Crawford said doggedly, "It came about like this. These people need a hero. It's in their nomad tradition. They need a leader to follow. Given a leader, as history has often demonstrated, and the nomad will perform miracles. We wished to spread the program of the African Development Project. Such items as the need to unite, to break down the old boundaries of clan and tribe and even nation, the freeing of the slave and serf, the upgrading of women's position, the dropping of the veil and haik, the need to educate the youth, the desirability of taking jobs on the projects and to take up land on the new oases. But since we usually go about disguised as Enaden itinerant smiths, a poorly thought of caste, our ideas weren't worth much. So we invented El Hassan and everything we said we ascribed to him, this mysterious hero who was going to lead all North Africa to Utopia." Jake Armstrong stood up and said, sheepishly, "I suppose that my team unknowingly added to this. We heard about this mysterious El Hassan and he seemed largely to be going in the same direction, and for the same reason--to give the rumors we were spreading weight--we ascribed the things we said to him." Somebody farther back in the hall laughed and said, "So did I!" Homer Crawford extended his hands in the direction of Ostrander, palms upward. "I'm sorry, sir. But there seems to be your mysterious subversive." Angered, Ostrander snapped, "Then you admit that it was you, yourself, who have been spreading these subversive ideas?" "Now, wait a minute," Crawford snapped in return. "I admit only to those slogans and ideas promulgated by the African Development Project. If any so-called subversive ideas have been ascribed to El Hassan, it has not been through my team. Frankly, I rather doubt that they have. These people aren't at any ethnic period where the program of the Soviet Complex would appeal. They're largely in a ritual-taboo tribal society and no one alleging any alliance whatsoever to Marx would contend that you can go from that primitive a culture to what the Soviets call communism." "I'll take this up with my department chief," Ostrander said angrily. "You haven't heard the last of it, Crawford." He sat down abruptly. Crawford looked out over the room. "Anybody else we haven't heard from?" A middle-aged, heavy-set, Western dressed man came to his feet and cleared his throat. "Dr. Warren Harding Smythe, American Medical Relief. I assume that most of you have heard of us. An organization supported partially by government grant, partially by contributions by private citizens and institutions, as is that of Miss Isobel Cunningham's Africa for Africans Association." He added grimly, "But there the resemblance ends." He looked at Homer Crawford. "I am to be added to the number not in favor of this conference. In fact, I am opposed to the presence of most of you here in Africa." Crawford nodded. "You certainly have a right to your opinion, doctor. Will you elucidate?"