"The people are still protesting, by means of the trials."

"And now the trials are becoming more and more difficult. Convicted war-criminals are no longer hanged, but witnesses are being shot. The tide is on the turn."

I sat with my eyes shut. The auditorium had gone dark. Music was playing. A girl sang.

Pol was silent. He knew that in persuasion one must pause, so that the subject is given time to dwell.

"Political polemics," I said wearily. "Keep them. Shove them down the next man's throat."

His silence was disapproving.

"I don't claim, Pol, to have my finger on the pulse of the human condition or to know what future mankind has, if it has any. And I'm tired. You chose the wrong box, just as I told you in the beginning."

He was moving about and I opened my eyes. From somewhere he'd taken a plastic briefcase. It must have been under his jacket. I would have seen it before, otherwise. He put it on my knees.

"I am to leave this with you," was all he said.

I let it rest there without touching it. "Damn your impudence, Pol."

"We have arranged a cover man for you," he said softly, "and a front."

"I don't want a cover."

"What happens if you get into a corner?"

"I'll get out again."

"You know the risks, Quiller."

"Did KLJ use a cover man?"

"Yes, but it is difficult to cover anyone from a long range shot."

"That's the way they'll get me if it comes to it. No cover, Pol. And don't post one without my knowing. I'm going in alone."