Perfidion smiled warmly, and clapped Mallory on the back. "I'm not trying to ferret out your secret, Tom. I know better than that. Lifting is your line, fencing mine. You bring me the Grail, I'll sell it, take my cut, and everything will be fine. You know me, Tom."
"I sure do," Mallory said, taking the stereophoto out of the projector and returning it to his breast pocket.
Perfidion snapped his fingers. "A happy thought just occurred to me! I've got a golp date with Rowley of Puriproducts, so why don't you join us, Tom? You play a pretty good game, as I recall."
Mollified, Mallory said, "I'll have to borrow a set of your jetsticks."
"I'll get them for you on the way down. Come on, Tom."
Mallory accompanied him across the room. "Keep mum about this to Rowley now," Perfidion said confidentially. "He's a potential customer, but we don't want to let the cat out of the bag yet, do we? Or should I say 'the Grail'." He took time out to grin at his little joke, then, "By the way, Tom, I take it you're all set as regards costume, equipment and the like."
"I've got the sweetest little suit of armor you ever laid eyes on," Mallory said.
"Fine—no need for me to offer any advice in that respect then." Perfidion opened the lift door. "After you, Tom."
They plummeted down the tube together.