"I've convinced the Colonel," Carson said, "that your services in the army might well be very valuable when the time comes, Mr. Secretary. If you'll sign up, we'll put the papers under security seal for your own protection, and then I think we can fit you into our treatment program today." "I'm grateful to you, Dr. Carson," Hamelin said. "Very grateful, indeed." * * * * * Five minutes after his injection, Hamelin was as peaceful as a flounder and was rolled through the swinging doors. An hour's discussion of the probable outcome, carried on in the privacy of Mudgett's office, bore very little additional fruit, however. "It's our only course," Carson said. "It's what we hoped to gain from his visit, duly modified by circumstances. It all comes down to this: Hamelin's compromised himself, and he knows it." "But," Mudgett said, "suppose he was right? What about all that talk of his about mass insanity?" "I'm sure it's true," Carson said, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts at control. "It's going to be rougher than ever down here for the next five years, Colonel. Our only consolation is that the enemy must have exactly the same problem; and if we can beat them to the surface--" "_Hsst!_" Mudgett said. Carson had already broken off his sentence. He wondered why the scanner gave a man such a hard time outside that door, and then admitted him without any warning to the people on the other side. Couldn't the damned thing be trained to knock? The newcomer was a page from the haemotology section. "Here's the preliminary rundown on your 'Student X', Dr. Carson," he said. The page saluted Mudgett and went out. Carson began to read. After a moment, he also began to sweat. "Colonel, look at this. I was wrong after all. Disastrously wrong. I haven't seen a blood-type distribution pattern like Hamelin's since I was a medical student, and even back then it was only a demonstration, not a real live patient. Look at it from the genetic point of view--the migration factors." He passed the protocol across the desk. Mudgett was not by background a scientist, but he was an enormously able administrator, of the breed that makes it its business to know the technicalities on which any project ultimately rests. He was not much more than half-way through the tally before his eyebrows were gaining altitude like shock-waves. "Carson, we can't let that man into the machine! He's--" "He's already in it, Colonel, you know that. And if we interrupt the process before it runs to term, we'll kill him." "Let's kill him, then," Mudgett said harshly. "Say he died while being processed. Do the country a favor." "That would produce a hell of a stink. Besides, we have no proof." Mudgett flourished the protocol excitedly. "That's not proof to anyone but a haemotologist."