Zorchi's eyes rolled up in his head and closed; for a moment, I thought he had fainted and leaped forward to catch him rather than let his legless body crash to the floor. But he hadn't fainted. He was muttering, half aloud, sick with fear, "For the love of Mary, Defoe! Please, please, I beg you! Please!" It was too much for me. I said, shaking with rage, "Mr. Defoe, you can't force this man to undergo experimental radiation that might make a monster out of him! I insist that you reconsider!" Defoe threw his head back. "_What, Thomas?_" he snapped. I said firmly, "He has no one here to advise him--I'll take the job. Zorchi, listen to me! You've signed the treatment application and he's right enough about that--you can't get out of it. _But you don't have to take this treatment!_ Every policyholder has the right to refuse any new and unguaranteed course of treatment, no matter what the circumstances. All you've got to do is agree to go into suspension in the va--in the clinic here, pending such time as your condition can be infallibly cured. Do it, man! Don't let them make you a freak--demand suspension! What have you got to lose?" I never saw a man go so to pieces as Zorchi, when he realized how nearly Defoe had trapped him into becoming a guinea pig. Whimpering thanks to me, he hastily signed the optional agreement for suspended animation and, as quickly as I could, I left him there. Defoe followed me. We passed the secretary in the anteroom while Dr. Lawton was explaining the circumstances to him; the man was stricken with astonishment, almost too paralyzed to sign the witnessing form Defoe had insisted on. I knew the form well--I had been about to sign one for Marianna when, at the last moment, she decided against the vaults in favor of the experimental therapy that hadn't worked. Outside in the hall, Defoe stopped and confronted me. I braced myself for the blast to end all blasts. I could hardly believe my eyes. The great stone face was smiling! "Thomas," he said inexplicably, "that was masterful. I couldn't have done better myself." VI We walked silently through the huge central waiting room of the clinic. There should have been scores of relatives of suspendees milling around, seeking information--there was, I knew, still a steady shipment of suspendees coming in from the local hospitals; I had seen it myself. But there were hardly more than a dozen or so persons in sight, with a single clerk checking their forms and answering their questions. It was too quiet. Defoe thought so, too; I saw his frown. Now that I had had a few moments to catch my breath, I realized that I had seen a master judoist at work. It was all out of the textbooks--as a fledgling Claims Adjuster, I had had the basic courses in handling difficult cases--but not one man in a million could apply textbook rules as skillfully and successfully as Defoe did with Zorchi.