t on both sides," I supposed. "But let's finish
this one over a bar. We're crowding our luck here. In the eyes of the law
we're just a couple of nasty break-ins."

"Yes," she said simply.

We left Rambaugh's apartment together and I handed Martha into my car and
took off.

It struck me as we were driving that mental sensitivity was a good thing
in spite of its limitations. A woman without mental training might have
every right to object to visiting a bachelor apartment at two o'clock in
the morning. But I had no firm plans for playing up to Martha Franklin; I
really wanted to talk this mess out and get it squared away. This she
could read, so I was saved the almost-impossible task of trying to
convince an attractive woman that I really had no designs upon her
beautiful white body. I was not at all cold to the idea, but Martha did
not seem to be the pushover type.

"Thank you, Steve," she said.

"Thanks for nothing," I told her with a short laugh. "Them's my
sentiments."

"I like your sentiments. That's why I'm here, and maybe we can get our
heads together and figure something out."

I nodded and went back to my driving, feeling pretty good now.

A man does not dig his own apartment. He expects to find it the way he
left it. He digs in the mailbox on his way towards it, and he may dig in
his refrigerator to see whether he should stop for beer or whatever else,
because these things save steps. But nobody really expects to find trouble
in his own home, especially when he is coming in at three o'clock in the
morning with a good looking woman.

They were smart enough to come with nothing deadly in their hands. So I
had no warning until they stepped out from either side of my front door
and lifted me into my living room by the elbows. They hurled me into an
easy chair with a crash. When I stopped bouncing, one of the gorillas was
standing in front of me, about as tall as Washington Monument as seen from
the sidewalk in front. He was looking at my forty-five with careful
curiosity.

"What gives?" I demanded.

The crumb in front of me leaned down and gave me a back-and-forth that
yanked my head around. I didn't say anything, but I thought how I'd like
to meet the buzzard in a dark alley with my gun in my fist.

Martha said, "They're friends of Rambaugh, Steve. And they're a little
afraid of that prehistoric cannon you carry."

The bird in front of Martha gave her a one-two across the face. That was
enough f