Cocteau smiled. "It was necessary to prepare for that. You were given a drug. It has not affected your thinking capacity in any way. But once it wears off, you will be unable to remember what took place while under its influence. "When agents of the Liberty party are sent out of here, they go having had all experience with Liberty take place while under the drug. None of us could remember for more than a few hours the exact location of this headquarters. When it is necessary to leave for very long, we carry a small amount of the drug with us. Many of our agents have been caught and a few have resigned. But none has divulged enough information to harm us seriously." Craig was postponing his decision to the last. "They must know you're somewhere in here. If the radioactivity keeps them out, why shouldn't they put a cordon around the entire old city?" "Periodically, they try. But there are many, many other ways of leaving here than by the surface. Underground water conduits, ancient power and sewer lines, a number of tunnels we have dug...." Craig was solemnly handed the wallet. "If you will submit to sufficient plastic surgery to make you resemble this man, you may safely leave here no later than tomorrow night." A long silence ensued. It was interrupted by a noise from outside the door of the room. It was the voice of Phil. "Has he decided to stay? Did you see him? He looks like my daddy did.... Will he stay?" "You mustn't interrupt, son. They're in conference now. We'll let you know." "Tell him yes!" said Craig in a loud voice. "Tell him hell, yes, I'm staying!" The men gathered around him to congratulate him on the decision. Phil was allowed in the clinic to join them. "Oh, Cocteau, one more thing," Craig said. "Yes?" Craig was fumbling for his own wallet. He extracted a folded card. "Where would East 71, North 101, Number 4 be?" "It _would_ have been somewhere here in Old City." "God! How did the old guy expect me to deliver this message? Old man named Brockman. He sent me a message just before he died in Gravitation. I was to visit his wife." "Brockman?" asked Cocteau. "You mean Ethel Brockman?" "Yeah. How'd you know?" "Ethel Brockman was one of the organizers of the Liberty party. She served as its chairman until her death only a few years ago. Her husband must have felt your 'sea legs' would lead you to us eventually. And, of course, they did." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sea Legs, by Frank Quattrocchi