Andy did not see the newspapers the next day. Someone on his staff -- he suspected it was Ed Thornburg -- intercepted them and for this Andy was grateful.

He finally fell asleep around six in the morning with the aid of a sleeping capsule, a crutch he rarely used, and didn't awaken until early afternoon. Memory flooded him the instant he opened his eyes and the sick feeling knotted his stomach.

Outside his window bloomed a beautiful summer day. Presumably the same sun was shining upon little Drew also, and those who had kidnapped him. But where? It was still a very big world, despite all the modern cant to the contrary.

Hub was sitting in a chair that blocked the hall door. He was dozing, perhaps the only sleep he'd gotten. He snapped to alertness at Andy's entrance. ``Sorry, Mr. Paxton. Nothing new. Lot of people waiting to see you, though.''

``Reporters?''

``Our own people. Questions about the show tonight.'' Hub picked up the telephone. ``Shall I let them know you're awake?''

``I suppose. How's Lissa, do you know?''

Hub considered. ``Some better. She's got plenty of guts, Mr. Paxton. You want me to call her?''

``She expecting me to?'' Hub shook his head so Andy told him not to bother. The only reason for contacting Lissa was to comfort or to be comforted. He could not manage the former or expect the latter; they had nothing to give to each other. The omission might look peculiar to outsiders, but Andy could not bring himself to go through the motions simply for the sake of appearances.