The doors swung shut behind him, and he walked into the foyer, then turned left into the receptionist's office. The woman behind the desk smiled her eager smile and said, “Good morning, Mr. Candron!"
Candron smiled back. He liked the woman, in spite of her semifanatic overeagerness, which made her every declarative sentence seem to end with an exclamation point.
“Morning, Mrs. Jesser,” he said, pausing at the desk for a moment. “How have things been?”
Mrs. Jesser was a stout matron in her early forties who would have been perfectly happy to work for the Society for nothing, as a hobby. That she was paid a reasonable salary made her job almost heaven for her.
“Oh, just fine, Mr. Candron!” she said. “Just fine!” Then her voice lowered, and her face took on a serious, half conspiratorial expression. “Do you know what?”
“No,” said Candron, imitating her manner. “What?”
“We have a gentleman … he came in yesterday … a very nice man … and very intelligent, too. And, you know what?”
Candron shook his head. “No,” he repeated. “What?”
Mrs. Jesser's face took on the self-pleased look of one who has important inside knowledge to impart. “He has actual photographs … three-D, full-color photographs … of the control room of a flying saucer! And one of the Saucerites, too!"
“Really?” Candron's expression was that of a man who was both impressed and interested. “What did Mr. Balfour say?”