The phone rang, and McDowell groaned. "Some other guy wanting to climb on the wagon with us. Been ringing all morning, from one screwbell or another with theories, ideas, un-helpful suggestions as to how to trap the alien, and so forth. My own opinion is to treat him nice, apologize for our rather fool behavior, and see that he don't take a bad statement home with him. If he tells 'em about us from what he's seen--Hello," he bawled into the phone. "I am Mrs. Donovan, on Tremont Street. I wanted to report that the fellow with the feathers on his head used to pass my window every morning on his way to work." "Fine," said McDowell, unconvinced. "Will you answer me three questions?" "Certainly." "First, how do you know--seems he never took his hat off?" "Well, he was large and he acted suspicious--" "Sure," growled McDowell, hanging up the phone. He turned again to Doc. "It's been like this. People who think they've seen him; people who are sure they've had him in for lunch, almost. Yet they missed calling about a character growing feathers instead of hair until there's a big fuss--just as though a guy with a head covered with feathers was quite the ordinary thing until he takes a swing at a guy in a saloon." Doc said: "You've canvassed all the medics in Boston and environs?" "In another hour we'll have all the medics in Massachusetts. Give us six hours and we'll have 'em all over New England and part of Canada, New York, and the fish along the Atlantic Ocean." "Have you tried the non-medics?" "Meaning?" "Chiropodists, and the like. They aren't listed in the Medical Register, but they will often take care of a cut or scrape." McDowell laughed. "Just like a stranger to go to a foot specialist to get a ripped scalp taken care of." "Well, it is farfetched, but might be." "I'm going to have the boys chalk all sorts, and we'll follow up with the pharmacists. Does that feather-headed bird know how much money he's costing the city, I wonder?" McDowell gritted his teeth a bit as the phone rang again. "I wonder what this one has to say," he snarled, and then barked: "McDowell," into the instrument. "I have just seen the feather-headed man on Huntington Avenue," replied a gruff voice. "This is Dr. Muldoon, and I'm in a drugstore on the corner of Huntington and Massachusetts." "You've seen him? How did you know?" "His hat blew off as he came out of the subway entrance here." "Subway--?" The doctor chuckled. "The Boston Elevated, they call it. He headed toward Symphony Hall just a moment ago--after collecting his hat." "How many people were there?" "Maybe a dozen. They all faded out of sight because they're a bit scared of that alien-star rumor. He grabbed his hat rather quickly, though, and hurried out of the way as I came here to telephone." "Stay there," snapped McDowell, "and I'll be right over."