Norman and Jennifer were seated at a table against the bulkhead. The orchestra was playing My Man's Done Left For Outer Space while a Martian girl gyrated in a barbaric dance which stirred Norman's pulse and shocked him beyond measure.
"There he is," said Jennifer in a low excited voice. "There's Vermeer now."
The Venusian Export Lines man had just entered the saloon. Norman saw him glance casually about the hall, saunter across to the bar.
"Come on," said Jennifer. "Let's get started."
Norman gulped down a last drink of the brandy, rose from the table. Jennifer took his arm. He could feel her grip tighten. They passed out a side entrance, down a companionway to the deck where Vermeer's cabin was located. Before the door of 312 they paused.
"This is it," said Jennifer in a whisper.
Norman gingerly tried the door. "It's locked," he said with relief. "Let's get back to the dance."
"Here," said Jennifer fumbling in her purse. "Try this. It's a pass key."
He stared at the little sliver of metal in consternation. "Where did you get it?"
"I bribed the steward."