"Put this on," he said. I took the light jacket, wedged myself into it, looked at my reflection in the big rectangular mirror that occupied most of a wall above the low divan.
"It's not the real me," I said. "I usually—"
The telephone rang.
I looked at my watchdog. He shook his head. We stood and listened to it ring. After a while it stopped.
"We'd better be going now," he said. "Walk ahead of me, please. We'll take the elevator to the basement and leave by the service entrance—"
He stopped talking, eyes on the door. There was the rattle of a key. The gun came up.
"Hold it," I snapped. "It's the girl who owns the apartment." I moved to face him, my back to the door.
"That was foolish of you, Legion," he said. "Don't move again."
I watched the door in the big mirror on the opposite wall. The knob turned, the door swung in ... and a thin brown man in white shirt and white pants slipped into the room. As he pushed the door back he transferred a small automatic to his left hand. My keeper threw a lever on the revolver that was aimed at my belt buckle.
"Stand absolutely still, Legion," he said. "If you have a chance, that's it." He moved aside slightly, looked past me to the newcomer. I watched in the mirror as the man in white behind me swiveled to keep both of us covered.