Vannevan smiled grimly. "Where you couldn't find it. And you've tried long enough, haven't you? This planet has a lot of wild places. Which one is your ship hidden in?"
Holmer merely laughed.
"You'll tell, one of you," promised Vannevan. He spoke to the Irrian beside him. "The man, first. Take him upstairs. He'll talk more freely and readily if she can't hear him."
The other man pointed his weapon at Holmer. Holmer, without a look at Kara or Birrel, started up the old stairway in the hall, with the Irrian close behind him.
Vannevan followed them.
Birrel looked at Kara. Her face was a stony mask. He looked at the Irrian across the room. In the yellow light of the lamp, the man's face was wrong. It was wrong because it was just a dark, average face. It didn't belong to an enemy from the stars. But the cylinder in his hand pointed levelly at Birrel and the girl.
The dusty cuckoo-clock ticked toward midnight. Strange, that it was running, Birrel thought. One of them—Kara or Holmer—must have started it out of curiosity.
He knew he was only thinking these thoughts so that his brain wouldn't crack from the insane unreality of the situation.
Birrel suddenly felt sweat on his forehead. Sounds were coming from upstairs, not loud sounds, but thumping, gasping noises. There was a voice, and then more of the gasping sounds.
Kara started to get to her feet and the man with the fluted metal cylinder said, "Sit down."