Fallon jerked his head in sudden anger. “I should think you’d have had sense enough to call her from a public telephone, Mr. Donalson! Damn it, why do you think I went to the trouble to meet you way out here?” That did it. Kerry stopped walking and faced the youth. “Look here,” he said, “I’m not going another step with you until you tell me what this is all about. Precisely where are we going, and why are you acting like a criminal conspirator?” Lew Fallon frowned. “I should have warned you. Your office phone--can you swear it’s not tapped?” “Of course it’s tapped,” Kerry said, startled. He did not need to be reminded that newspapers--and other organs of information--were heavily censored for purposes of public wartime morale. Fallon jammed his hands down in his pockets and sighed. “Well, I’ve brought you this far, so we may as well go on. But I don’t like it. If that’s the kind of person you are--” he checked his rising anger with a visible effort, and named a hotel halfway across town. “But we can’t get _there_ before curfew, can we?” Kerry said. “Hadn’t we better give our route and destination to the Night Police?” Fallon turned abruptly, his young face tense in the bluish light. “Get this, Mr. Donalson. I’m taking you to Ben Thrusher. If the Night Police get wind of this you’ll lose the biggest news story of the year--to say nothing of what would happen to Ben. It was Ben who wanted it this way. Now, are you coming or aren’t you, and to hell with the curfew! I can remember when it wasn’t a crime to be on the streets whenever you had business to transact.” Lawbreaking comes hard to a respectable man. “If you’d printed as many stories of Pharig atrocities as I have,” Kerry told him, “you’d know the curfew laws were for your own protection.” Fallon muttered something under his breath, and went on. Kerry followed, but he was not at all reassured. For many years only the Night Police, equipped with neuron-guns, had dared to walk the streets after curfew. The Pharigs were immobile in daylight, but at night, despite the inhibiting curfew lights, they marauded the world. If they escaped the unknown menace of Pharig attack, there was still the dangerous risk of a crippling neuron-blast. Neuron-guns were fatal to the non-human Pharigs, and the Night Police had orders to shoot first and ask questions afterward. The assumption was that if you were human, a neuron-blast wouldn’t do you any lasting damage. It was assumed that anyone on the streets after curfew without police escort--except in the protected areas reserved for necessary night workers--was either a criminal or a Pharig. No honest or sane Earthman had any business on the streets at that hour. Kerry quickened his steps to match the hasty walk of the younger man. And all at once a random, surprising memory darted through his brain and he said aloud, “Lew Fallon!”