Part 4 (2/2)

But Crowley also knew instinctively that he was going to have to keep the number of his immediate a.s.sociates small. They were going to have to know his secret, and no man is so nave as not to realize that while one person can keep a secret, it becomes twice as hard for two and from that point on the likelihood fades in a geometric progression.

On the fifth day he knocked on the door of the suite occupied by Dr.

Braun and his younger a.s.sociates and pushed his way in without waiting for response.

The three were sitting around awaiting his appearance and to issue him his usual day's supply of serum. They greeted him variously, Patricia with her usual brisk, almost condescending smile; Dr. Braun with a gentle nod and a speaking of his first name; Ross Wooley sourly. Ross obviously had some misgivings, the exact nature of which he couldn't quite put his finger upon.

Crowley grinned and said, ”h.e.l.lo, everybody.”

”Sit down, Don,” Braun said gently. ”We have been discussing your experiment.”

While the newcomer was finding his seat, Patricia said testily, ”Actually, we are not quite happy about your reports, Don. We feel an ... if you'll pardon us ... an evasive quality about them. As though you aren't completely frank.”

”In short,” Ross snapped, ”have you been pulling things you haven't told us about?”

Crowley grinned at them. ”Now you folks are downright suspicious.”

Dr. Braun indicated some notes on the coffee table before him. ”It seems hardly possible that your activities would be confined largely to going to the cinema, to the sw.a.n.kier night clubs and eating in the more famed restaurants.”

Crowley's grin turned into a half embarra.s.sed smirk. Patricia thought of a small boy who had been caught in a mischief but was still somewhat proud of himself. He said, ”Well, I gotta admit that there's been a few things. Come on over to my place and I'll show you.” He looked at Braun.

”Hey, Doc, about how much is one of them Rembrandt paintings worth?”

Braun rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, ”Great Caesar,” he murmured.

He came to his feet and looked around at the rest of them. ”Let us go over there and learn the worst,” he said.

At the curb, before the hotel, Ross Wooley looked up and down the street for a cab.

Crowley said, his voice registering self-deprecation, ”Over here.”

Over here was a several toned, fantastically huge hover-limousine, a nattily dressed, sharp-looking, expressionless-faced young man behind the wheel.

The three looked at Crowley.

He opened the door. ”Climb in folks. Nothing too good for you scientists, eh?”

Inside, sitting next to a window with Patricia beside him and Dr. Braun at the far window, and with Ross in a jump seat, Crowley said expansively, ”This is Larry. Larry, this is Doc Braun and his friends I was telling you about, Ross Wooley and Pat O'Gara. They're like scientists.”

Larry said, ”Hi,” without inflection, and tooled the heavy car out into the traffic.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Ross spun on Crowley. ”Don, where'd you get this car?”

Crowley laughed. ”You'll see. Take it easy. You'll see a lot of things.”

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