"But you're wrong. Dead wrong." Hefferling paused and reconsidered the phrase. "I mean, you're wrong. There is a shortage and it's the fault of the Arabs, not me. Honest, Mr. Everyman."

"You can call me Ev," Remo said.

Hefferling was sweating. He closed his eyes as if he were trying hard not to cry.

"Look, Ev, you just don't understand."

"Explain it to me," Remo said.

"Will you please let me talk?" Hefferling screamed. He jumped to his feet. Remo wondered if the room was soundproof.

"Sit down," he advised. Hefferling blinked rapidly, convincing himself that he didn't have to sit down if he didn't want to. After all, whose office was it and who did this Everyman think he was? Remo touched his chest and he sat down.

"Okay now, go ahead," Remo said. "Explain."

Hefferling's eyes rolled as if on the inside of his eyelids was written what he should say. What could he tell this madman?

"Look, it's true. Some people are making this shortage worse." That was good, he thought. It was the truth. He had read somewhere that you shouldn't lie to a crazy man. Maybe if he told him the truth that he wanted to hear, then, maybe this nut would believe everything he told him. Remo rewarded this theory with a smile.

"These people buy up oil on the spot market but

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then they hold it, waiting for prices to go higher before they sell it in this country. They asked me to join them, but when I heard about it, I walked out. I wouldn't have anything to do with that. I said their plan was un-American."

Remo nodded. "Good for you," he said. "And you wouldn't have anything to do with it."