e to Homer Crawford's heart. Isobel was possibly the most attractive
woman he'd ever met. They discussed in detail each other's work and all
had stories of wonder to describe.

Crawford wondered vaguely if there was ever going to be a time,
in this life of his, for a woman and all that one usually connects
with womanhood. What was it Elmer Allen had said at the Timbuktu
meeting? "... _most of us will be kept busy the rest of our lives at
this._"

In his present state of mind, it didn't seem too desirable a prospect.
But there was no way out for such as Homer Crawford. What had Cliff
Jackson said at the same meeting? "_We do what we must do._" Which, come
to think of it, didn't jibe too well with Cliff's claim at Mopti to be
in it solely for the job. Probably the man disguised his basic idealism
under a cloak of cynicism; if so, he wouldn't be the first.

They said their goodnights early. All of them were used to Sahara hours.
Up at dawn, to bed shortly after sunset; the desert has little fuel to
waste on illumination.

In the suite again, Homer Crawford noted that Abe hadn't returned as
yet. He snorted deprecation. The younger man would probably be out until
dawn. Dakar had much to offer in the way of civilization's fleshpots.

He took up the bottle of cognac and poured himself a healthy shot,
wishing that he'd remembered to pick up a paperback at the hotel's
newsstand before coming to bed.

He swirled the expensive brandy in the glass and brought it to his nose
to savor the bouquet.

But fifteen-year-old brandy from the cognac district of France should
not boast a bouquet involving elements of bitter almonds. With an
automatic startled gesture, Crawford jerked his face away from the
glass.

He scowled down at it for a long moment, then took up the bottle and
sniffed it. He wondered how a would-be murderer went about getting hold
of cyanide in Dakar.

Homer Crawford phoned the desk and got the manager. Somebody had been in
the suite during his absence. Was there any way of checking?

He didn't expect satisfaction and didn't receive any. The manager, after
finding that nothing seemed to be missing, seemed to think that perhaps
Dr. Crawford had made a mistake. Homer didn't bother to tell him about
the poisoned brandy. He hung up, took the bottle into the bathroom and
poured it away.

In the way of precautions, he checked the windows to see if there were
any possibilities of entrance by an intruder, locked th