Mrs. Jamieson turned to leave the room, but he stopped her. "You understand what I'm saying, don't you?" "No, I don't!" she said sharply. "You're old enough to face realities. You are a Konv. You always will be a Konv. _Have you forgotten your own father?_" She turned her back and slammed the door. Earl stood very still for a long time in the room that was to have been happy for him. She was crying just beyond the wall. Earl did not use the room that first year. He slept in the second bedroom. He did not mention his frustrated desires to be normal, not after the first attempt, but he persisted in his efforts to be so. Use of the cylinder was out of the question for them now, anyway. In the spring Mrs. Jamieson caught a virus cold which resulted in a long convalescence. Earl moved into the new bedroom. At first she thought he moved in an effort to please her because of the illness, but she soon grew aware of her mistake. One day he disappeared. * * * * * Mrs. Jamieson was alarmed. Had the Agents found him? She watched the papers daily for some word of Konvs being killed. The second day after his disappearance she found a small item. A Konv had raided the Agent's office in Stockholm, killing three, and getting killed himself. Mrs. Jamieson dropped the paper immediately and went to Stockholm. She did not consider the risk. In Stockholm she found clothes and made discreet inquiries. The slain man had been a Finnish Konv, one of those left behind by Stinson as an undesirable. His wife had been killed by the Agents the week before. He had gone completely insane and made the raid singlehanded. Mrs. Jamieson read the account of crimes committed by the man and his wife, and determined to prevent Earl from making the mistake of taking on more than he could handle. When she arrived at her own home, Earl was in his room. "Where have you been?" she asked petulantly. "Oh, here and there." "I thought you were involved in that fight in Stockholm." He shook his head. She stood in the doorway and watched him leaning over his desk, attempting to write something on a sheet of paper. She was proud of his profile, tow-headed as a boy, handsome in a masculine way. He cracked his knuckles nervously. "What did you do?" she asked. Suddenly he flung the pencil down, jumped from his chair and paced the floor. "I talked to an Agent last night," he said. "Where?" "Bangkok." Mrs. Jamieson had to sit down. Finally she was able to ask, "How did it happen?" "I broke into the office there to get at the records. He caught me." "What were you looking for?" "I wanted to learn the names of the men who killed Father." He said the word strangely. He was unaccustomed to it. "Did you find them?"