"How?" "I don't know how. You're The Thinker. You think it up how." "I can't. Not off-hand. It wouldn't do any good to ask. Who'd tell the truth with something dirty as this in their past?" "God damn!" Grabinett blinked furiously. "Why hasn't anything happened before? Why wait 'till now?" "I don't know, Mel. They're crazy letters. Go figure a lunatic mind. Maybe the police can. We're sitting on dynamite. The fuse is lit. We know the blow-up's coming next Sunday. We've got to do something to stop it." "How do you know for sure next Sunday?" "You read the last letter. It's plain. Be killing you New Years'. What more do you want? We have to go to the police." "I don't believe it." "You can't run away from it, Mel. I'll draw you a picture. Look ... it's next Sunday night. Mig's doing the drama spot, the 'Man Without A Country' question. They're working on No. 2 Camera dollied back for the full courtroom shot. Ray's in the controls calling shots to Sol Eggleston. Sol's on the Party-Line talking to the camera crews. Johnny Plummer's got the music soft. You're with the agency men in the back of the control booth.... Yes?" Grabinett nodded, fascinated. "And then there's a wild yell in the house and a lunatic comes charging down the center aisle. He's got a gun. He jumps up on the stage, and he's right on camera. He's cursing and swearing. The audience realizes it isn't a gag and starts screaming. Before Master Control can pull us off the air, he starts shooting.... Who? What difference does it make? Thirty million people see it. And when the police start asking questions you'll have to say: 'I was warned. I got letters, but I didn't do anything about it.' How long would you stay in the business after that?" Grabinett blinked for half a minute, then pressed a button on his desk. The office door opened and his secretary came in three steps and waited. "Got something for photostat," Grabinett said faintly. Lennox placed the folder inside a large script envelope and handed it to the girl. "This is a rush job, please. Three copies. Tell them to handle the material as little as possible, in case of fingerprints." The secretary's face brightened with interest as she took the envelope. Lennox added sharply: "Don't read any of it. You'll be sorry if you do. This isn't for little girls." He put on his coat and buttoned it up to the neck. As he left the office, he muttered: "It isn't for little boys, either." He went home. Cooper wasn't in the apartment, but his bed had been slept in and the animals had been fed. Monday was the one day of vacation for the entire "Who He?" staff, and there was no telling where anyone might be on this blessed day of release from the rat-race. Lennox changed, then went to the phone and dialed Houseways, Inc. "Miss Valentine, please." "Who's calling?" "Frank Lloyd Wright." There was a pause, then Gabby's voice, soft and reproachful. "You shouldn't have said that."