I became aware that I had opened my shirt collar and that I was perspiring. I hadn't noticed how hot the day was or that the room had no air conditioning. I took a minute to concentrate. The perspiration dried and my body adjusted itself to the room's temperature and humidity. When I was comfortable again, I returned my attention to the woman's voice. At the end of the reading, no name had stayed with me. I opened my eyes. "Eliminate all except those within the age range of twenty to forty," I said. Zealley would be thirty-seven by now--but probably appear younger. "Got that?" "Yes sir." "How many left?" I asked. "Sixty-four." It was always a temptation to cut the list further. I was weary of the seemingly endless repetition of the same routine and the frustrating lack of any results. Eight years is a long time to search for a man. Yet I could not afford to be careless. I was gambling everything on my having figured out the way Zealley's mind operated, how he would act, where he would hide. When the woman finished speaking, I walked to the vid and switched it off. I noted by the wall clock that it was almost noon. I hadn't had breakfast yet. In the back of my mind, as I ordered a meal, was the certainty that someday this appetite too would grow sated and dull. There were so few satisfactions left.... * * * * * The first name on my list was Edward Anderson. The city's mayor. It took me two hours to get into his office, and two minutes to be on my way out again. I had asked my questions and met the usual blank response. On the street I spent another hour strolling through the shopping district. No shadower picked me up. Which pretty well eliminated Anderson--or anyone in close contact with him. Second name, Russell Baker. Industrialist. Minneapolis Mining & Allied Products. I got as far as his secretary, John Roesler. "What can I do for you?" Roesler asked. He was a big-boned, handsome man, with an air of sleepy indolence. He cleaned and trimmed his fingernails with a small gold penknife. "I'd like to see Mr. Baker," I said. "What about?" "Confidential business." "No one gets in to see a man like Mr. Baker that easy. If they could, he'd be pestered by every crackpot in town." This was as far as I was going to get. I had to make the best of it. "Will you give him a message then?" I asked. Roesler shrugged. "If I think he should have it." "I would advise you to deliver it," I said making my tone as impressive as possible. "If he doesn't get it, you may be out of a job." His eyebrows raised slightly. "Tell him," I said, "that Max Calof wants to see him," and spelled my last name for him. "And what should I say you want to see him about?" I had caught a slight break in Roesler's composure. "About a mutual friend--Howard Zealley," I replied. "I think he'll be interested." Roesler hid a yawn behind a well-manicured hand. "We'll see," he said, and I went back out.