A visible tremor ran through Veta Hall. Stumbling, face averted, she cowered against Ross. "Stewart ..." she whispered. "Please, Stewart, forgive me. Let me go with you. That's all I ask—" And then: "Hold me, Stewart. Just hold me."
Slowly, Ross brought his arms about her. His face was lined, his eyes somber.
After a moment, he said, "We've got to go, Veta. Now. Every minute's precious."
Instantly, the girl straightened. "Of course, Stewart." A smile, tremulous and uncertain. "Where—where are we going—?"
"We'll find out in a minute." Ross stepped over to the wall com-set and dialed a number. A moment later he said, "Mr. Lindgren, please." And then, after another pause: "Peter?—This is Stewart."
A longer pause, replete with sputtering sounds. When the sounds had died, Ross said, "I know I'm wanted, Peter. That's why I'm calling on you: I need help, badly. Otherwise I may not be able to wind up this business, get back that formula. And without the formula I'm in for a sure short-court."
More sputtering. More waiting.
Finally Ross said, "Either you want to help me or you don't, Peter. What I need is any information you can give me on an address: number III of side three, Triangle Square, Calor City, Mars."
Silence. Echoing eternities of silence.
At last Veta Hall whispered, "What makes you think those symbols represent that address?"