broiling some steaks,” Dolan explained. “I found a package of three in the refrigerator, which is why we thought someone would be joining us. They look pretty good.”
Whatever the peculiarities of their situation, Dolan seemed expansive, perfectly relaxed, a man who had been caught up in adversity all of his life and took it for granted. He sipped beer again, wiped his beard, and grinned across the table at Mondor.
Mondor had not looked up since Adelle arrived. He remained hunched over the clutched can, lips set in a firm line, hair disheveled, his manner that of a mourner at a funeral he would have preferred not to attend.
Adelle remarked disbelievingly, “The pure food addict and vegetarian is drinking beer and eating steak?”
“When a great mathematician gets bamboozled by a kindergarten trick, it breaks his spirit,” Dolan said, grinning again. Mondor grunted. Dolan went on, “Madam told him the firm had bought a computer for him to use. She invited him to help unpack it. Naturally he couldn’t resist a computer, so he blunderingly galloped to her assistance and fell through the floor. After that brilliant display of stupidity, it wasn’t difficult to convince him that brain cells need meat occasionally to keep their clutches from slipping. Anyway, there aren’t enough vegetables to make up a meal. He drew the line at the beer, though—that’s Red Pop he’s drinking.”
Mondor grunted again and raised his can.
“Stupidity’s the word,” Adelle agreed. “What would Z-R Publications want with another computer when it has him? What bamboozled you?”
“Madam asked me to help a goon unload their panel truck. Reasonable request, considering what she’s been paying me. I carried some boxes down to the basement, put them on a shelf, and suddenly I wasn’t there any more.”
“You should have been suspicious. Madam may be half blind, but the goons aren’t, and they’d know you couldn’t perform manual labor without getting your beard tangled in it. How long ago did this happen?”
“About four o’clock. Mondor took his dive about four-thirty—he says. What time is it now?”
Adelle looked at her watch. “Almost five-thirty.”
“What’s your excuse for being stupid?” Mondor demanded.
“Madam sent me to the basement to get a folder on tires. I marched up to a filing cabinet, opened one of the drawers, and the floor dropped away.”
Dolan nodded gravely and drained his beer can. “Sounds almost reasonable. You couldn’t expect Madam to tiptoe down the basement stairs for a folder, and it wouldn’t have been polite—or politic—to tell the boss to shove it when she asked you to perform a simple errand.”
“Face it,” Mondor said bitterly. “All three of us were conned from the moment we were hired—first by the money they were paying us, second by the stupid work we were pretending to do to earn it, and third by the flimflam they pulled to get us down here. If they’d told you to go look at a computer and help unpack the thing, you’d have gone. My thirty-five dollar calculator is far too sophisticated for the work I’ve been doing, but it didn’t surprise me in the least that a screwy outfit like Z-R Publications would invest in a computer for me.” He raised his can and drank deeply. Then he turned to Adelle. “How long did it take you to solve the psychological test?”
“Psychological test?” she echoed blankly.
“Didn’t they dump you into a room with rows of numbers and response buttons?”
“Oh, that. Is that what it was? I was curious about the buttons, so I pushed three of them, and a door opened.”
Mondor turned his chair sideways and regarded her with astonishment. “You were curious about the buttons, so you pushed three of them. In order to get out of there, you had to push the numbers they were flashing in the correct sequence. Didn’t you figure that out?”
“I didn’t figure anything out. I just pushed the buttons under the lighted numbers without thinking.”
Mondor tossed his head back and roared with laughter. “You’ve wrecked their experiment! You’ve utterly demolished it! You’ve shattered all of their scientific calibrations! You were supposed to figure it out!”
“Why?” Adelle asked.
“Good question. The goons probably are asking themselves the same thing. I hope someone will have to sit up all night working out an answer.” He waved a hand. “Have a look around. Get acquainted with your home away from home.”
“Thanks, Adelle said, “but no, thanks. I don’t need a home away from home. I don’t want dinner, either, even if it is a steak. I’d rather eat at home. So why don’t we do something about getting out of here.”
“We’d all rather eat at home,” Mondor said morosely. “It’s my night to savor my landlady’s vegetarian cuisine. Every Friday she fixes an absolutely remarkable vegetarian meal for the two of us, and then I give her a lesson in bookkeeping. She’s a harpy of a person and an absolute dunce of a bookkeeper, but neither Heifetz, nor Perlman, nor anyone else ever played the violin half as well as she performs in the kitchen. I’ve been looking forward to that meal all day. Instead, I’m stuck with Dolan’s steaks. Heaven to hell in one move, and unless you have a miracle up your sleeve, this is where we’re going to eat.”
“Madam is waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Surely she’ll send someone—” Adelle broke off. Mondor was shaking his head forebodingly.
“Goons saw both of us hit the chutes,” he said. “Almost an hour and a half ago for Dolan and an hour ago for me. If they’d wanted us out, we’d be out. It isn’t as though we’d tumbled into an unknown pit in the middle of a jungle with no witnesses. This is just a sub-basement, and they know exactly where we are. Have a look at the setup. Go ahead. Everything in the place is in threes—three beds, three chairs, three table settings. There’s food for dinner and breakfast for three people. Whoever furnished and supplied this place expected three guests. Go ahead, have a look. Then you tell us whether we’re likely to get home for dinner.”
Adelle got to her feet and looked about her. On one side, the narrow kitchen contained an electric stove, a refrigerator, a sink, and a full complement of cupboards. The blank wall opposite, of the same gray metal she had encountered in the corridors, had four openings.
She squeezed past the table and went to investigate.
Three of the openings led into small rooms that were just deep enough to contain narrow beds. Each bed was made up with sheets, one thin blanket, and a single, miniature pillow. On the wall opposite was a row of hooks. Gray plastic curtains that slid across the openings on rods provided a smidgeon of privacy.
The last of the openings, at the far end of the kitchen, led into a room that contained a toilet and a lavatory. Its entrance was curtained like those of the bedrooms. Beyond the kitchen was a corridor identical to those she had already traveled. She turned. Dolan was getting a can of beer and one of pop from the refrigerator. “Where does this lead to?” she asked.
“More corridors,” he said.
“Alleys,” Mondor corrected sharply.
“Corridors, passageways, call them what you like,” Dolan said. “Mondor thinks we should call them alleys. We’re
