Clawly stood up. His face had the frozenness of pent tension, an odd mixture of grim seriousness and mocking exasperation at men's blindness, suggestive of a gargoyle. "It was a hoax," he said coolly, "and I alone planned it. But it was a hoax that was absolutely necessary to prepare the world for that other invasion, against which I tried to warn you three days ago. The invasion whose vanguard is already in our midst. Of course Conjerly and Tempelmar testified against me--for they are part of the vanguard!" "You're psychotic," said Shielding flatly, lowering his head a little, like a bull. "Paranoid. The only wonder is how it escaped the psychiatrists. Watch him, some of you"--he indicated those nearest Clawly--"while I call the attendants." "Stay where you are, all of you! And you, Shielding, don't flip that beam!" Clawly had danced back a step, and a metal tube gleamed in his hand. "Since you believe I planned the Martian hoax--and I did--perhaps you'll believe that I won't stop at a few more deaths, not accidental this time, in order to make you see the truth. Idiots! Can't you see what's happening under your very noses? Don't you see what those reports may have meant? Call Co-ordination Center 1, Shielding. Go on, I mean it, call them!" But at that instant Firemoor spun round in his chair and dove at Clawly, pinioning his arms, hurling them both down, wrenching the metal tube from his hand, sending it spinning to one side. A moment later he had dragged Clawly to his feet, still holding him pinioned. "I'm sorry," he gasped miserably. "But I had to do it for your own sake. We were wrong--wrong to the point of being crazy. And now we've got to admit it. Looking back, I can't see how I ever--" But Clawly did not even look at him. He stared grimly at Shielding. "Thank you, Firemoor," said Shielding, a certain relief apparent in his voice. "You still have a great deal to answer for. That can't be minimized--but this last action of yours will certainly count in your favor." This information did not seem to make Firemoor particularly happy. The pinioned Clawly continued to ignore him and to stare at Shielding. "Call Communications Center 1," he said, deliberately. Shielding dismissed the interruption with a glance. He sat down. "The attendants will remove him shortly. Well, gentlemen," he said, "it's time we considered how best to repair the general dislocations caused by this panic. Also there's the matter of our position with regard to the trial of the accomplices." There was a general pulling-in of chairs. "Call Communications Center 1," Clawly repeated. Shielding did not even look up. But someone else said, "Yes. I think now you'd better call them." Shielding had started automatically to comply, before he realized just who it was that was speaking--and the particular tone that was being used. It was Conjerly and the tone was one of command. * * * * *