"Yes," Paulson said earnestly, "it does get to be a humdrum routine. I've been experimenting with all sorts of murders, but I just don't seem to get much of a kick out of them now. I'd like to try it from the other end as Pinkerton again. Of course, if you can't arrange it, I guess I'll have to go out and see what I can do with, say, an ax." His eye glittered almost convincingly. "Paulson, you know I could have you watched night and day if I thought you really were a murderer. But I can't send you back to the sleep vaults without proof and conviction for a crime." "That doesn't sound very reasonable," Paulson objected. "Turning loose a homicidal maniac who is offering to go back to the vaults of his own free will just because you lack a little trifling proof of his guilt." "Sure," I told him, "but I don't want to share the same noose with you. My job is to keep the innocent out and the convicted in. And I do my job, Paulson." "But you have to! If you don't, I'll have to go out and establish my guilt with another crime. Do you want a crime on your hands, Warden?" I studied his record. There was a chance, just a chance.... "Do you want to wait voluntarily in the detention quarters?" I asked him. He agreed readily enough. I watched him out of the office and rang for lunch. The news on the wall video was dull as usual. A man got tired of hearing peace, safety, prosperity and brotherly love all the time. I dug into my strained spinach, raw hamburger, and chewed up my white pill, my red pill, my ebony pill, and my second white pill. The gin and tomato juice took the taste away. I was ready for the afternoon session. * * * * * Matrons were finishing the messy job of dragging a hysterical woman out of the office when Keller came back. He had a stubborn look on his flattened, red face. "New prisoner asking to see you personal," Keller reported. "Told him no. Okay?" "No," I said. "He can see me. That's the law and you know it. He isn't violent, is he?" I asked in some concern. The room was still in disarray. "Naw, he ain't violent, Warden. He just thinks he's somebody important." "Sounds like a case for therapy, not Dreamland. Who does he think he is?" "One of the Committee--Councilman Coleman." "Mm-hmm. And who is he really, Captain?" "Councilman Coleman." I whistled. "What did they nail him on?" "Misuse of authority." "And he didn't get a suspended for that?" "Wasn't his first offense. Still want to see him?" I gave a lateral wave of my hand. "Of course." My pattern of living--call it my office routine--had been re-established through the day. I hadn't had a chance to brood much over the bombshell Coleman had tossed in my lap in the morning, but now I could think. Coleman entered wearing the same black tunic, the same superior attitude. His black eyes fastened on me. "Sit down, Councilman," I directed. He deigned to comply.