Transvestia

he unlocked the door and half-led, half-carried her inside, where he placed her gently on a chair, and departed to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.

The moment he was out of sight Valerie jumped up, sped noiselessly across the room, peered up the chimney of the ornamental fireplace, slipped back to her place as silently as she had left it, and was sitting up bravely when her host returned with the large glass of water.

"Oh thank you!" she breathed weakly, and sipped the drink as though it were necter.

Caravelle watched her cautiously. Was she really feeling faint, or was this just another trick of hers to gain a few minutes alone with him? Silly kid. Yet she was rather pretty, in her brunette way.

In a few moments she seemed to have recovered somewhat, and gamely returned to the mathematics.

"Now, with regard to the B inomial Theorem one, Dr. Caravelle. I thought I'd do it this way. Let me show you."

Taking a ballpoint pen she began to murmer slow- ly various algebraic sequences, as if she was writing them down. But what she actually wrote was:

KEEP TALKING MATHEMATICS. WE ARE BEING LISTENED TO. THERE'S A MICROPHONE HANGING DOWN YOUR CHIMNEY, AND THERE MAY BE OTHER IN THE HOUSE. SOMEONE HAS TAKEN A WAX IMPRESSION OF THE LOCK ON YOUR FRONT DOOR, AND PROBABLY HAS A KEY BY NOW. I EXPECT YOUR PHONE HAS BEEN CUT; MAKE AN EXCUSE TO TRY IT."

John Caravelle stared, first at what she had writ- ten, and then at the girl herself. What the devil was all this about? He felt his face tingle and his flesh crawl. But Valerie was babbling sweetlyon.

"

I'm terribly sorry to take so long, Dr. Caravelle but it does need an awful lot of writing, the way I do

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