"Not I," denied Vermeer. "I'm of Terrestial descent, but I was born on Venus. I'm an Outlander."
A waiter approached, took Norman's order.
Jennifer leaned forward. "Mr. Vermeer, do you believe this murder has any connection with the terror?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. I'd say the T.I.S. agent had stumbled across some information which made it necessary that he be silenced."
Although that was Norman's idea he said perversely, "I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill. The agent was probably on the track of smugglers."
Jennifer opened her blue eyes in surprise. Vermeer shrugged, turned to the girl, said: "They're giving a dance tonight. Would you be my partner?"
The girl hesitated, glanced roguishly at Norman who sat stiff-faced. "Thank you, Mr. Vermeer, but Mr. Saint Clair has already asked me."
Norman's mouth fell open. He had wanted to ask her but had hesitated because he didn't know her well enough. His heart leaped now with pleasure.
Vermeer glanced at Norman sourly, excused himself, left the table.
When he was out of earshot, the girl said, "There's something about that man that doesn't ring true. I hope you don't mind me using you as an excuse, Norman. You don't have to take me."