“Forget it,” I told him. He seemed anxious to reassure me. “I’d been worried for some time about the saucers. I called you that night on an impulse.” “Glad you did,” I said. “I need every tip I can get.” “Did it help you any?” “Yes, though it still doesn’t fit together. But I can tell you this: The saucers are real, or at least one of them.” “Which one?” “The thing Captain Mantell was chasing near Fort Knox, before he died.” “Oh, that one.” Steele looked down at the roll he was buttering. “I thought that case was fully explained. Wasn’t he chasing a balloon?” “The Air Force says it’s still unidentified.” I told him what I had learned. “Apparently you’re right—it’s either an American or a Soviet missile.” “After what you’ve told me,” said Steele, “I can’t believe it’s ours. It must be Russian.” “They’d be pretty stupid to test it over here.” “You said it was probably out of control.” “That particular one, maybe. But there have been several hundred seen over here. If they found their controls were haywire, they wouldn’t keep testing the things until they’d corrected that.” The waiter came with the soup, and Steele was silent until he left. “I still can’t believe it’s our weapon,” he said slowly. “They wouldn’t have Air Force pilots alerted to chase the things. And I happen to how they do.” “There’s something queer about this missile angle,” I said. “That saucer was seen at the same time by people a hundred and seventy-five miles apart. To be that high in the sky, and still look more than two hundred and fifty feet in diameter, it must have been enormous.” Steele didn’t answer for a moment. “Obviously, that was an illusion,” he finally answered. “I’d discount those estimates.” “Even Mantell’s? And the Godman Field officers’?” “Not knowing the thing’s height, how could they judge accurately?” “To be seen at points that far apart, it had to be over thirty miles high,” I told him. “It would have to be huge to show up at all.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe those reports are right. It must have been sighted at different times.” I let it drop. “What are you working on now?” Steele asked, after a minute or two. I said I hadn’t decided. Actually, I planned a trip to the coast, to interview pilots who had sighted flying disks. “What would you do if you found it wasn’t a Soviet missile?” said Steele. He sounded almost too casual. “If security was involved, I’d keep still. But the Air Force and the Navy swear they haven’t any such things.” Steele looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, _True_ might force something into the open that would be better left secret.” He smiled ironically. “I realize that sounds peculiar, since I suggested the Russian angle. But if it isn’t Russian—though I still think it is—then we have nothing to worry about.” I was almost sure now that he was a plant. During the rest of the luncheon, I tried to draw him out, but Steele was through talking. When we parted, he gave me a sober warning.