“They just panted around after him,” Cookie asserted. “He’s probably an oversexed hermaphrodite mutant. And another thing – if that cat’s mystical and all dripping with powers, why did he let himself be knocked out? Why didn’t he feed Moe Brimstine some universal sky-pie?”

“There was glass and distance between them,” Sacheverell reminded him. “Besides, if Mr. Brimstine is a Beelzebite -”

“What’s more,” Cookie went on relentlessly, “why did he let himself be knocked out by Jack in the first place? Jackie, before you stun-gunned the little brute, you didn’t feel any great burgeon of universal love, did you?”

Jack frowned. “I stunned him instinctively,” he said slowly, his downward gazing eyes studying the upset chalice, which chose this moment to roll two inches. “I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye and shot.” He paused. “I actually thought it was a mouse.”

“Instinctively or not, you stun-gunned it and we hustled it into the locker as soon as we saw it was green,” Cookie assured him decisively. “Which certainly proves the cat has no powers. Sash here just worked us up into thinking we had. Gave even me such an eerie feeling that if someone had come in wearing an orange sheet and Sash had said it was Mohammed, I’d have believed him.”

“But suppose the Green One was taken by surprise,” Sacheverell argued. “All gods have limitations. Perhaps the Green One is not so much able to read thought as to join together telepathically the thoughts and feelings of mortals.”

Cookie made a rude noise. Jack gave Cookie a quick look that was both angry and imploring, as if to say, “You’ve proved your point. Lay off.”

Sacheverell shrugged and said, “Well, if I have to descend to your materialistic level, what is it that makes the Green One so important to Mr. Brimstine?”

“How should I know?” Cookie said huffily. “Maybe he’s smuggling heroin in it or secret documents for Vanadin; maybe it belongs to the current mistress of the King of South Africa. Did Moe tell you anything, Jackie?”

“Just that he’d give $10,000 for a green cat and that he didn’t want any dye jobs. That was a couple weeks ago. Some of the other boys asked for details, but he said there weren’t any.” He stood up. “But what’s the use of talking about it? We can’t do anything,” he said harshly, suddenly glaring at Sacheverell, as if daring him, or imploring him, to answer.

“Well…” said Sacheverell.

Phil had finished his thinking. He got to his feet and squared his narrow shoulders. “We can rescue the green cat from Brimstine,” he said. “Who’s with me?”

Cookie whirled on him. “Nobody, not even yourself,” he said, while Jack put his hand to his temple and groaned, “Now the Ikeless Joe.”

Juno heaved herself out of her chair, and lumbered over with her glass and bottle. “Look, Phil,” she said, “I gotta admit you’re a spunky little mutt. But nobody, simply nobody, goes up against Moe Brimstine.”

Phil considered that for a moment. “I did,” he said proudly.

“Yeah, I know,” she admitted, “but he didn’t take it seriously.”

Phil looked at Sacheverell. “How about you?” he asked. “You believe in Lucky.”

Cookie glared warningly at Sacheverell. “If any one of us bothers Moe Brimstine about the green cat,” Cookie said, “we’ll all be inhaling molten plastic!”

“Well…” said Sacheverell, looking around for advice. His gaze settled on his wife. “Mary, what steps do you think we should take?”

Mary, chewing her tongue over a difficult job of wax shaving, twitched her shoulders. “I don’t care what anyone else does,” she said, lifting off the microtome-thin flake. “I’m working on Moe Brimstine my own little way.” And she held up for their inspection a small wax head which already was beginning to look like the heavy jowled assistant boss of Fun Incorporated. “And when it’s all finished,” she told them, “then needles and pins!”

Juno said, “Ugh!” Cookie looked almost impressed. While Sacheverell gnawed his lip thoughtfully and, with a wary eye on Jack and Cookie, said, “Yes, I suppose that is the best way after all.”

“Okay,” Phil said and started for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cookie demanded.

“To get him back,” Phil said.

At that there was a rush of footsteps and several voices competing in assuring him he would do no such thing, but it was Juno who grabbed his shoulders and swiveled him around.

“Phil,” she said, “for wunct I gotta admit that I agree with these jerks. You’re not going to do anything about that – that fool cat. You just gotta get that through your nut wunct and for all.”

Phil just smiled at her.

She shook her head disgustedly. “I shouldn’t have give you that whiskey.”

“It wasn’t the whiskey, but what you put in it,” Cookie interjected crisply. “He’s high.”

Phil grinned at him serenely, as if to prove his point, then suddenly they all stepped back a bit, and for a moment they thought they had recognized his supreme self-confidence and bowed to the inevitable. Then he realized that they were looking beyond him and he felt cool air from the porch.

Dr. Romadka put down a black bag inside the doorway, said smilingly, “Hello, Sacheverell. Hello, Mary,” and nodded briefly to Jack, Juno, and Cookie, before casually turning his gaze to Phil.

“Well, Phil,” the analyst said waggishly, “that was quite a chase you led me, and I consider myself very lucky to have found you at all. It was a most interesting conversation we were having and I’m eager to continue it.” He spared the others a glance. “You’ll excuse us talking professional matters for a moment, I hope. Now, Phil,” he went on persuasively, “I imagine that the… er… person who persuaded, or rather forced you to run away, tried to put all sorts of ideas into your head. But I’m sure I can show you in a few moments just how nonsensical they are. Incidentally, it was that same person who turned out the lights in the first place and put ail the doors on code. Quite a trickster, eh? And my daughter, too! So say good-by to your friends, Phil – I hope they won’t be too angry with me for dragging you off.”

By this time Dr. Romadka was far enough into the light so that the four streaks of dried blood on his cheek showed up plainly. Mary said mischievously, “Anton, I never did believe in that wild woman patient of yours who was always threatening mayhem, but now I guess I’m going to have to. Somebody clawed you real good.”

Dr. Romadka’s smile thinned a trifle. “Quite a few illusions turn out to be very real, Mary,” he said lightly, “although it’s usually my job to prove the opposite. Eh, Phil? Such as that there really aren’t any young women with hoofs and black fur who forget to turn off the window when they undress?”

“Or any green cats?” Phil asked quietly.

“Yes, anything like that,” Dr. Romadka agreed curtly.

“Why don’t you admit, doctor,” Phil went on coolly, “that the green cat is another of those illusions that turn out to be very real? And that you’re after it? You wouldn’t startle these people a bit. They’ve all seen the green cat.”

Dr. Romadka’s eyes blazed with sudden suspicion, which didn’t altogether abate when Cookie said in scandalized tones, “We did not,” and Jack insisted, “Doc, we don’t know what the guy’s talking about. But we do know he’s a nut. That’s why I sent him to you in the first place.”

Phil watched with amusement as the psychoanalyst sharply scanned Juno, Sacheverell and Mary. Then Phil chuckled and said to them, cryptically, “It might be worse for you if I go off with the doctor instead of up against Brimstine.”

New suspicions flared in Dr. Romadka’s eyes, but Jack said swiftly, “Look, doc, are you going to take this guy in charge and put him away somewhere so that he won’t be able to cause any trouble?”

“That’s one thing you can be sure of,” Dr. Romadka snapped, shedding his smiles and subtlety. “Get this straight, Phil, you’re coming with me whether you want to or not. In case you’re thinking about running away again, I have several friends outside.”