"Betrayed!" echoed Norman.
The Duchess nodded. Her gray eyes were enormous. "I've been expecting to keel over on the street all the way home!"
"Who? How?"
"One of your precious Earth men. Hops, he's called." She paused, said, "I feel kind of dizzy! My God! You don't suppose the Dohlmites are putting the finger on me, do you?"
"No. No, of course not. It's just shock. Sit down. Jennifer," he called, "make the Duchess some tea, coffee, anything hot."
"Tea, hell," said the Duchess sinking on the couch. "Bring me a shot of whiskey."
Jennifer had hastily slipped on her tunic. She brought a glass of whiskey from the kitchen. The Duchess drank it neat.
"Now, what happened?" pressed Norman.
"Marcia told me," began the Duchess. "She's the girl in the troop I told you about. The one who played the triangle with me and who's been slipping us the green suits."
"Yes, yes," he interrupted impatiently.