LaVaux took one of the chairs, waved the supposed photographer to another. ,”Now,” he said. “What is procedure?”

Casey looked about the room, considering. “You live here all alone?” he said, as though making conversation while planning his photography.

“A housekeeper,” the professor said.

“Maybe we could work her in on a shot or two.”

“I’m afraid she’s out now.”

Casey took the chair the other had offered. His voice changed tone. “Then we can come right to business,” he said.

The professor’s eyes flicked behind the bifocals. “I beg your pardon?”

Warren Casey said, “You’ve heard of the Pacifists, Professor?”

“Why… why, of course. An underground, illegal organization.” The professor added, “Quite often accused of assassination and other heinous crimes, although I’ve been inclined to think such reports exaggerated, of course.”

“Well, don’t,” Casey said curtly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m a Pacifist operative. Professor LaVaux and I’ve been assigned to warn you to discontinue your present research or your life will be forfeit.”

The other gaped, unable to adapt his mind to the shift in identity. Warren Casey said, “You’re evidently not knowledgeable about our organization. Professor. I’ll brief you. We exist for the purpose of preventing further armed conflict upon this planet. To secure that end, we are willing to take any measures. We are ruthless, Professor. My interest is not to convert you, but solely to warn you that unless your present research is ended you are a dead man.”

The professor protested. “See here, I’m a scientist, not a politician. My work is in pure research. What engineers, the military and eventually the government do with applications of my discoveries is not my concern.”