"No," said Maxwell. "No, I guess it wouldn't. It was a bad idea."

"It was a nice evening," said Carol. "I thank you so much for it. I had a lot of fun."

"And Sylvester had a lot of steak."

"Yes, he did. He'll not forget you. He loves folks who give him steak. He's nothing but a glutton."

"There is just one thing," said Maxwell. "One thing you didn't tell us. Who was it that made the offer for the Artifact?"

"I don't know. Just that there was an offer. Good enough, I gather, for Time to consider it. I simply overheard a snatch of conversation I was not supposed to hear. Does it make a difference?"

"It could," said Maxwell.

"I remember now," she said. "There was another name. Not the one who meant to buy it, or I don't think it was. Just someone who was involved. It had slipped my mind till now. Someone by the name of Churchill. Does that mean anything to you?"

Chapter 8

Oop was sitting in front of the fireplace, paring his toenails with a large jack-knife, when Maxwell returned, carrying his bag.

Oop gestured with his knife toward the bed. "Sling it over there and then come and sit down with me. I've just put a couple of new logs on the fire and I have a jug half finished and a couple more hid out."

"Where's Ghost?" asked Maxwell.

"Oh, he disappeared. I don't know where he went; he never tells me. But he'll be back again. He never is gone long."

Maxwell put the bag on the bed, went over to the fireplace and sat down, leaning against its rough stone face.

"You played the clown tonight," he said, "somewhat better than you usually, manage. What was the big idea?"

"Those big eyes of hers," said Oop, grinning. "And just begging to be shocked. I am sorry, Pete. I simply couldn't help it."