CHIP STARED AT HIS friend bewilderedly for a moment. Then he grinned. “Hey—I must be getting slightly whacky in my old age. I stand here with an unopened bottle in my hands and hear things! For a minute I thought you said ‘Lorelei.’ The Lorelei, my space-cop friend, is a myth. An old Teutonic myth about a beautiful damsel who sits out in the middle of a sea on a treacherous rock, combing her golden locks, warbling and luring her fascinated admirers to destruction.”
He grunted. “A dirty trick, if you ask me. Catch a snort of this alleged Scotch, pal, and I’ll torture your eardrums with the whole, sad story.” He started to sing. ”’Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten—’”
The Patrolman laid a hand on his arm, silenced him.
“It’s not funny, Chip. You’ve described the Lorelei exactly. That’s
