chair. "You like Sutton?" he asked. "Like him personally?"
"I do," said Adams.
"Adams," said Anderson, "I've been wondering. It's a thing that struck me funny from the first."
"Yes, what is it?"
"You knew Sutton was coming back. Knew almost to the minute when he would arrive. And you set a mousetrap for him. How come?"
"Just a hunch," said Adams.
For a long moment all four of them sat looking at him. Then they saw he meant to say no more. They rose to leave the room.
XI
A CROSS THE ROOM a woman's laughter floated, sharp-edged with excitement.
The lights changed from the dusk-blue of April to the purple-gray of madness and the room was another world that floated in a hush that was not exactly silence. Perfume came down a breeze that touched the cheek with ice…perfume that called to mind black orchids in an outland of breathless terror.
The floor swayed beneath Sutton's feet and he felt Eva's small fist digging hard into his arm.
The Zag spoke to them and his words were dead and hollow sounds dripping from a mummied husk.
"What is it that you wish? Here you live the lives you yearn for…find any escape that you may seek…possess the things you dream of."
"There is a stream," said Sutton. "A little creek that ran…"
The light changed to green, a faerie green that glowed with soft, quiet life, exuberant, springtime life and the hint of things to come, and there were trees, trees that were fringed and haloed with the glistening, sun-kissed green of the first bursting buds.
Sutton wiggled his toes and knew the grass beneath them, the first tender grass of spring, and smelled the hepaticas and bloodroot that had almost no smell at all…and the stronger scent of sweet Williams blooming on the hill across the creek.
He told himself, "It's too early for sweet Williams to be in bloom."
The creek gurgled at him, as it ran across the shingle down into the Big Hole and he hurried forward across the meadow grass, cane pole tight-clutched in one hand, the can of worms in the other.
A bluebird flashed through the trees that climbed the bluff across the meadow and a robin sang high in the top of the mighty elm that grew above the Big Hole.
Sutton found the worn place in the bank, like a chair with the elm's trunk serving as a back, and he sat down in it and leaned forward to peer into the water. The current ran strong and dark and deep, swirling in to hug the higher bank, gurgling and sucking with a strength that set up tiny whirlpools.
Sutton drew in his breath and held it with pent-up anticipation. With shaking hands he found the biggest worm and pulled it from the can, baited up the hook.
Breathlessly, he dropped the hook into the water, canted the pole in front of him for easy handling. The bobber drifted down the swirling slide
"Maybe," speculated Clark, almost hopefully, "Benton will close our case for us."
Adams smiled thinly. "Somehow I think Ash may have spent the afternoon thinking up a dirty deal for our Mr. Benton."
Anderson had fished the pipe out of his pocket, was loading it from his pouch. Clark was fumbling for a cigarette.
Adams looked at Shulcross. "You have something, Mr. Shulcross."
The language expert nodded. "But it's not too exciting. We opened Sutton's case and we found a manuscript. We photostated it and replaced it exactly as it was. But so far it hasn't done us any good. We can't read a word of it."
"Codes," said Blackburn.
Shulcross shook his head. "If it were code our robots would have cracked it. In an hour or two. But it's not a code. It's language. And until you get a key a language can't be cracked."
"You've checked, of course."
Shulcross smiled glumly. "Back to the old Earth languages…back to Babylon and Crete. We cross-checked every lingo in the galaxy. None of them came close."
"Language," said Blackburn. "A new language. That means Sutton found something."
"Sutton would," said Adams. "He's the best agent that I have."
Anderson stirred restlessly in his chair. "You like Sutton?" he asked. "Like him personally?"
"I do," said Adams.
"Adams," said Anderson, "I've been wondering. It's a thing that struck me funny from the first."
"Yes, what is it?"
"You knew Sutton was coming back. Knew almost to the minute when he would arrive. And you set a mousetrap for him. How come?"
"Just a hunch," said Adams.
For a long moment all four of them sat looking at him. Then they saw he meant to say no more. They rose to leave the room.
XI
A CROSS THE ROOM a woman's laughter floated, sharp-edged with excitement.
The lights changed from the dusk-blue of April to the purple-gray of madness and the room was another world that floated in a hush that was not exactly silence. Perfume came down a breeze that touched the cheek with ice…perfume that called to mind black orchids in an outland of breathless terror.
The floor swayed beneath Sutton's feet and he felt Eva's small fist digging hard into his arm.
The Zag spoke to them and his words were dead and hollow sounds dripping from a mummied husk.
"What is it that you wish? Here you live the lives you yearn for…find any escape that you may seek…possess the things you dream of."
"There is a stream," said Sutton. "A little creek that ran…"
The light changed to green, a faerie green that glowed with soft, quiet life, exuberant, springtime life and the hint of things to come, and there were trees, trees that were fringed and haloed with the glistening, sun-kissed green of the first bursting buds.
Sutton wiggled his toes and knew the grass beneath them, the first tender grass of spring, and smelled the hepaticas and bloodroot that had almost no smell at all…and the stronger scent of sweet Williams blooming on the hill across the creek.
He told himself, "It's too early for sweet Williams to be in bloom."
The creek gurgled at him, as it ran across the shingle down into the Big Hole and he hurried forward across the meadow grass, cane pole tight-clutched in one hand, the can of worms in the other.
A bluebird flashed through the trees that climbed the bluff across the meadow and a robin sang high in the top of the mighty elm that grew above the Big Hole.
Sutton found the worn place in the bank, like a chair with the elm's trunk serving as a back, and he sat down in it and leaned forward to peer into the water. The current ran strong and dark and deep, swirling in to hug the higher bank, gurgling and sucking with a strength that set up tiny whirlpools.
Sutton drew in his breath and held it with pent-up anticipation. With shaking hands he found the biggest worm and pulled it from the can, baited up the hook.
Breathlessly, he dropped the hook into the water, canted the pole in front of him for easy handling. The bobber drifted down the swirling slide
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