Colette said, “I don’t know. What do you think?” I sighed, hating to leave the water and the grass, scared half to death to end the moment. “Surely that’s obvious.” “Not to me.” She sounded sincere. “Oh, I’m so glad I checked you out!” “We talk to the expert who opened the safe for your brother. But first”—inside I was jumping up and down at having thought of it—“you tell me the other reason you’re so certain Murder on Mars is valuable.” I had laid it down on the bank beside me. When Colette just sat there without saying anything, I picked it up, riffled the pages, and handed it back to her. She took it, looking thoughtful. “I could throw it in this creek, couldn’t I? Doing that now might save a lot of trouble.” “Suppose they captured you, tortured you? Do they know you have it? They’d never believe you’d thrown it away.” “I suppose you’re right. As for their knowing I’ve got it, perhaps they do—or they may just think it’s likely.
