Leadenhall Street Post. Meredith thinks he's spotted one. Sir Lewis
Huntley."

"Righto. We've got men in that part of the city now. We'll have a
network posted within five minutes. Can you hold onto him that long?"

Houston looked around. Leadenhall Street was full of people, and the
visibility was low. "I'll have to tail him pretty closely," Houston
said. "Your damned English fogs don't give a man much chance to see
anything."

There was a chuckle from the earphone. "Cheer up, Yank; you should have
seen it back before 1968. When atomic power replaced coal and oil, our
fogs became a devil of a lot cleaner."

The voice was quite clear; at the London headquarters of the UN
Psychodeviant Police, there was no need to wear a throat mike, which had
a tendency to make the voice sound muffled in spite of the Statistical
Information-Bit Samplers which were supposed to clarify the speech
coming through them.

"What do you know about 1968?" Houston asked sardonically. "Your mother
was still pushing you around in a baby-carriage then."

"In a pram," corrected the Headquarters operator. "That is true, but my
dear Aunt Jennifer told me all about it. She was--"

"The hell with your Aunt Jennifer," Houston interrupted suddenly. "Here
comes Sir Lewis. Get me cover--fast!"

"Right. Keep us posted."

Sir Lewis Huntley stepped out of the broad door of the bank and turned
left. He took a couple of steps and stopped. He didn't look around; he
simply took a cigarette out of a silver case, put it in his mouth, and
lit it. The glow of the lighter shone yellowly on the brass plate near
the door which said: _An Affiliate of Westminster Bank, Ltd._

Sir Lewis snapped the light out, drew on the cigarette, and strode on
down the street, swinging a blue plastex brief case which contained a
thousand pounds in United Nations Bank of England notes.

Houston decided the baronet had not been looking for a tail; he wished
he could probe the man's mind to make sure, but he knew that would be
fatal. He'd have to play the game and hope for the best.

"He's heading east," Houston whispered. "Doesn't look as if he's going
to get a cab."

"Check," said the earphone.

Sir Lewis seemed in no great hurry, but he walked briskly, as though he
had a definite destination in mind.

After a little way, he crossed to the south side of Leadenhall Street
and kept going east. Houston stayed far enough behind to be above
suspicion, but not so far that he ra