"Did he ever entertain any
business friends during that time--any that you can remember?"

She shook her head. "I can't remember. Seems to me a man or two came
home with him on a couple of occasions, but I don't know who. I don't
remember much before the night he came home and said he was going to run
for Congress. Then there were people galore--have been ever since."

"And what about his work at the end of the China war? After he was
elected, while he was doing all that work to try to smooth things out
with Russia--can you remember him saying anything, to you, or to your
mother, about _what_ he was doing, and how?"

She shook her head again. "Oh, yes, he'd talk--he and mother would
talk--sometimes argue. I had the feeling that things weren't too well
with mother and dad many times. But I can't remember anything specific,
except that he used to say over and over how he hated the thought of
another war. He was afraid it was going to come--"

Shandor looked up sharply. "But he hated it--"

"Yes." Her eyes widened. "Oh, yes, he hated it. Dad was a good man, Tom.
He believed with all his heart that the people of the world wanted
peace, and that they were being dragged to war because they couldn't
find any purpose to keep them from it. He believed that if the people of
the world had a cause, a purpose, a driving force, that there wouldn't
be any more wars. Some men fought him for preaching peace, but he
wouldn't be swayed. Especially he hated the pure-profit lobbies, the
patriotic drum-beaters who stood to get rich in a war. But dad had to
die, and there aren't many men like him left now, I guess."

"I know." Shandor fell silent, stirring his coffee glumly. "Tell me," he
said, "did your father have anything to do with a man named Mariel?"

Ann's eyes narrowed. "Frank Mariel? He was the newspaper man. Yes, dad
had plenty to do with him. He hated dad's guts, because dad fought his
writing so much. Mariel was one of the 'fight now and get rich' school
that were continually plaguing dad."

"Would you say that they were enemies?"

She bit her lip, wrinkling her brow in thought. "Not at first. More like
a big dog with a little flea, at first. Mariel pestered dad, and dad
tried to scratch him away. But Mariel got into PIB, and then I suppose
you could call them enemies--"

Shandor sat back, frowning, his face dark with fatigue. He stared at the
table top for a long moment, and when he looked up at the girl his eyes
were