"But, Nev, it isn't a case of Orson Welles tom-foolery; it's a life and death necessity of stirring the government to action through public opinion." "I can't." He turned to the bartender and ordered a double scotch. No soda this time. "It isn't that I don't believe you, Arnold. It's--ah, hell." He threw down his drink quickly. For a moment he stood twirling the empty glass in his hand, staring at the lone amber drop rolling in arcs at the bottom. "You know, Arnold, I'm scared. Scared stiff," he said suddenly, turning to me. He looked at his wrist-watch. "I'm on in half an hour; maybe I _will_ tell them." I watched him walk unsteadily out of the bar, his shoulders set squarely in an attitude of defiance. I toyed with a drink for twenty minutes, then went upstairs to the studio reception room to listen in on Nevil's broadcast. Twice during it he paused significantly as though he was going to break the Chetzisky story, but each time he must have lost his nerve. Or the effects of the scotch had worn off too quickly. Disappointed, I left without bothering to say goodbye to him. Thursday I phoned Armstrong again. He had no word on Pilon. He had succeeded, however, in tracking down the man who sent out Chetzisky's letters. The man was a retired school-teacher, an old friend of the physicist, to whom Chetzisky had given a number of letters and telegrams to be sent out according to a prescribed schedule. That was as far as the school-teacher's participation went. The next few days I acted like a caged lion, my eyes cocked fearfully on the calendar, waiting for something to happen. My nights were sleepless. It was nerve-wracking to stand by and watch time run out on the world. And on myself. At first, my stomach simply turned without relish from food; soon, it was turning sick at the sight of it. * * * * * A special delivery came from Armstrong Monday night. It was a teletype he had torn right off the machine and rushed to me. IDENTIFICATION MADE AS HECTOR PILON. AGED 34. DOCTORATE IN GEOLOGY, COLUMBIA U. SPECIALIST IN RADIOACTIVE ORES. MEMBER OF COMMISSION NOW CHECKING URANIUM DEPOSITS IN CONGO. WAS PRESENT IN U.S. DURING PERIOD QUERIED. There was a hastily written post-script. "_Will arrange passport, plane passage, etc., for you. Draw some money from bank for expenses. Armstrong._" My heart pounded. The Congo! The site of the world's richest uranium deposits, it would be just the natural workshop for Chetzisky. Perhaps, I mused, trying to reason out a pattern, this fellow Pilon discovered or heard of a new ore find in, say, the jungle area east of the famous Katanga district, and told Chetzisky about it.