Haedaecker sat down again and placed the fingertips of each hand against the other, making a sort of cage. "Now I'll warn you," he told Paul. "Your proof is false, whatever it is. And if you should make the mistake of making a public spectacle of your efforts to disparage a well-founded law of physics, I shall take measures to ensure that you never make such an idiotic error again." "Why don't you fire me?" taunted Paul. "As soon as you publicly violate my rules, I shall." "Then come to the T.S.P. next Tuesday," snapped Paul, "and watch me break both your rules and your theory with one fell swoop!" Haedaecker shrugged. "I'll be there to watch you make a fool of yourself," he said. Paul turned on one heel and left. CHAPTER 8 Stacey's voice was as dry as ever, "Busy, Paul?" "Just polishing up my talk," he said. "I'm due to lecture in an hour." "Well, don't be nervous." "I'd be less nervous if I knew what was going on." "This might help. First, your corpse was none other than a three-time loser named Clarke and a pot full of aliases, none of which are worth mentioning. As dead as a mackerel." "What are we going to do about him?" "It's been done." "How?" "Don't ask." "But isn't this disposing evidence?" "Sure. But if any crime has been committed, he did it, or attempted to. He is no loss to the community." "But that is against the law." "So is kissing a woman who is of no relation to you, in public in this state," chuckled Stacey. "You'll only get involved in a lot of official curiosity if you disclose the death. That will get you a grilling and a mess of suspicion to fight against, while the birds who set him on you will be forewarned. They'll be free to plot further while you are busy defending an innocent stand. Besides," he added with another chuckle, "there is nothing like making them chew a fingernail, wondering just where their plans went afoul. Let them scurry around instead of you. If I guess right, they are not quite certain whether the man now talking to me is Paul Grayson, bona fide, or their little masquerader." "But why, for the Love of Heaven?" "Look, mes infante innocente, this is twice that you've met a character made up to resemble you. This means an intended masquerade. I don't know why. But I'll bet a hat that there is a motive to it all." The last was so obvious that Paul saw no reason to comment. Stacey continued, "One more item before I go away and leave you to your test tubes. Nora Phillips." "Yes?" came Paul's eager reply. "Posing as a man making a survey, I, me, myself twiggled on the doorbell at 7111 Bridge Avenue this afternoon, after canvassing the entire neighborhood up to that point to make it look good." "Go on." "Nora Phillips is their niece. The elderly gentleman said so. She parked her car there for the time being since her pappy, brother to his wife, is desperately ill on Neosol." "So?" "She'll be back, but they did not know when." "Get her address?"