He didn't think Tracy would ask Overman. He didn't think Overman would tell her the truth if she did. He saw she was waiting for an answer and said, "If the answer to that question were yes, you wouldn't expect me to tell you. If it were no, I ought to consider it an insult, coming from friends." "We never stood on ceremonies before, Darius." "Tracy, for gosh sakes!" Crippens pleaded. "Darius is my friend." "I'm still waiting for an answer." McLeod walked to the door and opened it. Crippens opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind. He glared at Tracy. "Get out of here," McLeod said. He was behaving like a child he realized. But more than anything else, he needed time to think. Tracy went through the doorway, staring straight ahead. McLeod wished she would look at him, or holler, or slap him. She said, "All right, Darius. If that's the way you want to play it." McLeod heard them arguing in low tones as he shut the door behind them. Just what do you do, he thought, when your whole world starts to blow up all around you? You don't kick over the remaining traces. You try to re-establish the familiar, comforting pattern in some small way. McLeod called the mayor's residence and got through to Spurgess at once. The flabby, thick-jowled face looked sickly white, like putty. "McLeod, thank God. I thought you'd forgotten." "Not on your life. I just wanted to tell you everything's going to be fine. You won't have to resign your office for political corruption. We'll see to that." "Oh, thank you," said Mayor Spurgess. "Thank you very much." "Sure," said McLeod, and cut the connection. Give or take a couple, Mayor Spurgess had about thirty-six hours to live. And McLeod? * * * * * Snow was falling in thick, slow flakes which melted on contact with the ground when McLeod went outside after lunch. Since neither the _Star-Times_ nor the _World_ was depending on the cold virus or influenza for medical headlines this season, it was comparatively safe venturing out in this weather. This, McLeod thought, seeing it for the first time in a strange, new light, was the city. Gray-white sky, overflowing snowflakes. Slidewalks, covered for the winter, conducting crowds of bovinely unaware people from place to place. Steel and glass and stone, soaring skyward, disappearing in the feathery white snow which, up above, was not feathery at all but a solid gray pall.