Eckert was wide awake. "I wonder why I wasn't invited." He felt slightly put out that Templin should have been asked to something like that and he hadn't been.
"I wasn't invited," Templin said. "I invited myself."
"Have you noticed," Eckert mused, "we haven't been invited to too many functions lately?"
"They know we're busy," Templin said lazily. "They're too polite to ask us to go some place if they thought we were busy doing something else."
"You like it here, don't you, Ray?"
Templin brushed idly at a marauding mosquito. "It took me pretty long to warm up to it, but I guess I do."
They only had a month left, Eckert knew—a month to do practically nothing but lie in the sun and watch the people. Oh, they could go through the motions of investigating and look over Pendleton's old records and reports, but there was nothing in them of any value.
He yawned and sat down and settled his back against the door frame. It began to look as if they'd never find out why Pendleton had done what he had. And it didn't seem to matter, somehow.
Eckert opened the door slowly. Templin was asleep on the bed, the sunlight lying in bands across his tanned, bare back. He had on a strip of white cloth, knotted at the waist in imitation of what the natives wore.