erplexity. She pursed her lips and gave
the matter the gravest consideration. Then she concluded, "Yes,
something very strange."

Harry was hopeful. "What was it?"

"None of them did very much talking. Strictly anti-social types."

Harry groaned, realizing he should have known better. "Thank you, Miss
Conway. That's all."

"The fourth guy is waiting outside."

"Let him sit for a couple of minutes, then send him in."

He decided to put the whole matter out of his mind and get the
interviews over as fast as possible. There were other, more serious
duties to attend to. The toupee episode was probably nothing more than a
crazy coincidence anyway. Strictly an item for Believe-It-Or-Not.

* * * * *

By two o'clock that afternoon the four remaining candidates had come and
gone. And Harry Payne sat at his desk in the immediate aftermath
questioning his sanity. All seven men wore toupees! It was incredible
but true. And now the matter was one of deep and abiding concern to him.
There was nothing funny about it. There was a touch of the macabre in it
that rendered his flesh cold and weak.

He lit a cigarette and tried to pull his thoughts together. Seven men
applying for the same job; seven men with one thing in common; seven men
as bald as Doctor Cyclops. Harry had to abandon the notion that sheer
coincidence brought these men together. That was too fantastic. They
were brought together by design.

Their backgrounds varied in that they had all worked and come from
different parts of the country. But those facts were only on paper. It
was an odds-on bet they all knew each other. There was even something
about the order in which they arrived at the office that indicated a
pattern or an over-all plan. Numbers three, five and six had worn false
mustaches.

If it was true the seven men were well acquainted then Paula Ralston
could undoubtedly give him some answers. Harry had another dinner
engagement with her at five o'clock. But this date, he told himself,
would be different. _He_ was going to be all business until he learned
exactly what she was involved in.

He picked up the phone, got an outside line and dialed. Frank Barnes was
a private detective. A good one. Harry was sure he could rely on him for
a small favor.

A subdued, resonant voice answered on the other end.

"Frank, Harry Payne here."

"Harry! Where you been hiding?"

"I need a favor."

"Only time you ever call me,