"but I should think you could help. You know what I'm
trying to do--I mean, about your father. I want to write a story, and
the logical place to start would be with his family--"

The girl blinked wide eyes innocently. "Why don't you start with the
newspaper files?" she asked, her voice silky. "You'd find all sorts of
information about daddy there. Pages and pages--"

"No, no-- I don't want that kind of information. You're his daughter,
Miss Ingersoll, you could tell me about him as a man. Something about
his personal life, what sort of man he was--"

She shrugged indifferently, buttered a piece of toast, as Shandor felt
most acutely the pangs of his own missed breakfast. "He got up at seven
every morning," she said. "He brushed his teeth and ate breakfast. At
nine o'clock the State Department called for him--"

Shandor shook his head unhappily. "No, no, that's not what I mean."

"Then perhaps you'd tell me precisely what you _do_ mean?" Her voice was
clipped and hard.

Shandor sighed in exasperation. "The personal angle. His likes and
dislikes, how he came to formulate his views, his relationship with his
wife, with you--"

"He was a kind and loving father," she said, her voice mocking. "He
loved to read, he loved music--oh, yes, put that down, he was a _great_
lover of music. His wife was the apple of his eye, and he tried, for all
the duties of his position, to provide us with a happy home life--"

"Miss Ingersoll."

She stopped in mid-sentence, her grey eyes veiled, and shook her head
slightly. "That's not what you want, either?"

Shandor stood up and walked to a window, looking out over the wide
veranda. Carefully he snubbed his cigarette in an ashtray, then turned
sharply to the girl. "Look. If you want to play games, I can play games
too. Either you're going to help me, or you're not--it's up to you. But
you forget one thing. I'm a propagandist. I might say I'm a very expert
propagandist. I can tell a true story from a false one. You won't get
anywhere lying to me, or evading me, and if you choose to try, we can
call it off right now. You know exactly the type of information I need
from you. Your father was a great man, and he rates a fair shake in the
write-ups. I'm asking you to help me."

Her lips formed a sneer. "And _you're_ going to give him a fair shake,
I'm supposed to believe." She pointed to the newspaper. "With garbage
like that? Head cold!" Her face flushed, and she turned her back
angril