In addition, I'd used one of my favorite gadgets: a non-random noise generator. Because a conversation is patterned, it is possible to pick it out of a "white," purely random background noise, even if the background is louder than the conversation. But my little sweetheart was a multiple recording of ten thousand different conversations, all meaningless, _plus_ a lot of "white" noise. After the gadget is connected up, the walls vibrate with jabber that can't be analyzed even by the best of differential analyzers. Only in the hush area away from the walls is it quiet. [Illustration: _Trouble with a hunch something's wrong is ... it doesn't tell what's wrong!_] But my caller couldn't be expected to know that, and I didn't feel like telling him. I decided to see how far he'd go. "Mr. Venuccio," I said in an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, but my present work will require several more weeks, and--" "I understand that," he said quickly. He seemed to be a great one for interruptions. "But I assure you that I can make it worth your while. What would you charge for an hour of your time?" "It would depend on what I'd have to do." "All you will have to do is listen to me explain my problem and my proposition to you. An hour, at the very most. I could meet you at the _Seven Sisters_ in half an hour. This is very urgent, Mr. Oak." Not to me, it wasn't. But my intuition told me that there was something here I ought to know about. "All right, Mr. Venuccio; I'll be there. It'll cost you a hundred in cash for the consultation fee. Have it with you." In case he didn't know what I charged, that ought to give him some idea. He didn't flinch. "Very good, Mr. Oak. I'll see you in half an hour, then. Good-by." And his image vanished. _Interesting_, I thought. There was something definitely phony about Mr. André Venuccio. His manner of speaking didn't sound natural; it was as though he were attempting to pretend to be something he wasn't. I made a few phone calls and came up with more information. The last ship directly from Earth had landed four days ago. Mr. Venuccio could have come in by flitterboat, but it didn't seem likely, if he had, as he claimed, come all the way from Earth to see me. Aside from the fact that my staff in my New York office wouldn't have told him where I was, there was also the fact that no André Venuccio had come in on the last ship. I made two more calls--one to Marty and one to Colonel Brock--and then began to get ready for my appointment with the enigmatic Mr. Venuccio. * * * * *