They talked quietly to themselves.
``I still have to know,'' said Fenchurch, ``and I strongly feel that you know something that you're not telling me.''
Arthur sighed and took out a piece of paper.
``Do you have a pencil?'' he said. She dug around and found one.
``What are you doing, sweetheart?'' she said, after he had spent twenty minutes frowning, chewing the pencil, scribbling on the paper, crossing things out, scribbling again, chewing the pencil again and grunting irritably to himself.
``Trying to remember an address someone once gave me.''
``Your life would be an awful lot simpler,'' she said, ``if you bought yourself an address book.''
Finally he passed the paper to her.
``You look after it,'' he said.
She looked at it. Among all the scratchings and crossings out were the words ``Quentulus Quazgar Mountains. Sevorbeupstry. Planet of Preliumtarn. Sun-Zarss. Galactic Sector QQ7 Active J Gamma.''
``And what's there?''
``Apparently,'' said Arthur, ``it's God's Final Message to His Creation.''
``That sounds a bit more like it,'' said Fenchurch. ``How do we get there?''
``You really ...?''
``Yes,'' said Fenchurch firmly, ``I really want to know.''
Arthur looked out of the scratchy little perspex window at the open sky outside.
``Excuse me,'' said the woman who had been looking at them rather oddly, suddenly, ``I hope you don't think I'm rude. I get so bored on these long flights, it's nice to talk to somebody. My name's Enid Kapelsen, I'm from Boston. Tell me, do you fly a lot?''