The Pacifist agent came quickly around the desk and the older man, in an effort to escape, pushed his chair backward and tried to come to his feet. He was too clumsy in his bulk. Warren Casey loomed over Mm, slipped a syrette into the other’s neck.

Senator Phil McGivern, swearing, fell to his knees and then tried to come erect. He never made it. His eyes first stared, then glazed, and he dropped back to the floor, unconscious.

Warren Casey bent momentarily over Walters, the secretary, but decided that he was safe for a time. He shot a quick look about the room. What had he touched? Had he left anything?

He strode quickly from the room, retracing the path by which the butler had brought him fifteen minutes earlier, and let himself out the front door.

“His cab pulled up before the aged, but well-preserved, mansion, and he dropped coins into the vehicle’s toll box and then watched it slip away into the traffic.

He walked to the door and let himself be identified at the screen. When the door opened he strolled through.

A young woman, her face so very earnest in manner that her natural prettiness was all but destroyed, sat at the desk.

Rising, she led the way and held the door open for him and they both entered the conference room. There were three men there at the table, all of them masked.

Casey was at ease in their presence. He pulled a chair up across from them and sat down. The girl took her place at the table and prepared to take notes.

The chairman, who was flanked by the other two, said, “How did the McGivern affair go, Casey?”

“As planned. The boy proved no difficulty. He is now at the hide-away in charge of Operative Mary Baca.”

“And the Senator?”

“As expected. I gave him full warning.”