"Why, Max." She sounded piqued. "All right, I'll tell you. I was up at Wallace Starr's apartment."
"But he's here!"
"I know. I waited until he left. Then I went up to the loft. I told the janitor I worked for Mr. Starr and he let me in. I went over the place with a fine-tooth comb. Max, there's simply nothing there to get excited about. He's quite neat for a bachelor. Everything very prosaic and natural, except for that big amateur radio of his."
"Amateur radio?"
"You know. Amateur sending and receiving. Mr. Starr is a ham."
"H-ham?" I swallowed hard. "Alice, you're right. I'm going off my rocker."
"Just overwork," she protested, soothingly. "You take your science fiction too seriously. What you need is a nice vacation, away from the office and everything that even smells like work."
"I'll do it," I said meekly. Right then a thought hit me. It had been simmering in my mind for a long time. Now it exploded into words.
"Alice—let's make it a honeymoon!"
She gasped. "Max, are you sure you're well enough?"