“What are you up to, Reich?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve got to get the Chervil boy off her mind.”

“How?”

“Is there any way but one?”

“For God’s sake, Reich, don’t go near the boy.”

“Get out of my way.” Reich radiated a burst of savage compulsion that made the peeper recoil. He signaled in fright and Reich tried to control himself.

“It’s taking chances, I know, but the odds aren’t as long as you think. In the first place, he’s young and green. In the second place, he’s a crasher and scared. In the third place, he can’t be flying full jets or he wouldn’t have let the fag secretaries peep him so easily.”

“Have you got any conscious control? Can you double-think?”

“I’ve got that song on my mind and enough trouble to make doublethinking a pleasure. Now get the hell out of the way and stand by to peep Maria Beaumont.”

Chervil was eating alone alongside the fountain, clumsily attempting to appear to belong.

“Pip,” said Reich.

“Pop,” said Chervil.

“Bim,” said Reich.

“Bam,” said Chervil.

With the latest fad in informality disposed of, Reich eased himself down alongside the boy. “I’m Ben Reich.”

“I’m Gally Chervil, I mean… Galen. I—” He was visibly impressed by the name of Reich.

Tension, apprehension, and dissension…

“That damned song,” Reich muttered. “Heard it for the first time the other day. Can’t get it out of my mind. Maria knows you’re a phoney, Chervil.”

“Oh no!”

Reich nodded. Tension, apprehension…

“Should I start running?”

“Without the picture?”

“You know about that too? There must be a peeper in the house.”

“Two of them. Her social secretaries. People like you are their job.”

“What about that picture, Mr. Reich? I’ve got fifty credits riding on the line. You ought to know what a bet means. You’re a gamb — I mean, financier.”

“Glad I’m not a peeper, eh? Never mind. I’m not insulted. See that arch? Go straight through and turn right. You’ll find a study. The walls are lined with Maria’s portraits, all in synthetic stones. Help yourself. She’ll never miss one.”

The boy leaped up, scattering food. “Thanks, Mr. Reich. Some day I’ll do you a favor.”

“Such as?”

“You’d be surprised. I happen to be a—” He caught himself and blushed. “You’ll find out, sir. Thanks again.” He began weaving his way across the floor toward the study.

Four, sir; three, sir; two, sir; one!

Reich returned to his hostess.

“Naughty lover,” she said. “Who’ve you been feeding? I’ll tear her eyes out.”

“The Chervil boy,” Reich answered. “He asked me where you keep your pictures.”

“Ben! You didn’t tell him!”

“Sure did,” Reich grinned. “He’s on his way to get one now. Then he’ll take off. You know I’m jealous.”

She leaped from the couch and sailed toward the study.

“Bam,” said Reich.

By eleven o’clock, the ritual of dining had aroused the company to a point of intensity that required solitude and darkness for release. Maria Beaumont had never failed her guests, and Reich hoped she would not fail tonight. She had to play the Sardine game. He knew it when Tate returned from the study with concise directions for locating the hidden D’Courtney.