At that moment, Julius strode back into the room, his face fixed in a smile as authentic as the gold medals on a bottle of vermouth.

"Now, General Bravais," he said in a tone of forced geniality, "why don't you and I sit down and have a quiet drink together…"

I shook my head. It was time for me to stop talking and start thinking-something I hadn't done much of since the four-handed horror had stalked out of the shadows and into my world-picture. I had come here babbling out my story, wanting someone to share the shattering thing I had seen-but my choice of confidants had been as poor as the judgment I had been showing ever since I had left the ravine. I had channeled my panic into an outward semblance of sober reasonable action-but it had been panic nonetheless.

Julius had his office booze cabinet open now; shelves with ice-buckets, tongs, bottles, glasses deployed themselves at the touch of a button.

"What about a Scotch, General?" he suggested. "Bourbon? Rye? Irish?"

"I'd better be on my way, General," I said. I moved toward the door. "Perhaps I got a little too excited. Maybe I was seeing things." My hand was feeling for the dart gun-until I realized, with a pang of unpleasant excitement, that I had left it in the car with the lift-suit…

"Of course, you're probably famished. I'll just order up a bite; I haven't eaten myself."

"No, thanks, General. I'm pretty tired. I'll check in at my hotel and…"

My voice trailed off foolishly. I-and Felix-had gone to considerable trouble to leave the public with the impression that I was tucked safely away in my room. Now I was here, putting Julius on notice that while his watchdogs were curled happily on my doorstep, I had been out on the town-and the super-secret equipment Felix had lent me was lying unattended in the car.