The announcer's voice, when it came in over the muted jingle "explained" the miracle of the slum-clearance again--a miracle of American technology. Then he outlined the next "miracle" the Witch Corporation would promote. This, he said, would be a miracle of American Medical know-how. Witch would pay for the expensive operation needed to make a little girl walk again after a crippling disease several years before. Bone would be grafted, new muscles would be grafted, American medical know-how in its full extent would be put at her service. Keep healthy by keeping clean with Witch, the announcer suggested. Witch would pay for the expensive operation to undo the effects of one disease. Meanwhile, Witch's customers could use the preventive medicine of cleanliness to help them in their fight against disease, while the researchers of American medicine "seek to find you real protection." * * * * * It was 10:30 the next morning when the doorbell rang. A big man was standing outside in a topcoat, hat in hand. Randolph stood in the door, waiting. The man silently held out a badge, and Randolph moved aside, gesturing him in. "I didn't look at your badge close enough," Randolph said as he closed the door behind his visitor. "Who are you?" "Narcotics squad," the man said briefly. "I was on the raid last night." "Oh? The one Bill Howard was talking about in his newscast?" "Yes. That one. I don't figure there's any connection, and my boss just laughed when I suggested there was a connection." "Connection?" "You see, I took a break from questioning those boys we pulled in. Trying to get a lead to the higher-ups. They were doped to the ears, and sometimes you can get info from them right quick. I took a break for a cup of coffee across the street, and there was a TV in the place, and I watched your Bill Howard. "I left just when your witches came on, shouting that thing about make it clean NOW. I went right back and started in on the questioning again, but the guy they brought in for me to question next was--not dopey. He was ... well, there's a difference between boys with the monkey on their back, and when there's no monkey. There was no monkey, but the kid began giving me everything he knew would take us to the higher-ups. It was being taped, of course, and I asked him when he'd had his last shot. Not twenty minutes before the raid, he said, calm as you please. "I had the guys brought back that I'd talked to before and they were--different. Only way I can describe it is, no monkey. The monkey had been there before. I don't know. They each gave us all they had in leads--they'd been stubborn before, but they sang like canaries.