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said approvingly. “This museum piece of yours has its advantages.” She handed the envelope she was holding to him. “The tickets. We connect to a train when we reach Stockholm. Carl will pick us up at the station. You’ll love it. His place is so beautiful and secluded. A marvelous place for our meetings.”
    Orient nodded. “What happens during the meetings?”
    “We discuss various ventures the members bring up, examine new findings, bring up projects. Carl’s donated a lot of money to setting up a library in Amsterdam.”
    Sybelle stretched out her legs. “We all contribute. A wonderful project. The first library of psychic science.” And then, of course, after the meetings, we judge the merits of the applicants.”
    “Are you one of the judges?” Sordi inquired hopefully.
    She smiled prettily into the rear-view mirror. “Not for Owen. It wouldn’t be fair. I’ll sit it out. But he won’t need my vote.” She patted Orient’s shoulder. “His research is a real breakthrough. Carl will probably want some notes for the library.”
    “I’ll give him a copy of the tape,” Orient said, staring at the burning tip of his cigarette. “And that’s it? No other business at the conference?” He looked up.
    Sybelle wavered under the steadiness of his wide green eyes. “Well,” she smiled nervously and sat back, “of course there’s the séance.”
    She glanced at the back of Sordi’s head and lowered her voice. “Carl is very interested in contacting the dead. I usually assist. We all do.” Orient nodded, vaguely uneasy at the prospect.
    “Now I don’t have to be a mind reader to catch that stern look of disapproval,” Sybelle chided. “Don’t be such a purist darling.” She pouted at him. “I would have told you sooner, but then I’d have to sit through one of your dreary lectures about caution. And you’d probably have made a fuss about coming.”
    Orient smiled. “No fuss unless your chums try to pay us off in ectoplasm instead of cash.”
    “That’s the spirit,” Sordi said dryly. “Make your speech and collect the money.”
    “I must say your attitude is marvelously festive; pity there isn’t anything in this fancy car for a pre night celebration.”
    “Just pull the handle in front of you,” Orient told her. “Glasses, ice, soda, and Scotch. Sordi restocked it specially for you.”
    “How thoughtful. When we get back, we’ll have to have a nice dinner. Just the three of us.”
    “A victory dinner,” Sordi said. “And I’ll cook.”
    Orient said something, but Sybelle wasn’t listening. She was absorbed in calculating what she would wear when she next saw Sordi.
     
    Sybelle decided to stay with Scotch on the plane. After an hour of flight and three more drinks, she was ready to spend the next eight hours talking.
    Orient kept her busy for a while, reviewing the procedures they would go through. “We’ll screen a thirty-minute documentary then finish with a live demonstration,” he explained. “Think you’ll be able to communicate in front of an audience?”
    “I always have before darling,” Sybelle winked. “We’ll floor them. It’s just the kind or thing Carl’s been looking for. Proof of your telepathic technique will finally justify his fight to keep SEE going.” She held up her empty glass as the stewardess passed.
    “Two more,” Orient said.
    “Doubles,” Sybelle corrected. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
    “Did Carl Bestman have much trouble organizing SEE?”
    Sybelle opened one violet-shaded eye. “His brother,” she whispered, “hates SEE. He even tried to get a court order to take over Carl’s estate. But Carl had it thrown out.”
    “It did seem strange that Anthony Bestman wouldn’t normally refer me to his brother.”
    Sybelle smiled grimly. “He’s like that. I met him once and he was terribly rude. Count Germaine told him to his face that a true sportsman never killed except for food, and never insulted a lady.”