A girl pushed abruptly into the office. Ignoring Benteley, she said rapidly, "Well, it's over." She touched her temple. "See? Now are you satisfied?"

"Don't blame me," the small man said. "It's the law."

"The law!" The girl slid up onto the desk and shrugged her tangle of crimson hair back out of her eyes. She grabbed a package of cigarettes from the desk and lit up with shaky, nervous fingers. "Let's get the hell out of here, Peter. There's nothing of importance left."

"You know I'm staying," the small man said.

"You're a fool." The girl half turned as she noticed Benteley for the first time. Her green eyes flickered with surprise and interest. "Who are you?"

"Maybe you better come back some other time," the small man said to Benteley. "This isn't exactly the—"

"I didn't come this far to get the runaround," Benteley said hoarsely. "Where's Verrick?"

The girl eyed him curiously. "You want to see Reese? What are you selling?"

"I'm a biochemist," Benteley answered savagely. "I'm looking for a class 8-8 position."

A faint touch of amusement twisted the girl's red lips. "Is that so? Interesting..." She shrugged her bare shoulders. "Swear him on, Peter."

The small man hesitated. Reluctantly, he stuck out his hand. "I'm Peter Wakeman," he said to Benteley. "This girl is Eleanor Stevens. She's Verrick's private secretary."

It wasn't exactly what Benteley had expected. There was a momentary silence as the three of them appraised one another.

"The MacMillan sent him on in," Wakeman said presently.

There's an open call for 8-8 people. But I think Verrick has no need for more biochemists; he's got enough already."

"What do you know about it?" Eleanor Stevens demanded. "It's none of your business; you're not running personnel."