“Just the same,” I said, “the Air Force is on record, as of April twenty-seventh, that it’s serious enough for everybody to be vigilant. And they admit most of the things, in the important cases, are still unidentified. Including the saucer Mantell was chasing.” “That business at Godman Field was some kind of hallucination,” insisted Splitt. “I suppose all those pilots and Godman Field officers were hypnotized? Not to mention several thousand people at Madisonville and Fort Knox?” “Take it easy, you guys,” said Al Scholin. “You’ve both got a right to your opinions.” “Oh, sure,” said Splitt. He looked at me, with his grin back. “I don’t care if you think they’re men from Mars.” “Let’s not go off the deep end,” I said. “Tell me this: Did Shallett get to see any secret files at Wright Field?” “Absolutely not.” “Then he had to take the Air Force word for everything?” “Not entirely. We set up some interviews for him.” “One more thing—and don’t get mad. If it’s all bunk, why haven’t they closed Project ‘Saucer’?” “How do I know? Probably no one wants to take the responsibility.” “Then somebody high up must not think it’s bunk,” I said. Splitt laughed. “Have it your own way.” Before I left, I told them I was working with _True_. “I want to be on record,” I said, “as having told you this. If there’s any security involved—if you tell me it’s something you’re working on—naturally I’ll lay off.” Al Scholin said emphatically, “It’s not an Air Force device, if that’s what you mean.” “Some people think it’s Russian.” “If it is, I don’t know it,” said Al, “and neither does the Air Force.” After I left the magazine section, I tried several officers I knew. Two of them agreed with Splitt. The third didn’t. “I’ve been told it’s all bunk,” he said, “but you get the feeling they’ve trying to convince themselves. They act like people near a haunted house. They’ll swear it isn’t haunted—but they won’t go near it.” Later, I asked a security major for a copy of the Project “Saucer” report. “We’re out of copies right now,” he said. “I’ll send you one next week.” I asked him bluntly what he thought the saucers were. “I doubt if anybody has the full answer,” he said seriously. “There’s been some hysteria—also a few mistakes. But many reports have been made by reliable pilots, including our own. You can’t laugh those off.” As I drove home, I thought over what I’d heard. All I had learned was that the Air Force seemed divided. But that could be a smoke screen. In less than twenty-four hours, I received my first suspicious tip. It was about ten A.M. when my phone rang. “Mr. Keyhoe? This is John Steele,” said the voice at the other end. (Because of the peculiar role he played, then and later, I have not used his real name.) “I’m a former Air Force Intelligence officer. I was in the European theater during the war.” I waited. He hesitated a moment.