It took Hanlon a long time to go to sleep... nor had he found the answers to his puzzle when he finally did drop off.
When George Hanlon appeared in Ino Yandor's office just before midday, the dapper impresario ushered his visitor into an inner room and closed the door.
"I think Ondo has left town—or died. For I have heard nothing more of him, nor have any of my men. You were right about a killing that could be traced to me being bad for my carefully-built reputation. Well now, about your working for me. You said you knew something about the entertainment business. What can you do?"
"Well, I can't sing or posture, and I'm not much good at acrobatics. I can whistle a little, and...."
"'Blow'? What is that?" Yandor used his definition of the word Hanlon had translated as meaning "whistle."
Oh, oh. Hanlon knew he had blundered. In an effort to cover up he said, "This," and puckered up his lips and whistled a few discordant notes, concealing the fact that he was an excellent whistler, and could do perfectly dozens of bird-call imitations.
"No, I'm afraid that is nothing our people would care for."
"Then how about an animal act?"
This was the crucial point. Hanlon had given a lot of thought to this, and had worked out the idea he thought might apply here. It certainly would go big back on Terra, he knew, but he was not yet conversant enough with Estrellan theatrical acts—even though he had gone to the theatre several times to study them—to know if these strange people would like it or not. But he had to get in the good graces of Yandor.