“He was a close friend of Professor Voss. I got a warrant to search his house. It shows signs that he had a guest. Possibly it was the Professor. Do you want to get some of the boys down here to go through the place? Possibly there’s some clue to where they took off for. The Professor’s on the run and he’s no professional at this. If we can pick _him_ up, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion we’ll have the so-called Movement licked.” Walt Foster slapped a hand to his face in anguish. “You knew where the Professor was hiding, and you tried to pick him up on your own and let him get away. Why didn’t you discuss this with either the Boss or me? I’m in charge of this operation! I would have had a dozen men down there. You’ve fouled this up!” Larry stared at him. Already Walt Foster was making sounds like an enraged superior. He said mildly, “Sorry, Walt. I came down here on a very meager tip. I didn’t really expect it to pan out.” “Well, in the future, clear with either me or the Boss before running off half cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole assignment on your own. Today, it’s no longer a minor matter. Our department has fifty people on it. The F.B.I. must have five times as many and that’s not even counting the Secret Service’s interest. It’s no longer your individual baby.” “Sorry,” Larry repeated mildly. Then, “I don’t imagine you’ve got hold of Frol Eivazov yet?” The other was disgusted. “You think we’re magicians? We just put out the call for him a few hours ago. He’s no amateur. If he doesn’t want to be picked up, he’ll go to ground and we’ll have our work cut out for us finding him. I can’t see that it’s particularly important anyway.” “Maybe you’re right,” Larry said. “But you never know. He might know things we don’t. See you later.” Walt Foster stared at him for a moment as though about to say something, but then tightened his lips and faded off. Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. “Did that phony expect me to call him _sir_,” he muttered. ------------------------------------- The next two days dissolved into routine. Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting developments, trying to find a new line of attack. For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn’t, to work typing up the tapes he’d had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he’d had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss. He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around. Several important points he should be able to put his finger upon.