September 20:

"Interference has become intolerable. For the fifth day an American
journalist has attempted to interview me. My 'secret' Siberian
laboratory has apparently become a world tourist attraction. The final
circuitry on the spacewarp generator is giving me extreme difficulties;
there are so many things to perfect. I cannot work under these
circumstances. I have virtually ceased all machine-work this week."

And on October 11, 2570:

"There is only one recourse for me. I will have to leave Earth to
complete the installation of my generator. The prying fools and mockers
will not leave me alone, and nowhere on Earth can I have the needed
solitude. I shall go to Venus--uninhabited, uninhabitable. Perhaps they
will leave me alone for the month or two more I need to make my vessel
suitable for interstellar drive. Then I can return to Earth, show them
what I have done, offer to make a demonstration flight--to Rigel and
back in days, perhaps----

"Why is it that Earth so tortures its few of original mind? Why has my
life been one unending persecution, ever since I declared there was a
way to shortcut through space? There are no answers. The answers lie
deep within the dark recesses of the human collective soul, and no man
may understand what takes place there. I am content to know that I shall
have succeeded despite it all. Some day a future age may remember me,
like Copernicus, like Galileo, as one who fought upstream successfully."

The diary ended there. But in the final few pages were computations--a
trial orbit to Venus, several columns of blastoff figures, statistics on
geographical distribution of the Venusian landmasses.

Cavour had certainly been a peculiar bird, Alan thought. Probably half
the "persecutions" he complained of had existed solely inside his own
fevered brain. But that hardly mattered. He had gone to Venus; the diary
that had found its way back to the London Institute of Technology
testified to that. And there was only one logical next step for Alan.

Go to Venus. Follow the orbit Cavour had scribbled at the back of his
diary.

Perhaps he might find the Cavour ship itself; perhaps, the site of his
laboratory, some notes, anything at all. He could not allow the trail to
trickle out here.

He told Jesperson, "I want to buy a small spaceship. I'm going to
Venus."

He looked at the lawyer expectantly and got ready to put up a stiff
argument when Jesperson started to raise objections. Bu