One of the doctors--Brandeis?--looked at the lecture bottles dully, took one and shambled over to the burgess's litter. He drew the blanket over Starkman's face, slipped the bottle under and cracked the needle valve for a few hissing minutes, then checked the old man's pulse. "Very good," he said at last to Groff and Polly. "There's something to hope for now. Now clear out, you two. Find something useful to do." "There's going to be trouble in Old Town tonight," Groff said. "And it may spill over here." Polly, preoccupied, said, "The number is still imperfect. Two of us will have to go. I do hope it won't be you, Mickey." CHAPTER ELEVEN There was a solid line of cars, bumper to bumper, on the northbound side of the highway. It ended against a roadblock consisting of two state troopers, one standing in the middle of the lane with a double-barreled shotgun over his arm, the other by the roadside where he could look into the cars. Their patrol car was pulled over on the soggy shoulder, its motor idling. A new Lincoln with a middle-aged man at the wheel was next. "Why do you want to get through, mister?" the trooper demanded. He had long ago given up the time-consuming request for registration and operator's permit. The man was flustered. "I have some friends in Newtown," he said. "I thought maybe there was something I could do for them--" The trooper glanced into the back of the car. Empty. "You haven't got anything they need," he said. "Turn around and go home." Meekly the man U-turned around the trooper in the road and sped south. The next car was a tired, top-down convertible with two young couples who might have been high-school seniors, college freshmen or young working stiffs. The driver explained, too glibly, indicating the girl by his side: "Her mother lives in Bradley, so she got me to drive her in. You know the railroads and buses aren't running, officer." But the girl giggled. "Where does she live in Bradley?" asked the trooper. The girl hesitated and took a deep breath before beginning to lie. The trooper gave a weary shushing gesture. "Skip it," he said. "Turn around and go home. This is no circus." The driver began to bluster. "I've got a license, I can drive where I want--" "Turn around and go home," the trooper said. "If you keep arguing I'll run you in for obstructing traffic. If you're stupid enough to proceed down that road, Schultz there will fire one warning shot and will then blow your goddam head off. Move." The boy roared his motor spitefully to say the things he didn't dare say, let up suddenly on his clutch and spun around the patrolman with the shotgun in a U-turn. The next car was black and driven by a man in black. Its rear and the seat beside the driver were filled with cartons; the trunk lid was half-up, tied by a rope to the bumper over more cartons.