e girl at the desk.

"How do you do," Turnbull said. "My name is Turnbull; I think I'm
expected."

"Just a moment." She checked with the information panel on her desk,
then said: "Go right on up, Dr. Turnbull. Take Number Four Lift Chute to
the eighteenth floor and turn left. Dr. Drawford's office is at the end
of the hall."

Turnbull followed directions.

Drawford was a heavy-set, florid-faced man with an easy smile and a
rather too hearty voice.

"Come in, Dr. Turnbull; it's a pleasure to meet you. What can I do for
you?" He waved Turnbull to a chair and sat down behind his desk.

Turnbull said carefully: "I'd just like to get a little information, Dr.
Drawford."

Drawford selected a cigar from the humidor on his desk and offered one
to Turnbull. "Cigar? No? Well, if I can be of any help to you, I'll
certainly do the best I can." But there was a puzzled look on his face
as he lit his cigar.

"First," said Turnbull, "am I correct in saying that Rawlings Scientific
is in charge of the research program at Centaurus City?"

Drawford exhaled a cloud of blue-gray smoke. "Not precisely. We work as
a liaison between the Advanced Study Board and the Centaurus group, and
we supply the equipment that's needed for the work there. We build
instruments to order--that sort of thing. Scholar Rawlings is a member
of the Board, of course, which admits of a somewhat closer liaison than
might otherwise be possible.

"But I'd hardly say we were in charge of the research. That's handled
entirely by the Group leaders at the City itself."

Turnbull lit a cigarette. "What happened to Scholar Duckworth?" he said
suddenly.

Drawford blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Again Turnbull's intuitive reasoning leaped far ahead of logic; he knew
that Drawford was honestly innocent of any knowledge of the whereabouts
of Scholar James Duckworth.

"I was under the impression," Turnbull said easily, "that Scholar
Duckworth was engaged in some sort of work with Scholar Rawlings."

Drawford smiled and spread his hands. "Well, now, that may be. Dr.
Turnbull. If so, then they're engaged in something that's above my
level."

"Oh?"

Drawford pursed his lips for a moment, frowning. Then he said: "I must
admit that I'm not a good intuitive thinker, Dr. Turnbull. I have not
the capacity for it, I suppose. That's why I'm an engineer instead of a
basic research man; that's why I'll never get a Scholar's degree." Again
he paused before continuing.