She flinched back as Saxon's hand closed on the gun, tore it loose from her grip. There was a rip of cloth and the dart gun came away. Ileth's skirt, freed of its supporting waistband, slid down about her ankles. Saxon leaped backward, threatening the N.P.A.'s flabbergasted assistant as well as the girl. "Don't move! Either of you." The N.P.A.'s assistant was obviously terrified and had no intention of budging. "_Oh, my skirt!_" Ileth's wild thought came clear as a bell to Saxon, and the girl rolled her eyes toward her feet, where the cloth lay in a black ring. But she didn't move. Saxon grinned. "Obviously," he said, "you haven't any weapon concealed about yourself. You can pick up your skirt, Ileth." She snatched it about her waist again, holding the foot long tear together with her hand. "I'm leaving," he said, "but remember, I can read your thoughts. If either of you make a move towards that audio during the next ten minutes, I'll pop back in and fill you as full of darts as a porcupine." And he backed, still grinning, through the door. III The huge structure, housing Government's Bureau of Research, was aflame with light when Saxon climbed from the robot cab and approached the entrance. The shadowy figure of a guard challenged him. Saxon produced his papers, submitted to a fingerprint test. "So, it's you, all right," the guard growled. "Where the hell have you been? The T.I.S. has been scouring the city for you." Saxon asked, "Is Villainowski in? I want to see him." "Not half as bad," said the guard, "as he wants to see you." He stuck his head inside the guardroom, yelled, "Hey, Webb, come relieve me. That missing physicist has shown up. I've got to take him up to the chief." "I can find my way," Saxon assured him dryly. "I've got my orders," retorted the man, "to escort you, and escorted you'll be." As they took the lift, Saxon probed gently into the guard's mind. He was thinking about a Venusian dancer performing at the Sun Palace on Greater Broadway. Either he didn't know why Villainowski wanted him, or he was more interested in the dancer. Saxon sighed in resignation. Chief Villainowski was a small wiry man of Polish descent who had led none too reputable a life, although it was not generally known. Jon Saxon, regarding him across the polished desk, read suspicion and wonder in the chief's mind. Villainowski was never able to reconcile Saxon's appearance with his indisputable scientific attainments. "_Looks like a plug ugly_," Villainowski was thinking although he was far from a beauty himself. "_Ought to be a prize fighter instead of a physicist!_" "Will you pray tell me," he asked aloud of the amused Saxon, "what the hell possessed you to sneak out the night before we leave?" Saxon grinned like a mastiff. "It was that General Atomic affair. I haven't told you, but I met one of their agents, a girl by the name of Ileth Urban, about a month ago."