Suddenly, I woke up. It was the silent hours of the night. Silence! The small ragged roar from my secret room was missing.

I sprang through the back of the closet.

And there was a picture as nice as you please!

Heller was sitting there in his suite, watching TV! I looked at my watch. It must be about seven in the evening there. The news was on.

What had happened to or with Minette?

Had she gotten her way?

Had Heller let her do a striptease and then taken her to bed as she had demanded?

I did not know. I could not tell.

A Hispanic-looking newscaster was going on and on about murders, and then he said, “New York motorists exiting from the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel, today were entertained by a massive fireball, rising into the sky. The telephone company was besieged by callers wanting to know if World War III had begun.” He laughed lightly. “They were reassured to find that it was only the Acme Car Painting Company blowing up. Inventories showed thousands of gallons of stored paint were on the premises. The origin of the blaze was labelled arson by the insurance underwriters, as a hundred-thousand-dollar policy had recently been taken out. Eleven bodies, none of whom have been identified, were found in the vicinity.” The newscaster smiled. “But that is life on the Jersey side.” I surmised this must be a Manhattan channel!

Wait, what was that? A shadow? No, a black hand and arm close to Heller’s face! Coming in from Heller’s left! He wasn’t focused on it. It held some sort of implement!

A fork!

Somebody was feeding him something as he watched TV!

The hand vanished and my sound was blurred by crunchy chewing.

There was somebody with him! Minette?

Had she won after all?

The newscaster was droning on about some celebrities that had been mugged. It was quite a list.

Heller turned his head slightly to the right. Wait! What was that? Something white over to the right of the TV!

In his peripheral vision, I managed to make it out. Two pairs of white feet! One in slippers with lace puffs, the other set bare!

And there was a low murmur over to his right. I had missed it in amongst the news. I hastily replayed the auxiliary screen, turning up its gain. Two girls’ voices! Was one Minette?

I made one out amongst the news overplay. A middle-western accent. “…and honey, let me tell you, he was very, very good! I think he was the best…”

Then the other girl’s murmur. Was this Minette? I turned the gain higher and changed the tone controls. “…well, I really thought it was quite impossible to have that many orgasms in one…” An English accent! These were two entirely different girls!

The newscaster was continuing. He went through some stock-exchange data. Then he said, “A Treasury Department spokesman stated this afternoon that the New Jersey BAFT chief, Oozopopolis, and several other revenooers are missing. Shortages in their accounts were denied although it is well known that Oozopopolis had extensive banking connections in the Bahamas. Airports on this side of the river are being watched.” He chuckled again. “But that’s life in Jersey, isn’t it, folks.”

Heller leaned forward and pushed a button to turn it off. The automatic gain control made my screen go more normal. He turned to his left. Sitting across the side table from him was a gorgeous, slinky, high-yellow girl! She had on next to nothing! A flimsy scarf was draped over her shoulders, her breasts clearly visible through it.

Where was Minette?

What was this girl doing here?

She was laughing, her beautiful teeth flashing. “And so, honey, you better believe him. Stay away from that Jersey side. Just cuddle around here.” She made a sensuous movement with her breasts. She pushed a fork into a huge Caesar salad in a crystal bowl. She brushed the mouthful against her lips and then pushed it seductively across the table to him. “When you is done eating, pretty boy, would you like me to demonstrate how it’s done in Harlem?” She laughed a low, seductive laugh. Utterly tantalizing! Then her eyes went hot. “In fac’, I think that’s enough supper.” She put down the fork and began to stand up.

She only had on that flimsy scarf.

She was wearing nothing else!

She reached out her hand…

The interference hit again!

I moaned. I waited for it to die down.

It didn’t.

After a couple of minutes, very upset, I went back to my sleeping room and lay down in my bed.

Flesh can only stand so much!

After a little, I got hold of my spinning wits and emotions.

One thing was very plain. There was interference. It came on and off.

He had probably unpacked his baggage and put it in several of the many cubicles and closets. If I were patient, no matter how long it took, I could piece out exactly where he must have put the platen.

I would still carry out my plan!

In the other room, the equipment stopped buzzing. Led by a dreadful fascination, I tottered back in to see what was going on now.

Heller was just stepping out of the elevator into the lobby.

I looked at my watch. It must be wrong. I have trouble with time conversion from one part of a planet to another but I couldn’t be that wrong. Only ten minutes ago, I had seen the slinky high-yellow girl standing up in invitation. Yet here was Heller in the lobby.

Let’s see. It would have taken him a few minutes to dress. Say a minute to come down in the elevator…

Well, let’s say he was awfully fast.

It was early evening in New York. There were quite a few people in the lobby, mostly in Western business suits but with the multihued faces of many lands. Prosperous looking, debonair men about town from deserts and mountains and villages on stilts — the typical UN crowd. They were piled up a bit at the desk, making appointments, sitting about until they heard their number called or sauntering around trying to work up a new appetite.

I realized Heller was putting in the agreed-upon lobby appearance to discourage certain visitors. I could see in a reflecting mirror that he did not yet have his new clothes — he was wearing his plain blue suit. At least he didn’t have his baseball cap on. But when he walked on bare floor, I could tell he still wore those baseball shoes.

He sat down in a chair where he could be seen from the door and where he could see the office entrance of the “Host.” Almost at once, a houseman entered the lobby from the street. He was carrying a pile of magazines and newspapers. He walked straight to Heller, gave him the pile. Heller handed him a twenty-dollar bill and waved away the change.

Wait! Heller must have called him from his suite! So subtract that, too, from the ten minutes! What had happened with that slinky high-yellow girl?

Casting an eye now and then on the street entrance and the manager’s door, Heller settled down to read. Ah, I would have a clue as to what his plans were by analyzing what he was reading.

Racing magazines!

The American Hot Rod, Racing Today, The Blowout, Hot Stock Cars. He leafed through them but, knowing Heller, he was reading every page. Sneaky. But I had learned his habits. When he was really interested, he would pause and stare at a page and think about it.

He halted his leafing. The magazine had a picture of an old Pontiac sedan. The article was “Out of the Pit to Glory.”

Of course! Heller the speedophile! Heller the stopwatch-oriented lunatic. Heller, an obvious case of velocity dementia in its last stages of progressive terminalization!

But wait. As he paused, his eye was on a figure and stayed on the figure. The last sentence of the article read:

“And so, for the pittance of $225,000 in expenses, we were able to cover the entire stock-car circuit for one whole season and wound up with all bills paid, which is glory enough for anybody!”