It was simple enough. One injection, a little chafing of the hands and feet by the bored orderly while the doctor glowered and I stonily refused to answer his questions, and a lot of waiting. And then the "casualty" stirred and moaned. All the stand-by apparatus was there--the oxygen tent and the pulmotor and the heart stimulator and so on. But none of it was needed. I said: "Fine, Doctor. Now send the orderly to have an ambulance standing by at the main entrance, and make out an exit pass for this casualty." "No!" the doctor shouted. "This is against every rule, Mr. Wills. I insist on calling Dr. Lawton--" "By all means," I said. "But there isn't much time. Make out the pass and get the ambulance, and we'll clear it with Dr. Lawton on the way out." He was all ready to say no again when I added: "This is by direct order of Mr. Defoe. Are you questioning his orders?" He wasn't--not as long as I was going to clear it with Dr. Lawton. He did as I asked. One of the advantages of the Company's rigid regulations was that it was hard to enforce strict security on its personnel. If you didn't tell the staff that they were working for something needing covering up, you couldn't expect them to be constantly on guard. When the orderly was gone and the doctor had scrawled out the pass, I said cordially, "Thank you, Doctor. Now would you like to know what all the fuss was about?" "I certainly would," he snapped. "If you think--" "I'm sorry," I apologized. "Come over here and take a look at this man." * * * * * I juggled the radiation counter in my hand as he stalked over. "Take a look at his eyes," I invited. "Are you trying to tell me that this is a dangerously radioactive case? I warn you, Mr. Wills--" "No, no," I said. "See for yourself. Look at the right eye, just beside the nose." He bent over the awakening body, searchingly. I clonked him with the radiation counter on the back of the head. They must have retired that particular counter from service after that; it wasn't likely to be very accurate any more. The orderly found me bending over the doctor's body and calling for help. He bent, too, and he got the same treatment. Benedetto by then was awake; he listened to me and didn't ask questions. The blessings of dealing with conspirators--it was not necessary to explain things more than once. And so, with a correctly uniformed orderly, who happened to be Benedetto dell'Angela, pushing the stretcher, and with myself displaying a properly made out pass to the expediter at the door, we rolled the sham-unconscious body of Luigi Zorchi out to a waiting ambulance. I felt my pulse hammering as we passed the expediter at the door. I had thrown my coat over the place where legs should have been on "Barletteria," and Benedetto's old plastic cocoon, into which we had squeezed Zorchi, concealed most of him. * * * * *