"How do you do, Mr. Holliday?" Marlowe said, his voice higher than he would have liked it, while he shook the man's hand.
"I'm ... I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Secretary," Holliday replied. His eyes were darting past Marlowe's head.
"This is Mr. Bussard, of Emigration, and you know Mr. Mead, of course. Now, I think we can all sit down."
Mead's chair was next to Holliday's, and Bussard's was to one side of the desk, so that only Marlowe, unavoidably, blocked his complete view of the stretching tarmac.
"First of all, Mr. Holliday, I'd like to thank you for coming back. Please believe me when I say we would not have made such a request if it were not urgently necessary."
"It's all right," Holliday said in a low, apologetic voice. "I don't mind."
Marlowe winced, but he had to go on.
"Have you seen a news broadcast recently, Mr. Holliday?"
The man shook his head in embarrassment. "No, sir. I've been ... asleep most of the time."
"I understand, Mr. Holliday. I didn't really expect you had under the circumstances. The situation is this: