possibility that
they had a scheme to develop a nuclear bomb, and to explode it over
Greater Washington in the belief that in the resulting confusion they
might seize power. But, on the face of it their membership is incapable of
such an effort."

"Their interest in rockets?" Larry said softly.

"Yes, as you've undoubtedly discovered, half the rocket technicians of
your country seem to have joined with them. We got the tip through"--the
Russian cleared his throat--"several of our converts who happen to be
connected with your space efforts groups."

"Is that so?" Larry said. "I wondered what you thought about their
interest in money."

It was the other's turn to look blank. "Money?" he said.

"That's right. Large quantities of money."

The Russian said, frowning, "I suppose most citizens in your capitalist
countries are interested largely in money. One of your basic failings."

-------------------------------------

Driving back to the office, Larry Woolford let it pile up on him.

Ernest Self had been a specialist in solid fuel for rockets. When Larry
had questioned Professor Voss that worthy had particularly stressed his
indignation at how Professor Goddard, the rocket pioneer, had been treated
by his contemporaries. Franklin Nostrand had been employed as a technician
on rocket research at Madison Air Laboratories. It was too darn much for
coincidence.

And now something else that had been nagging away at the back of his mind
suddenly came clear.

Susan Self had said that she and her father had seen the precision dancers
at the New Roxy Theater in New York and later the Professor had said they
were going to spend the money on chorus girls. Susan had got it wrong. The
Rockettes--the precision chorus girls. The Professor had said they were
going to spend the money on _rockets_, and Susan had misunderstood.

But billions of dollars expended on rockets? How? But, above all, to what
end?

If he'd only been able to hold onto Susan, or her father; or to Voss or
Nostrand, for that matter. Someone to work on. But each had slipped
through his fingers.

Which brought something else up from his subconscious. Something which had
been tugging at him.

At the office, Irene Day was packing her things as he entered. Packing as
though she was leaving for good.

"What goes on?" Larry growled. "I'm going to be needing you. Things are
coming to a head."

She said, a bit snippishly, Larry thought, "M