Dr. Phillips blinked behind his spectacles. "My word!" he exclaimed. "How'd you know that?" "I didn't," Justin told him drily. "I merely surmised it from the nature of my own assignment. Could you give the details?" "Certainly, Justin, certainly." Dr. Phillips paused to check his memory. Then, "It was a black chap--a Hindustani, a most repulsive little fop. His record and paper were excellent of course--but there's more than marks to a university, what?" "Oh quite," said Justin. "Would you care to tell me his name?" "Not quite proper, is it?" Dr. Phillips looked distressed. "But I suppose there's small point in discretion. Chap's name was an odd one." He looked distressed, added a trifle uncertainly, "Believe it was Mohammed or something like that. Last name was like that river in India where the Hindus all take their annual bath." Justin said, "Mohammed Ganges? It would be Mohandas K. Ghandi, wouldn't it?" Dr. Phillips regarded him with admiration, said, "Bless my soul--that was _it_! Though how on earth you ever knew it...." "He made quite a mark for himself in the world during the first half of my century," Justin told him. Then, "One more question, doctor--what does Ortine want you to do about him--flunk him?" "My dear fellow, how can I flunk a chap who isn't even a student?" Dr. Phillips' tone was mildly reproachful. "No, all he wants me to do is refuse him admission to the university. I was already of half a mind to do so anyway. Can't think why Ortine should go to all this trouble." "Probably he just likes to be sure," said Justin. Within him a glow of fresh exultation was forming. Each of them had been brought here because, at some time or other, he had made a decision favorable to one of the so-called madmen. But Phillips was asking him about his own mission. Justin told him as briefly as politeness allowed, was pleased when Dr. Phillips seemed to consider it unimportant compared to his own task. His visitor rose, evidently prepared to leave, and Justin said, "Doctor, where can I find our mutual friend Miss Wilkins? I'd like to know what her problem is?" "A very sad case indeed, poor young woman," replied Dr. Phillips, shaking his head mournfully. "Perhaps the company of a young man like yourself will cheer her. Three doors down to your left. You can hardly miss it." Justin found Deborah lying on the movable cot in her cubicle. Her head was resting on her hands, her blue eyes staring frankly at the ceiling. Her bare feet were crossed and, starch or no, her absurd nightgown had hiked up sufficiently to reveal a pair of lower legs both shapely and attractive. He stood in the doorway, staring at her, and wondering at the nature of an assignment that could reduce her native gaiety to what was evidently a mood of deep misery. Some small sound made her aware of his presence. She turned her head to look at him, gasped, sat up quickly and pulled her gown down over her ankles with an automatic gesture.