Since he was not permitted to swim at night he read all night long. He was zipping through the Encyclopedia Britannica and sampling Jubal's medicine and law libraries as dessert. His brother Jubal saw him leafing through one of the books, stopped and questioned him about what he had read. Smith answered carefully, as it reminded him of tests the Old Ones had given him. His brother seemed upset at his answers and Smith found it necessary to go into meditation — he was sure that he had answered with the words in the book even though he did not grok them all.

But he preferred the pool to the books, especially when Jill and Miriam and Larry and the rest were all splashing each other. He did not learn at once to swim, but discovered that he could do something they could not. He went to the bottom and lay there, immersed in bliss — whereupon they hauled him out with such excitement that he was almost forced to withdraw, had it not been clear that they were concerned for his welfare.

Later he demonstrated this for Jubal, remaining on the bottom a delicious time, and tried to teach it to his brother Jill-but she became disturbed and he desisted. It was his first realization that there were things he could do that these new friends could not. He thought about it a long time, trying to grok its fullness.

Smith was happy; Harshaw was not. He continued his usual loafing, varied by casual observation of his laboratory animal. He arranged no schedule for Smith, no program of study, no regular physical examinations, but allowed Smith to run wild, like a puppy on a ranch. What supervision Smith received came from Gillian — more than enough, in Jubal's grumpy opinion; he took a dim view of males' being reared by females.

However, Gillian did little more than coach Smith in social behavior. He ate at the table now, dressed himself (Jubal thought he did; he made a note to ask Jill if she still had to assist him); he conformed to the household's informal customs and coped with new experiences on a «monkey-see-monkey-do» basis. Smith started his first meal at the table using only a spoon and Jill cut up his meat. By the end of the meal he was attempting to eat as others ate. At the next meal his manners were a precise imitation of Jill's, including superfluous mannerisms.

Even the discovery that Smith had taught himself to read with the speed of electronic scanning and appeared to have total recall of all that he read did not tempt Jubal Harshaw to make a «project» of Smith, with controls, measurements, and curves of progress. Harshaw had the arrogant humility of a man who has learned so much that he is aware of his own ignorance; he saw no point in «measurements» when he did not know what he was measuring.

But, while Harshaw enjoyed watching this unique animal develop into a mimicry copy of a human being, his pleasure afforded him no happiness.

Like Secretary General Douglas, Harshaw was waiting for the shoe to drop.

Having found himself coerced into action by expectation of action against him it annoyed Harshaw that nothing happened. Damn it, were Federation cops so stupid that they couldn't track an unsophisticated girl dragging an unconscious man across the countryside? Or had they been on her heels? — and now were keeping a stake-out on his place? The thought was infuriating; the notion that the government might be spying on his home, his castle, was as repulsive as having his mail opened.

They might be doing that, too! Government! Three-fourths parasitic and the rest stupid fumbling — oh, Harshaw conceded that man, a social animal, could not avoid government, any more than an individual could escape bondage to his bowels. But simply because an evil was inescapable was no reason to term it «good.» He wished that government would wander off and get lost!

It was possible, even probable, that the administration knew where the Man from Mars was and chose to leave it that way.

If so, how long would it go on? And how long could he keep his «bomb» armed and ready?

And where the devil was that young idiot Ben Caxton?

Jill Boardman forced him out of his spiritual thumb-twiddling. «Jubal?»

«Eh? Oh, it's you, bright eyes. Sorry, I was preoccupied. Sit down. Have a drink?»

«Uh, no, thank you. Jubal, I'm worried.»

«Normal. That was a pretty swan dive. Let's see another like it.»

Jill bit her lip and looked about twelve years old. «Jubal! Please listen! I'm terribly worried.»

He sighed. «In that case, dry yourself off. The breeze is chilly.»

«I'm warm enough. Uh, Jubal? Would it be all right if I left Mike here?»

Harshaw blinked. «Certainly. The girls will look out for him, he's no trouble. You're leaving?»

She didn't meet his eye. «Yes.»

«Mmm … you're welcome here. But you're welcome to leave, if you wish.»

«Huh? But, Jubal — I don't want to!»

«Then don't.»

«But I must!»

«Play that back. I didn't scan it.»

«Don't you see, Jubal? I like it here — you've been wonderful to us! But I can't stay. Not with Ben missing. I've got to look for him.»

Harshaw said one earthy word, then added, «How do you plan to look for him?»

She frowned. «I don't know. But I can't lie around, loafing and swimming — with Ben missing.»

«Gillian, Ben is a big boy. You're not his mother — nor his wife. You haven't any call to go looking for him. Have you?»

Jill twisted one toe in the grass. «No,» she admitted. «I haven't any claim on Ben. I just know … that if I were missing … Ben would look — until he found me. So I've got to look for him!»

Jubal breathed malediction against all gods involved in the follies of the human race, then said, «All right, let's get some logic into it. Do you plan to hire detectives?»

She looked unhappy. «I suppose that's the way to do it. Uh, I've never hired a detective. Are they expensive?»

«Quite.»

Jill gulped. «Would they let me pay, uh, in monthly in stallments?»

«Cash at the stairs is their policy. Quit looking grim, child; I brought that up to dispose of it. I've already hired the best in the business to try to find Ben — there is no need to hock your future to hire second best.»

«You didn't tell me!»

«No need to.»

«But — Jubal, what did they find out?»

«Nothing,» he admitted, «so there was no need to put you in the dumps by telling you.» Jubal scowled. «I had thought you were unnecessarily nervy about Ben — I figured the same as his assistant, that fellow Kilgallen, that Ben had gone yiping off on some trail and would check in when he had the story.» He sighed. «Now I don't think so. That knothead Kilgallen — he does have a message on file telling him that Ben would be away; my man saw it and sneaked a photograph and checked. The message was sent.»

Jill looked puzzled. «Why didn't Ben send me one, too? It isn't like him — Ben's very thoughtful.»

Jubal repressed a groan. «Use your head, Gillian. Just because a package says “Cigarettes” does not prove it contains cigarettes. You got here Friday; the code groups on that statprint show it was filed from Philadelphia — Paoli Station Landing Flat — at ten thirty the morning before — 10:30 A.M. Thursday. It was transmitted and received at once; Ben's office has its own statprinter. All right,you tell me why Ben sent a printed message to his own office — during working hours — instead of telephoning?»

«Why, I don't think he would. At least I wouldn't. The telephone is the normal — »

«You aren't Ben. I can think of a dozen reasons for a man in Ben's business. To avoid garbles. To insure a record in the files of I.T.&T. for legal purposes. To send a delayed message. Lot of reasons. Kilgallen saw nothing odd — and the fact that Ben goes to the expense of a statprinter in his office shows that Ben uses it.