A Scatter of Stardust by E. C. Tubb

pretense wasn’t enough. It had to be perfect.
    I was soaked with sweat by the time I had brushed the hair and my hands were trembling with strain. But there was more.
    You caught a snag , said Ginney in my mind.
    “I’m sorry,” I said aloud. “I didn’t mean it.”
    You promised me a story.
    “I know and I’ll tell you one.”
    Now?
    “Now.” Deliberately I put down the brush. “Go and kiss your Daddy good night.” I waited while the professor bent his head and then waited just long enough for her to return to me. I rose, stooped, picked her up and carried her toward the door. I opened it awkwardly, as a man would who carried a child, closed it and then, because I daren’t for one moment relax from the pretense, carried her into her bedroom, drew back the covers, tucked her in and sat down on the edge of the bed.
    Almost I yielded then, but a sound, it may only have been the creaking of a floorboard or it may have been the professor following me, urged me to continue. So, sitting in the darkness, I told her the story of “The Three Bears,” then “Red Riding Hood,” and then, just to make certain, the one about “Mother Goose.”
    When I left that room I needed a drink more than anything else in the world.
    The professor was working when I re-joined him. He sat at the table and covered sheet after sheet of paper with abstruse mathematical symbols. The floor was littered with discarded sheets, each one of which I would have to gather and pass on. He smiled at me and laid down his pencil.
    “Ginney asleep?”
    “Like a top.” I lit a cigarette. “You’ve a very fine girl there, professor.”
    “I know it, Tom.” It was the first time that he had used my Christian name. “I’m glad that she’s taken to you.” He stared down at his hands, the veins were very prominent. “I’m really too old for her. Married late, you know, and missed the best part of life. I do my best, but Ginney’s young and needs the company of young people.” He shook his head, sighing. “It isn’t easy.”
    “I guess not.”
    “No.” He poked at the heap of papers. “Odd, but now I feel as if I can really get down to work. You know what all this is about?”
    “No.” I was deliberately casual. I didn’t want to know. I could see that he wanted to talk, but my job was to keep him working and he wasn’t going to do that while I stayed. So I yawned, stretched, and made for the door.
    Paper rustled as I closed it behind me.
    *
    Cottrell was waiting at the rendezvous. He didn’t say anything as I got into the car, but he had a bottle and I took a long drink as he drove to the edge of town. There he halted and, with the motor running, we talked.
    “Any luck?”
    “He’s working.” Neither of us were, worried about my leaving him alone. The entire area was lousy with security men who would make sure that no one approached him but me. Cottrell reached for the bottle, tilted it, handed it back.
    “How did you manage it?”
    I told him and he nodded.
    “Good. You’ve earned his trust and he’ll be dependent on you. A little more and you’ll have him jumping through hoops. Making friends with his delusion was a bright idea. Don’t forget to use the sympathy angle.”
    I looked at him in the light of the dashboard.
    “You don’t like me, do you?”
    “I don’t like what you’re doing,” he said harshly, and I caught the gleam of his eyes as he faced me. “I don’t like what’s being done to the professor. I’m a doctor of sorts and it’s my job to heal. What would you think of a doctor who deliberately encouraged the growth of a malignant cancer in a man because it increased his I.Q.?”
    “Doesn’t that depend on what he does with his increased I.Q.?”
    “Maybe.” He seemed torn between the desire to talk and caution against talking too much. Desire won. “I’m sticking my neck out in saying this, but I personally believe that the professor would be better off dead than the way he is. Oh, he’s