I stared at him. "Never mind," he said gently. "You are the first break we've had. You're the first victim to be recaptured alive-and now we find you remember what happened to you. That's important. And your parasite is the first live one we've managed to capture and keep alive. We'll have a chance to-"

He broke off. My face must have been a mask of terror; the notion that my master was still alive-and might get to me again-was more than I could stand.

The Old Man took my arm and shook it. "Take it easy, son," he said mildly. "You are still pretty sick and pretty weak."

"Where is it?"

"Eh? The parasite? Don't worry about it. You can see it, if you wish; it's living off your opposite number, a red orangutan, name of Napoleon. It's safe."

"Kill it!"

"Hardly-we need it alive, for study."

I must have gone to pieces, for he slapped me a couple of times. "Take a brace," he said. "I hate to bother you when you are sick, but it's got to be done. We've got to get everything you remember down on wire. So level off and fly right."

I pulled myself together and started making a careful, detailed report of all that I could remember. I described renting the loft and recruiting my first victim, then how we moved on from there to the Constitution Club. The Old Man nodded. "Logical. You were a good agent, even for them. "

"You don't understand," I objected. "I didn't do any thinking. I knew what was going on, but that was all. It was as if, uh, as if-" I paused, stuck for words.

"Never mind. Get on with it."

"After we recruited the club manager the rest was easy. We took them as they came in and-"

"Names?"

"Oh, certainly. Myself, Greenberg-M. C. Greenberg, Thor Hansen, J. Hardwick Potter, his chauffeur Jim Wakeley, a little guy called 'Jake' who was washroom attendant at the club but I believe he had to be disposed of later-his master would not let him take time out for necessities. Then there was the manager; I never did get his name." I paused, letting my mind run back over that busy afternoon and evening in the club, trying to make sure of each recruit. "Oh my God!"

"What is it?"

"The Secretary-The Assistant Secretary of the Treasury."

"You mean you got him!"

"Yes. The first day. What day was that? How long has it been? God, chief, the Treasury Department protect the President"

But I was not talking to anyone; there was just a hole in the air where the Old Man had been.

I lay back exhausted. I started sobbing softly into my pillow. After a while I went to sleep.

Chapter 9

I woke up with my mouth foul, my head buzzing, and a vague sense of impending disaster. Nevertheless I felt fine, by comparison. A cheerful voice said, "Feeling better?"

A small brunet creature was bending over me. She was as cute a little bug as I have ever seen and I was well enough to appreciate the fact, however faintly. She was dressed in a very odd costume, what there was of it-skin-tight white shorts, a wisp of practically transparent stuff that restrained her breasts, but not much, and a sort of metal carapace that covered the back of her neck, her shoulders, and went on down her spine.

"Better," I admitted, then made a wry face.

"Mouth taste unpleasant?"

"Like a Balkan cabinet meeting."

"Here." She gave me some stuff in a glass; it was spicy and burned a little, and it washed away the bad taste at once. "No," she went on, "don't swallow it. 'Pit it out like a little man and I'll get you some water." I obeyed.

"I'm Doris Marsden," she went on, "your day nurse."

"Glad to know you, Doris," I answered and stared at her with increasing appreciation. "Say-why the get up? Not that I don't like it, but you look like a refugee from a comic book."

She looked down at herself and giggled. "I feel like a chorus girl. But you'll get used to it-I did."

"I'm already used to it. I like it fine. But why?"

"The Old Man's orders."

I started to ask why again, then I knew why, and I started feeling worse again. I shut up. Doris went on, "Now for some supper." She got a tray and sat down on my bed.

"I don't believe I want anything to eat."

"Open up," she said firmly, "or I'll rub it in your hair. There! That's a good boy."

Between gulps, taken in self-defense, I managed to get out, "I feel pretty good. Give me one jolt of 'gyro' and I'll be back on my feet."

"No stimulants for you," she said flatly, still shoveling it in. "Special diet and lots of rest, with maybe a sleepy pill later. That's what the man says."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Extreme exhaustion, starvation, and the first case of scurvy I ever saw in all my born days. As well as scabies and lice-but we got those whipped. There, now you know-and if you tell the doctor I told you, I'll call you a liar to your face. Turn over on your tummy."

I did so and she started changing dressings. I appeared to be spotted with sores; the stuff she used stung a bit, then felt cool. I thought about what she had told me and tried to remember just how I had lived under my master.

"Stop trembling," she said. "Are you having a bad one?"

"I'm all right," I told her. I did manage to stop shaking and to think it over calmly. As near as I could remember I had not eaten during that period oftener than every second or third day. Bathing? Let me see– why, I hadn't bathed at all! I had shaved every day and put on a clean shirt; that was a necessary part of the masquerade and the master knew it.

On the other hand, so far as I could remember, I had never taken off my shoes from the time I had stolen them until the Old Man had recaptured me-and they had been too tight to start with. "What sort of shape are my feet in?" I asked.

"Don't be nosy," Doris advised me. "Now turn over on your back."

I like nurses; they are calm and earthy and very tolerant. Miss Briggs, my night nurse, was not the mouth-watering job that Doris was; she had a face like a jaundiced horse-but she had a fine figure for a woman her age, hard and well cared for. She wore the same sort of musical-comedy rig that Doris sported, but she wore it with a no-nonsense air and walked like a grenadier guard. Doris, bless her heart, jiggled pleasantly as she walked.

Miss Briggs refused to give me a second sleeping pill when I woke up in the night and had the horrors, but she did play poker with me and skinned me out of half a month's pay. I tried to find out from her about the President matter, for I figured the Old Man had either won or lost by that time. But she wasn't talking. She would not admit that she knew anything about parasites, flying saucers, or what not-and she herself sitting there dressed in a costume that could have only one purpose!

I asked her what the public news was, then? She maintained that she had been too busy lately to look at a 'cast. So I asked to have a stereo box moved into my room, so I could catch a newscast. She said I would have to ask the doctor about that; I was on the 'quiet' list. I asked when in the deuce I was going to see this so-called doctor? She said she didn't know; the doctor had been very busy lately. I asked how many other patients there were in the infirmary anyway? She said she really didn't remember. About then her call bell sounded and she left, presumably to see another patient.

I fixed her. While she was gone, I cold-decked the next deal, so that she got a pat hand-then I wouldn't bet against her.

I got to sleep later on and was awakened by Miss Briggs slapping me in the face with a cold, wet washcloth. She got me ready for breakfast, then Doris relieved her and brought it to me. This time I fed myself and while I was chomping I tackled her for news, with the same perfect score I had made with Miss Briggs. Nurses run a hospital as if it were a nursery for backward children.