The Commissioner moved to the edge of his chair. He poured himself a glass of the lavender-colored liquor, drank it and wiped his mouth. "By the Lord Harry," he said, "you're no inspector. Who the hell are you?" "You have my papers." He picked them up again and re-read them carefully. I watched him. I could feel something cold move up and down my spine. And then with a wave of relief I saw the first signs of credulity. "I believe you mean it," he said. "Tell me, do you really think there's a chance, an escape from this double-damned plague?" "There's a possibility, but of course it's remote and only in the embryonic stage. Of course you understand all this is confidential. Now--where is your power switchboard?" He touched a bell, said something into a microphone. Then he got up and extended his hand. "Follow the corridor, Mr. Dulfay. And may Providence go with you." Outside the office, reaction seized me, and for a moment I swayed there, aware of the terrific strain I had been under. The first barrier was passed. From now on, although there still would be plenty of danger, my actions for the most part would be routine. I threw away my cheroot and headed down the corridor. That corridor ended in a flight of stairs which I climbed to the second level. Through an archway I passed into the power room proper. Tilted back in a chair in front of the enormous switchboard, a weazened little man nodded to me, signifying that he had had his instructions. I went to work without hesitation, threw over the auxiliary switch, removed the coil of wire from under my tunic and spliced it directly into the main conduit. Finished, I trailed the coil of wire across the room and tossed it out the open window into the darkness of an alley. I went outside to gather up the loose ends. A low shed there, housing emergency transformers, served my purpose admirably. I got the compact little transmitting set out of my haversack, bracketed it to the wall in a far corner and set the clockwork to functioning. Exactly one hour later I was back in my tracto-car, driving across the flat. <tb> If a month ago anyone had told me I would visit not only Profaldo but each of the seven plague-cities of the High Ganymedian Plateau, I would have told them they were crazy. That was before I met Hol-Dai. Hol-Dai was not his real name, of course; that was what they called him at the mental hospital where I was serving my internship. A patriarch of a man, one of the early Earth colonists, he had broken down from excessive research in extraterrestrial medicine, and he was forever browsing through heavy medical tomes. One day he began talking to me as usual, and for want of something better to do, I listened. "My son," he said, "you've heard of the seven plague-cities: Profaldo, Senar, Caldray, Voltar, Xynan, Malakan, and Klovada?" I nodded. "Yes, Hol-Dai. Here, take your medicine."