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Drake locked his door, sang to himself in a pleasant baritone while he bathed, put on his pajamas, and lay down on his bed to read the paper.

* * * * *

It was mostly full of Coronation news. Noble So-and-So would wear such-and-such, the Archbishop would do thus-and-so. There was another item about Belgezad; his daughter was ill and would be unable to attend. Bloody shame, thought Drake. Too bad Belgezad isn’t sick–or dying.

There was further mention of the Necklace of Algol; it was second only to the Crown Jewels of the Shan himself. The precautions being taken were fantastic; at a quick guess, about half the crowd would be policemen.

The door announcer chimed. Drake sat up and punched the door TV. The screen showed the face of a girl standing at his door. Drake smiled in appreciation. She had dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a smooth, tanned complexion. It was a beautiful face, and it showed promise of having a body to match.

“Who, may I ask, is calling on a gentleman at this ungodly hour, and thus compromising her reputation and fair name?”

The girl smiled, showing even, white teeth, and her eyes sparkled, showing flickers of little golden flames against the brown. “I see I’ve found the right room,” she said. “That voice couldn’t belong to anyone but Anson Drake.” Then she lowered her voice and said softly: “Let me in. I’m Norma Knight.”

Drake felt a tingle of psychic electricity flow over his skin; there was a promise of danger and excitement in the air. Norma Knight was known throughout this whole sector of the Galaxy as the cleverest jewel thief the human race had ever spawned. Drake had never met her, but he had definitely heard of her.

He touched the admission stud, and the door slid silently aside. There was no doubt about it, her body did match her face.

* * * * *

“Do come in, Norma,” he said.

She stepped inside, and Drake touched the closing button. The door slid shut behind her.

She stood there for a moment, looking at him, and Drake took the opportunity to study the girl more closely. At last, she said: “So you’re Anson Drake. You’re even better looking than I’d heard you were. Congratulations.”

“I have a good press agent,” Drake said modestly. “What’s on your mind?” He waved his hand at a nearby chair.

“The same thing that’s on yours, I suspect,” she said. “Do you have a drink to spare?”

Drake unlimbered himself from the bed, selected a bottle from the menu and dialed. The robot bellhop whirred, a chute opened in the wall, and a bottle slid out. Drake poured, handed the tumbler to the girl, and said: “This is your party; what do you have in mind?”

The girl took a sip of her drink before she answered. Then she looked up at Drake with her deep brown eyes. “Two things. One: I have no intention or desire to compete with Anson Drake for the Necklace of Algol. Both of us might end up in jail with nothing for our pains.

“Two: I have a foolproof method for getting the necklace, but none for getting it off the planet. I think you probably have a way.”

Drake nodded. “I dare say I could swing it. How does it happen that you don’t have an avenue of disposal planned?”

She looked bleak for a moment. “The man who was to help me decided to back out at the last minute. He didn’t know what the job was, and I wouldn’t tell him because I didn’t trust him.”

“And you trust me?”

Her eyes were very trustful. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Drake, and I happen to know you never doublecross anyone unless they doublecross you first.”