"So let him be. He can do little harm. In the case of the normal paranoid harboring a persecution complex, it is something tangible against him--wife, neighbor or friend. In that case it is best to do something quickly to protect the innocent. But in Carroll's case it is an intangible--remember the case, Majors?" "Of course." "Well, it hasn't changed a bit. Carroll undoubtedly discovered something that his mind refuses to recognize. Therefore this hallucination of the inimical race that is barring Terra from progress. "What Terra needs more than the man himself is to know what Carroll discovered. I don't know what he's doing nor where he's doing it, but we'll find out--and we'll let him alone." "Sort of futile, isn't it?" asked Majors. "It's soul-scarringly futile," said Pollard hopelessly. "He will resent any outside help that does not eagerly agree with him--and then suspect it of chiding tolerance. He can come back only of his own machination. But to probe further at him will drive him only deeper within himself." Majors nodded. "We'll get young Sally back on the delivery job. At least until James Forrest Carroll reappears again." Dr. Pollard nodded absently. "And may whatever he is doing bring him to reason!" James Forrest Carroll sat on a tall stool in front of a workbench in the cellar of the summer home. Before him was a maze of equipment, a pile of written notes and some haywire circuits. He was smoking furiously to the amusement of the girl who sat reading in the single easy chair in the cellar. Finally she put down her book and looked up at him. "Why did you accuse me of laying eggs?" she asked. Carroll turned with a smile. "A shot in the dark," he said. "It's not true," she said. "I'm no--" Carroll shrugged. "Anthropomorphists have spent a lot of time showing that the humanoid form is best adapted to house intelligence," he said. "The upright carriage, the evolution of the forelegs into facile hands, the placement of the sensory-system in close locale to aid one another. "The opposing thumb and the ability to lift either a sheet of cigarette paper from the floor or a small anvil from its rest. More and deeper-involved reasons can flow than you can think about." "Which may all be true," she said pointedly, taking a cigarette from the package and lighting it deftly. She stood up then and rotated swiftly so that her skirt swung out. "It may all be true," he said. "But not necessarily a matter of exclusive truth. There may be a batch of intelligent octopi and I'll bet that they have ah--er--octopomorphists--sitting around telling the little octopi that their shape is best adapted to house intelligence." "All of which answers no question," she told him with a smile. "So you have a humanoid shape to a remarkable degree. This shape is enhanced by the Terran clothing and the Terran cosmetics and, I might add, the Terran surroundings." "Do go on," she said with grim rumor.