David abandoned his futile attempts at revival. He brushed his thick brown hair off his forehead. He said, "You are the manager?"

"I am Oliver Gaspere, manager of the Cafe Supreme," said the plump man bewilderedly. "The emergency call from Table 87 sounds and when I come, it is empty. I am told a young man has just run into the booth of Table 94, and I follow and find this." He turned. "I shall call the house doctor."

David said, "One moment. There is no use in that This man is dead."

"What!" cried the other diner. He lunged forward, crying, "Manning!"

David Starr pulled him back, pinning him against the unseeable table top. "Easy, man. You cannot help him and this is no time for noise."

"No, no," Gaspere agreed rapidly. "We must not upset the other diners. But see here, sir, a doctor must still examine this poor man to decide the cause of death. I can allow no irregularities in my restaurant."

"I am sorry, Mr. Gaspere, but I forbid the examination of this man by anyone at the moment."

"What are you talking about? If this man dies of

a heart attack____________________ "

"Please. Let us have co-operation and not useless discussion. What is your name, sir?"

The living diner said dully, "Eugene Forester."

"Well, then, Mr. Forester, I want to know exactly what you and your companion ate just now."

"Sir!" The little manager stared at David, with eyes swelling out of their sockets. "Are you suggesting that something in the food caused this?"

"I'm not making suggestions. I'm asking questions."

"You have no right to ask questions. Who are you? You are nobody. I demand that a doctor examine this poor man."

"Mr. Gaspere, this is Council of Science business."

David bared the inner surface of his wrist, curling the flexible Metallite sleeve above it. For a moment it was merely exposed skin, and then an oval spot darkened and turned black. Within it little yellow grains of light danced and flickered in the familiar patterns of the Big Dipper and of Orion.