house.

He finished the coffee preparatory to coming to his feet. "Then you think
it's out of the question, Ernest Self belonging to a revolutionary
organization?"

The Professor protested. "I didn't say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of
ideals. I can well see him belonging to such an organization."

Larry Woolford decided he'd better hang on for at least a few more words.
"You don't seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization is
undesirable in this country."

The Professor's voice was reasonable. "Isn't that according to what it
means to subvert?"

"You know what I mean," Woolford said in irritation. "I don't usually
think of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members of
a _movement_, as exactly idealists."

"Then you're wrong," the Professor said definitely, pouring himself
another cup of coffee. "History bears out that almost invariably
revolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be either
right or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point."

Larry Woolford began to say, "Are you sure that you aren't interested in
this _move--_"

But it was then that the knockout drops hit him.

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

He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. He
groaned and opened one eye experimentally.

Steve Hackett, far away, said, "He's snapping out of it."

Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus.

"What happened?" he muttered.

"Now that's an original question," Steve said.

Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He'd been stretched
out on a couch in the Professor's combined living room and study.

Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at him
sarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguely
remembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve's, going about and
in and out of the room.

Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, "My head's killing me.
Damn it, what's going on?"

Steve said sarcastically, "You've been slipped a mickey, my cloak and
dagger friend, and the bird has flown."

"You mean the Professor? He's a bird all right."

"Humor we get, yet," Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. "Listen, I
thought you people had pulled out of this case."

Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. "So did I," he
moaned, "but there were two or three things that bothered me and I