"I say find out who and do something about it," the Nasty Frenchman was insisting angrily. His face was red and spiteful, and his eyes flashed as he glared up at Harpo. "We're out of it completely. Don't you see that? Because of this switch, we're off the payroll--ditched like common scum! Well, the job I've been on was to pay two hundred thousand dollars, with practically no risk involved. And I'll kill the man that's cutting me out of it." Harpo's voice was soothing. "So maybe you're daydreaming. Maybe there won't be any switch of jobs at all." "I saw the report, I tell you. It was signed by Schiml himself." Harpo looked up sharply. "You actually saw Schiml's signature on it?" "I saw it. I'm taken off assignment and so are you. We're both shoved out. Can't you get that straight? After all this time--and just because they get somebody in here that gets them excited." Harpo snorted. "So they've gone off on these spook hunts before. Where do you think it'll take them this time? Extra-sensory powers!" The huge man spat in disdain. "Have you ever seen anybody with extra-sensory powers? Well, neither have I. Look, Jacques, let's face it: Schiml would give his left arm at the shoulder to have proof of extra-sensory powers in any form." Harpo grinned unpleasantly. "You've seen proof of that before. He believes in it, he wants to prove it. And every now and then he's going to have a try at it just to keep himself happy, just to keep in form. There's no call to get excited." "But he's got a solid prospect this time," Blackie snapped. "From the stories I've heard the guy is a phenomenon. Hit top scores on the cards--highest they've ever recorded here. Other things too, like peeling the paper off the walls just by looking at them, or closing up opened wounds in ten minutes." "So you hear stories! Around here I don't believe anything I hear." Harpo shifted uneasily. "If there was anything tangible, anything we could put our hands on, I'd listen. But there's not--no proof, no nothing but a lot of wild stories. And I've even heard better stories in my time. You can't go around fighting stories--" Jeff sat bolt upright, something shouting out in his brain. He grabbed for his shoes, oblivious to the agonizing pain in his muscles, fumbled eagerly, his mind screaming in excitement. "What kind of proof do you want?" he growled. Harpo stared up at him, as though seeing a ghost. "You awake!" he gasped. And then: "Any kind of proof!" "Then take a look at this." And Jeff tossed the crumpled card down in the middle of the huddle. Blackie was on her feet, her eyes eager. "Didn't know you were anywhere near ready to wake up," she said. "You look like they really gave you the works." "Well, something happened, all right. I don't know whether I'm coming or going."