"Yes," snapped Bronson angrily. "Tell us!"
"Why?"
"Because," said Virginia, sweetly, "some day someone is really going to come up with invaders from outer space or some other unbelievable little item and, while the big bright brass is psychoanalyzing the discoverer, the invasion or the doom will take place."
"Why—I'm—"
"Forget it, Mason," said Bronson. Then, because he was completely unaware of his visitor's name or anything else about her save that she knew something that prompted her to aid him, Bronson turned to the girl and held out an elbow.
"May I escort you home, Madame Pompadour?"
Virginia smiled at him with exaggerated enticement. "Only if you want to be Benjamin Franklin, dear."
Doctor Mason stood up and hurled the door open angrily. "Get the devil out of here!" he snapped. He was still looking for a fine vocabulary when they left. Once outside and on the street beyond, Ed Bronson paused.
"Now," he said seriously, "what in the name of eternal sin is this?"
"I had to get you out of there," she said. "I'm glad you are sharp enough to follow suit."