of
cremation? Lots of people use a regular coffin for the ashes."

"He wasn't cremated," Dane told him. "You can check up on that." But he
knew it was useless.

"Sure, Mr. Phillips. We'll do that." The tone was one reserved for
humoring madmen. Burke turned, gesturing. "Better come along, Mr.
Phillips. Your wife and Dr. Buehl are waiting at the hotel."

The gate was open now, but there was no sign of a watchman; if one
worked here, Sylvia's money would have taken care of that, of course.
Dane went along quietly, sitting in the rubble of his hopes while the
big car purred through the morning and on down Lindell Boulevard toward
the hotel. Once he shivered, and Burke dug out hot brandied coffee. They
had thought of everything, including a coat to cover his dirt-soiled
clothes as they took him up the elevator to where Buehl and Sylvia were
waiting for him.

She had been crying, obviously, but there were no tears or
recriminations when she came over to kiss him. Funny, she must still
love him--as he'd learned to his surprise he loved her. Under different
circumstances ...

"So you found me?" he asked needlessly of Buehl. He was operating on
purely automatic habits now, the reaction from the night and his failure
numbing him emotionally. "Jordan got in touch with you?"

Buehl smiled back at him. "We knew where you were all along, Dane. But
as long as you acted normal, we hoped it might be better than the home.
Too bad we couldn't stop you before you got all mixed up in this."

"So I suppose I'm committed to your booby-hatch again?"

Buehl nodded, refusing to resent the term. "I'm afraid so, Dane--for a
while, anyhow. You'll find your clothes in that room. Why don't you
clean up a little? Take a hot bath, maybe. You'll feel better."

* * * * *

Dane went in, surprised when no guards followed him. But they had
thought of everything. What looked like a screen on the window had been
recently installed and it was strong enough to prevent his escape.
Blessed are the poor, for they shall be poorly guarded!

He was turning on the shower when he heard the sound of voices coming
through the door. He left the water running and came back to listen.
Sylvia was speaking.

"--seems so logical, so completely rational."

"It makes him a dangerous person," Buehl answered, and there was no
false warmth in his voice now. "Sylvia, you've got to admit it to
yourself. All the reason and analysis in t