When I returned upstairs, Reed had ventilated the directors' room by opening the windows from the outside ledge. He had taken out the four guinea pigs he had left penned on the top of the directors' table. They were all dead without visible hurt or reason.
Teverson came out of his conference, which was being held on the third floor; and he turned the limp guinea pigs over thoughtfully.
"There's only one reason those aren't Strathon and Géroud and Sencort and me, Fanneal," he said, looking at me. "You want to do one more big thing for us and against—them?" He moved his head toward the wall; I knew, whom he meant.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Keep this all quiet. It's asking something, I know."
I guess I got red at that. He meant I'd played rather prominently as a goat and it was something to ask me to conceal the one thing I'd put through.
"It's the only thing to do," I agreed.
He gave me his hand again. "We'll all know," he said.
"How about the men you have tracing the pipes?" I asked.
