"That's what I thought," he said. "She stays under cover."
"Think it over," I suggested. "I'm going to bed, but I'm leaving my door unlocked—at my apartment. Dig her up, if you start making any sense, and both of you beat it over here. Before dawn. Do you hear me?"
"Oh, I hear you," he said sourly. "I just don't know whether to trust you."
"We all have the same trouble," I said, cutting the image.
They showed up about three o'clock. I hadn't been able to go back to sleep—feeling almost sure Keys would bring her there—and had spent the time with the weights. I was back to strength. The surprise was that Elmer came with them. Well, perhaps it was a help.
Nobody wanted a drink. Mary looked around the apartment a little—it is a nice place, restful and homey, if you can ever achieve that in an apartment fifty floors up.
"A Psi decorated this place," she said. Well, she was right, and I admitted it to her with a nod. "What couldn't wait until morning, Maragon?" she asked me.
"First, Mary, I want you to know that while you fooled Lindstrom, you didn't fool me. You have the Stigma. Wait," I said, raising my hand as she started to protest. "Lies won't do any longer. The chips are down. You wouldn't even be here if the Council of the Lodge hadn't decided it was time to protect you."
Keys took it away from her. "Lodge? What Lodge?"
"We'll come to that," I promised. "First, let's cut away the underbrush. Yes or no. Does she have the Stigma?"