 Why was the woman in Brian’s apartment?
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Brian Hanson looked disgustedly at Pete Brent, his lanky assistant. Brian Hanson wondered dispassionately for a moment how his assistants could fail to be as absorbed as he was by the work they were doing, then he let it go as he stepped outside the research building. But, if they could not realize that the company's regime served the best interests of the planet, they would just have to suffer the consequences of their own ignorance. This walk was part of a regular routine of physical exercise that kept his body hard and resilient in spite of long hours spent in the laboratory. As he opened the door of his apartment he heard the water running into his bath. Through the open door of his bedroom he could see his bed neatly turned down as it should be, but the outline under the counterpane and the luxuriant mass of platinum-blond hair on the pillow was certainly no part of his regular routine. Pete Brent's joking words flashed back to him. Brian slowly acquired a complexion suitable for painting fire plugs. The girl swung her legs out of bed and Brian blinked; she was fully dressed. The snug, zippered overall suit she wore did nothing to conceal the fact that she was a female. He struggled out of the bath, wrapped his damp bathrobe clammily around him and marched to the door with a seething fury of righteous anger burning within him. Four police constables and a sergeant swarmed into the room, shoving him away from the door. "Wherethehell's who?" "Quit stallin', bud. "She ... why ... why ... she left, of course. Brian Hanson, Chief of Research for Venus Consolidated, as dignified as possible in a damp bathrobe, glared out through the bars at a slightly bewildered Pete Brent. Police have been after her for months; she's a rebel and she's sure been raising plenty of hell around here. All I want is to get out of here—" "Gotcha, chief," Brent whispered understandingly. For the nineteenth time Brian Hanson strode to the door of his cell and rattled the bars. I don't care if you are—" Brian's eyes almost popped out as he saw a gloved hand reach around the guard's neck and jam a rag over his nose and mouth. Another guard was caught and silenced as he came around the end of the corridor. Someone was outside his cell door, a hooded figure which seemed, somehow, familiar.
 She was hiding from the police.
 She was drawing his bath and cleaning his apartment.  Pete set them up on a date.  She was hiding from the police.  She worked in his vitamin research lab.