“Such as?”

“There’s a law against influencing events on worlds which are at a sensitive stage of their development. This limits our supply of trade goods very sharply.”

“In other words, you are crooks on your own world and crooks on this one.”

“I don’t agree. What harm do we do on Earth?”

“You’ve already named it—you are depriving the people of this planet of…”

“Of their artistic heritage?” Smith gave a thin sneer. “How many people do you know who would give up a Perfect television set to keep a da Vinci cartoon in a public art gallery five or ten thousand miles away?”

“You’ve got a point there,” Connor admitted. “What have you got up your sleeve, Smith?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play innocent. You would not have talked so freely unless you were certain I wouldn’t get out of here with the information. What are you planning to do about me?”

Smith glanced at Toynbee and sighed. “I keep forgetting how parochial the natives of a single-planet culture can be. You have been told that we are from another world, and yet to you we are just slightly unusual Earth people. I don’t suppose it has occurred to you that other races could have a stronger instinct toward honesty, that deviousness and lies would come less easily to them than to humans?”

“That’s where we are most vulnerable,” Toynbee put in. “I see now that I was too inexperienced to be up front.”

“All right, then—be honest with me,” Connor said. “You are planning to keep me quiet, aren’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, we do have a little device…”

“You don’t need it,” Connor said. He thought back carefully over all he had been told, then stood up and handed his revolver to Smith.

The good life was all that he had expected it to be, and—as he drove south to Avalon—Connor could feel it getting better by the minute.