"Calm down. That's just it, I can. The cell is spread thin at the _Star-Times_, so thin that we'll have to watch our step until it's uncovered. You see, Darius, you are going to take Crippens' place in it. When Cripp dies Tracy will turn to someone for sympathy. If it looks like you tried to save Cripp because you believed as he did--well, I'm sure you see the possibilities." * * * * * McLeod nodded vaguely. Anti-News. He was playing the game, almost, the way he felt. But he lacked the name. It was strange how you could amble cheerfully through life accepting or ignoring certain things until you woke up one morning and everything looked different. Whoever had decided leopards don't change their spots was all wet. "... sorry if this sounds cloak-and-daggerish," Overman was saying, "but don't tell anyone. I can trust you. If the conspiracy is as big as I think, the good people at the _World_, the sensible ones, can probably trust a man like Weaver Wainwright. The rest must be suspect." McLeod grinned. "Why trust me, chief?" he said easily, "I've never been a bug for ideology either way." "That's precisely why. Newspapering is a job with you, but a good one. You're our highest-paid reporter. You have a reputation to maintain. A man gets muddle-headed if he starts delving too deeply into ideologies. He's afraid to see black-and-white because the other muddle-heads insist there are such things as grays. You follow?" "Yeah," said McLeod. He followed, all right. It was all right if you thought for yourself, according to Overman, provided you didn't think too hard. You could attend all the high-brow confabs you wanted, safe in the security of your tailor-made answers. Never doubt. Never guess. You know. You just know. This is so and this is not so and there's never any in-between. The insistence on shadings of opinion between truth and error was a stumbling-block in the path of knowledge. Gray was for people who didn't know the truth about black-and-white. "Yes, I can trust you. Thank God for that." "I ought to get a raise," said McLeod, smiling and playing the role Overman had selected for him. "Very funny. You ought to get a move on. We still have to worry about Wainwright and his men. There's no telling when they'll strike." "So I have to strike first, at Crippens." "Naturally. Have you filled out an application on him?" "No," McLeod said easily, and raised a hand for silence when Overman was about to start yelling. "It's too important. I want to do the job myself. It's my life we're playing around with." "I don't know if I approve. There's something to be said for professional efficiency. The gunmen know their work." "I don't care if you approve or not. It's my life." "You see, Darius. That's what I like about you. You always know where you stand." "Thanks. I'll need some security, though." "Now I don't follow you."