"Not?"
"'Not.' It was the damnedest thing I've seen since my uncle with the two heads debated free silver and triumphantly refuted himself. An explanation would spoil it."
"I do not grok rightly?"
"Nor do I. So let's not worry and have another drink."
Reporters and other newsmen started arriving while the party was still climbing. Jubal received each of them with courteous dignity, invited them to eat, drink, and relax - but to refrain from badgering himself or the Man from Mars.
Those who failed to heed his injunction were tossed into the pool.
At first Jubal kept Larry and Duke at flank to administer the baptism as necessary. But, while some of the unfortunate importunates became angry and threatened various things which did not interest Jubal (other than to caution Mike not to take any steps), others relaxed to the inevitable and added themselves to the dousing squad on a volunteer basis, with the fanatic enthusiasm of proselytes - Jubal had to stop them from ducking the doyen lippmann of the New York Times for a third time.
During the evening Dorcas came out of the house, sought out Jubal and whispered in his ear: "Telephone, Boss. For you."
"Take a message."
"You must answer it, Boss."
"I'll answer it with an ax! Duke, get me an ax. I've been intending to get rid of that Iron Maiden for some time - and tonight I'm in the mood for it."
"Boss� you want to answer this one. It's the man you spoke to for quite a long time this afternoon."
"Oh. Why didn't you say so?" Jubal lumbered upstairs, made sure his study door was bolted behind him, went to the phone. Another of Douglas' sleek acolytes was on the screen but was replaced quickly by Douglas. "It took you long enough to answer your phone."
"It's my phone, Mr. Secretary. Sometimes I don't answer it at all."
"So it would seem. Why didn't you tell me that this Caxton fellow is an alcoholic?"
"Is he?"
"He certainly is! He isn't missing - not in the usual sense. He's been off on one of his periodic benders. He was located, sleeping it off, in a fleabag in Sonora."
"I'm glad to hear that he has been found. Thank you, sir."
"He's been picked up on a technical charge of 'vagrancy.' The charge won't be pressed - instead we are releasing him to you."
"I am very much in your debt, sir."
"Oh, it's not entirely a favor! I'm having him delivered to you in the state in which he was found - filthy, unshaven, and, I understand, smelling like a brewery. I want you to see for yourself what sort of a tramp he is."
"Very well, sir. When may I expect him?"
"Almost at once, I fancy. A courier arrow left Nogales some time ago. At Mach three or better it should be overhead soon. The pilot has instructions to deliver him to you and get a receipt."
"He shall have it."
"Now, Counsellor� having delivered him, I wash my hands of it. I shall expect you, and your client, to appear for talks whether you fetch along that drunken libeller or not."
"Agreed. When?"
"Shall we say tomorrow at ten? Here."
"'Twere best done quickly.' Agreed."
Jubal went back downstairs and paused at his broken door. "Jill! Come here, child."
"Yes, Jubal." She trotted toward him, a reporter in close formation with her.
Jubal waved the man back. "Private," he said firmly. "Family matter. Go have a drink."
"Whose family?"
"A death in yours, if you insist. Scat!" The newsman grinned and accepted it. Jubal leaned over Gillian and said softly, "It worked. He's safe."
"Ben?"
"Yes. He'll be here soon."
"Oh, Jubal!" She started to bawl.
He took her shoulders. "Stop it," he said firmly. "Go inside and lock your door until you get control of yourself. This is not for the press."
"Yes, Jubal. Yes, Boss."
"That's better. Go cry in your pillow, then wash your face." He went on out to the pool. "Quiet everybody! Quite! I have an announcement to make. We've enjoyed having you - but the party is over."
"Boo!"
"Toss him in the pool, somebody. I've got work to do early tomorrow morning, I'm an old man and I need my rest, And so does my family. Please leave quietly and as quickly as possible. Black coffee for any who need it - but that's all. Duke, cork those bottles. Girls, clear the food away."
There was minor grumbling, but the more responsible quieted their colleagues. In ten minutes they were alone.
In twenty minutes Ben Caxton arrived. The S.S. officer commanding the courier car silently accepted Harshaw's signature and thumb print on a prepared receipt, then left at once while Jill continued to sob on Ben's shoulder.
Jubal looked him over in the light from the pool. "Ben, you're a mess. I hear you've been drunk for a week - and you look it."
Ben cursed, fluently and well, while continuing to pat Jill's back.
"'M drunk, awri' - but haven' had a drink."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I don't know!"
An hour later Ben's stomach had been pumped out (alcohol and gastric juices, no food); Jubal had given him shots to offset alcohol and barbiturates; he was bathed, shaved, dressed in clean clothes that did not fit him, had met the Man from Mars, and was sketchily brought up to date, while ingesting milk and bland food.
But he was unable to bring them up to date. For Ben, the past week had not happened - he had become unconscious in a taxicab in Washington; he had been shaken into drunken wakefulness two hours earlier. "Of course I know what happened. They kept me doped and in a completely dark room� and wrung rue out. I vaguely remember some of it. But I can't prove anything. And there's the village Jefe and the madam of this dive they took me to - plus, I'm sure, plenty of other witnesses - 'to swear just how this gringo spent his time. And there's nothing I can do about it."
"Then don't fight it," Jubal advised. "Relax and be happy."
"The hell I will! I'll get that-"
"Tut, tut! You've won, Ben. And you're alive� which I would have given long odds against, earlier today. Douglas is going to do exactly what we want him to - and smile and like it."
"I want to talk about that. I think-"
"I think you're going to bed. Now. With a glass of warm milk to conceal Old Doe Harshaw's Secret Ingredient for secret drinkers."
Shortly thereafter Caxton was in bed and beginning to snore. Jubal was puttering around, heading for bed himself, and encountered Anne in the upper hall. He shook his head tiredly. "Quite a day, lass."
"Yes, quite. I wouldn't have missed it� and I don't want to repeat it. You go to bed, Boss."
"In a moment. Anne, tell me something. What's so special about the way that lad kisses?"
Anne looked dreamy and then dimpled. "You should have tried it when he invited you to."
"I'm too old to change my ways. But I'm interested in everything about the boy. Is this actually something different, too?"
Anne pondered it. "Yes."
"How?"
"Mike gives a kiss his whole attention."
"Oh, rats! I do myself. Or did."
Anne shook her head. "No. Some men try to. I've been kissed by men who did a very good job of it indeed. But they don't really give kissing a woman their whole attention. They can't No matter how hard they try, some parts of their minds are on something else. Missing the last bus, maybe- Or how their chances are for making the gal- Or their own techniques in kissing- Or maybe worry about their jobs, or money, or will husband or papa or the neighbors catch on. Or something. Now Mike doesn't have any technique� but when Mike kisses you he isn't doing anything else. Not anything. You're his whole universe for that moment and the moment is eternal because he doesn't have any plans and he isn't going anywhere. Just kissing you." She shivered. "A woman notices. It's overwhelming."
"Hmm-"
"Don't 'Hmm' at me, you old lecher! You don't understand."