He stopped and looked around, holding his head together with his hands.

«Can you see the crack? Am I splitting again to become this crazy sailor who desires richness and fame, being sieved through the hands of crazed ladies with ruptured libidos? Suffering fish, I call them! But take their money, spit, spend! You should have such a year. Don't laugh.»

«I'm not laughing.»

«Then cheer up while I finish. Can I lie down? Is that a couch? Too short. What do I do with my legs?»

«Sit sidesaddle.»

Von Seyfertitz laid himself out with his legs draped over one side. «Hey, not bad. Sit behind. Don't look over my shoulder. Avert your gaze. Neither smirk nor pull long faces as I get out the crazy-glue and paste Rumpel back with Stiltskin, the name of my next book, God help me. Damn you to hell, you and your damned periscope!»

«Not mine. Yours. You wanted me to discover it that day. I suppose you had been whispering Dive, Dive, for years to patients, half asleep. But you couldn't resist the loudest scream ever: Dive! That was your captain speaking, wanting fame and money enough to chock a horse show.»

«God,» murmured Von Seyfertitz, «How I hate it when you're honest. Feeling better already. How much do I owe you?»

He arose.

«Now we go kill the monsters instead of you.»

«Monsters?»

«At my office. If we can get in past the lunatics.»

«You have lunatics outside as well as in, now?»

«Have I ever lied to you?»

«Often. But,» I added, «little white ones.»

«Come,» he said.

We got out of the elevator to be confronted by a long line of worshippers and supplicants. There

must have been seventy people strung out between the elevator and the Baron's door, waiting with copies of books by Madame Blavatsky, Krishna murti, and Shirley MacLaine under their arms. There was a roar like a suddenly opened furnace door when they saw the Baron. We beat it on the double and got inside his office before anyone could surge to follow.