Fastolfe smiled at Baley across the breakfast table. “Did you sleep well, Mr. Baley?”

Baley studied the slice of ham with fascination. It had to be cut with a knife. It was grainy. It had a discrete strip of fat running down one side. It had, in short, not been processed. The result was that it tasted hammier, so to speak.

There were also fried eggs, with the yolk flattened semisphere in the center, rimmed by white, rather like some daisies that Ben had pointed out to him in the field back on Earth. Intellectually, he knew what an egg looked like before it was processed and he knew that it contained both a yolk and a white, but he had never seen them still separate when ready to eat. Even on the ship coming here and even on Solaria, eggs, when served, were scrambled.

He looked up sharply at Fastolfe. “Pardon me?”

Fastolfe said patiently, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. Quite well. I would probably still be sleeping if it hadn’t been for the antisomnin.”

“Ah yes. Not quite the hospitality a guest has the right to expect, but I felt you might want an early start.”

“You are entirely right. And I’m not exactly a guest, either.”

Fastolfe ate in silence for a moment or two. He sipped at his hot drink, then said, “Has any enlightenment come overnight? Have you awakened, perhaps, with a new perspective, a new thought?”

Baley looked at Fastolfe suspiciously, but the other’s face reflected no sarcasm. As Baley lifted his drink to his lips, he said, “I’m afraid not. I am as intellectual now as I was last night.” He sipped and involuntarily made a face.

Fastolfe said, “I’m sorry. You find the drink unpalatable?”

Baley grunted and cautiously tasted it again.

Fastolfe said, “It is simply coffee, you know. Decaffeinated.”

Baley frowned. “It doesn’t taste like coffee and—Pardon me, Dr. Fastolfe, I don’t want to begin to sound paranoid, but Daneel and I have just had a half-joking exchange on the possibility of violence against me—half-joking on my part, of course, not on Daneel’s—and it is in my mind that one way they might get at me is—”

His voice trailed away.

Fastolfe’s eyebrows moved upward. He reached for Baley’s coffee with a murmur of apology and smelled it. He then ladled out a small portion by spoon and tasted it. He said, “Perfectly normal, Mr. Baley. This is not an attempt at poisoning.”

Baley said, “I’m sorry to behave so foolishly, since I know this has been prepared by your own robots—but are you certain?”

Fastolfe smiled. “Robots have been tampered with before now.—However, there has been no tampering this time. It is just that coffee, although universally popular on the various worlds, comes in different strains. It is notorious that each human being prefers the coffee of his own world. I’m sorry, Mr. Baley, I have no Earth strain to give you. Would you prefer milk? That is relatively constant from world to world. Fruit juice? Aurora’s grape juice is considered superior throughout the worlds, generally. There are some who hint, darkly, that we allow it to ferment somewhat, but that, of course, is not true. Water?”

“I’ll try your grape juice.” Baley looked at the coffee dubiously. “I suppose I ought to try to get used to this.”

“Not at all,” said Fastolfe. “Why seek out the unpleasant if that is unnecessary?—And so”—his smile seemed a bit strained as he returned to his earlier remark—“night and sleep have brought no useful reflection to you?”

“I’m sorry,” said Baley. Then, frowning at a dim memory, “Although—”

“Yes?”

“I have the impression that just before falling asleep, in the free-association limbo between sleep and waking, it seemed to me that I had something.”

“Indeed? What?”

“I don’t know. The thought drove me into wakefulness but didn’t follow me there. Or else some imagined sound distracted me. I don’t remember. I snatched at the thought, but didn’t retrieve it. It’s gone. I think that this sort of thing is not uncommon.”

Fastolfe looked thoughtful. “Are you sure of this?”

“Not really. The thought grew so tenuous so rapidly I couldn’t even be sure that I had actually had it. And even if I had, it may have seemed to make sense to me only because I was half asleep. If it were repeated to me now in broad daylight, it might make no sense at all.”

“But whatever it was and, however fugitive, it would have left a trace, surely.”

“I imagine so, Dr. Fastolfe. In which case, it will come to me again. I’m confident of that.”

“Ought we to wait?”

“What else can we do?”

“There’s such a thing as a Psychic Probe.”

Baley sat, back in his chair and stared at Fastolfe for a moment. He said, “I’ve heard of it, but it isn’t used in police work on Earth.”

“We’re not on Earth, Mr. Baley,” said Fastolfe softly.

“It can do brain damage. Am I not right?”

“Not likely, in the proper hands.”

“Not impossible, even in the proper hands,” said Baley. “It’s my understanding that it cannot be used on Aurora except under sharply defined conditions. Those it is used on must be guilty of a major crime or must—”

“Yes, Mr. Baley, but that refers to Aurorans. You are not an Auroran.”

“You mean because I’m an Earthman I’m to be treated as inhuman?”

Fastolfe smiled and spread his hands. “Come, Mr. Baley. It was just a thought. Last night you were desperate enough to suggest trying to solve our dilemma by placing Gladia in a horrible and tragic position. I was wondering if you were desperate enough to risk yourself?”

Baley rubbed his eyes and, for a minute or so, remained silent. Then, in an altered voice, he said, “I was wrong last night—I admitted it. As for this matter now, there is no assurance that what I thought of, when half-asleep, had any relevance to the problem. It may have been pure fantasy—illogical nonsense. There may have been no thought at all. Nothing. Would you consider it wise, for so small a likelihood of gain, to risk damage to my brain, when it is upon that for which you say you depend for a solution to the problem?”

Fastolfe nodded. “You plead your case eloquently—and I was not really serious.”

“Thank you, Dr. Fastolfe.”

“But, where are we to go from here?”

“For one thing, I wish to speak to Gladia again. There are points concerning which I need clarification.”

“You should have taken them up last night.”

“So I should, but I had more than I could properly absorb last night and there were points that escaped me. I am an investigator and not an infallible computer.”

Fastolfe said, “I was not imputing blame. It’s just that I hate to see Gladia unnecessarily disturbed. In view of what you told me last night, I can only assume she must be in a state of deep distress.”

“Undoubtedly. But she is also desperately anxious to find out what happened—who, if anyone, killed the one she viewed as her husband. That’s understandable, too. I’m sure she’ll be willing to help me. And I wish to speak to another person as well.”

“To whom?”

“To your daughter Vasilia.”

“To Vasilia? Why? What purpose will that serve?”

“She is a roboticist. I would like to talk to a roboticist other than yourself.”

“I do not wish that, Mr. Baley.”

They had finished eating. Baley stood up. “Dr. Fastolfe, once again I must remind you that I am here at your request. I have no formal authority to do police work. I have no connection with any Auroran authorities. The only chance I have of getting to the bottom of this miserable mess is to hope that various people will voluntarily cooperate with me and answer my questions.

“If you stop me from attempting this, then it is clear that I can get no farther than I am right now, which is nowhere. It will also look extremely bad for you—and therefore for Earth so I urge you not to stand in my way. If you make it possible for me to interview anyone I wish—or even simply try to make it possible by interceding on my behalf—then the people of Aurora will surely consider that to be a sign of self-conscious innocence on your part. If you hamper my investigation, on the other hand, to what conclusion can they come but that you are guilty and fear exposure?”