I couldn't afford to be trapped. Not only would my trip to the Congo be fruitless, but worse, Armstrong would be hauled on the carpet for his part in it and severely disciplined. I myself would probably face ugly disloyalty charges. A bold bluff was my only way out. I laughed good-naturedly. "After having seen Mr. Disney I didn't expect to have to carry my papers around with me. They're a down-right nuisance to carry around in this outfit I'm wearing." I gestured to the khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirt I had on. He laughed, a forced, hollow laugh. He was uncertain of his ground. "Of course," I went on, "if you wish, we could go to Leopoldville and...." "No, that won't be necessary. I'm sorry. I lost my temper. Living alone in this jungle wears a person's nerves a little thin." I nodded understandingly. "Dr. Pilon, I really came down here to make inquiries about Doctor Chetzisky." "Yes?" His eyes took on that cunning look again. He knew something, I was sure. I wondered how much. "You knew him, I believe." "I did. In fact, I visited him once, you know." He looked at me, a suppressed grin trembling in the corners of his thin mouth, with the air of a mouse that has deftly side-stepped the swiping paw of a cat. "A peculiar man, wasn't he? Had some strange ideas." "Peculiar, yes. In the same sense that Mahatma Ghandi was peculiar," he snapped at me, the blue eyes gleaming with a fanatic's adoration. "As for strange ideas, bringing peace to this fear-ridden planet can hardly be called one." * * * * * Ah, so Pilon knew! He realized immediately he had given himself away and became morosely truculent; I had reached the end of the line with him. But I had one card left: Pilon's diary. While talking to him, I had spotted the marble-edged ledger on the crate-improvised table in the corner of the tent. I was sure it was his journal; I hoped earnestly that it was. We drank a final cup of coffee in silence while I ransacked my brain for some subterfuge to get Pilon out of the tent. In the end the whole thing was very simple. I asked him if the jeep was ready to take me back to Katanga. He went outside to see. I went quickly over to the table, slipped the ledger from under two other books, technical journals, and leafed swiftly through the pages. They were dated. I was in luck; it was a diary. I turned to the date of Pilon's reported visit with Chetzisky and there I found the entry: