ry from the basket were two clear blue eyes. Two eyes,
steady and fixed in a round baby face. An immobile, pink baby face
housing two blue eyes that stared up into Lorry's with a quiet
concentration that was chilling.

Lorry said, "What's the matter with you?" She spoke in a whisper and was
addressing herself. She'd gone short on sleep lately--the only way,
really, to get a few hours with Pete. Pete was an interne at General
Hospital, and the kind of a homely grinning carrot-top a girl like Lorry
could put into dreams as the center of a satisfactory future.

But all this didn't justify a case of jitters in the "basket room."

Lorry said. "Hi, short stuff," and lifted Baby Newcomb--Male, out of his
crib for a cuddling.

Baby Newcomb didn't object. The blue eyes came closer. The week-old eyes
with the hundred-year-old look. Lorry laid the bundle over her shoulder
and smiled into the dimness.

"You want to be president, Shorty?" Lorry felt the warmth of a new life,
felt the little body wriggle in snug contentment. "I wouldn't advise it.
Tough job." Baby Newcomb twisted in his blanket. Lorry stiffened.

_Snug contentment?_

Lorry felt two tiny hands clutch and dig into her throat. Not just
pawing baby hands. Little fingers that reached and explored for the
windpipe.

She uncuddled the soft bundle, held it out. There were the eyes. She
chilled. No imagination here. No spectre from lack of sleep.

Ancient murder-hatred glowing in new-born eyes.

* * * * *

"Careful, you fool! You'll drop this body." A thin piping voice. A
shrill symphony in malevolence.

Fear weakened Lorry. She found a chair and sat down. She held the boy
baby in her hands. Training would not allow her to drop Baby Newcomb.
Even if she had fainted, she would not have let go.

* * * * *

The shrill voice: "It was stupid of me. Very stupid."

Lorry was cold, sick, mute.

"Very stupid. These hands are too fragile. There are no muscles in the
arms. I couldn't have killed you."

"Please--I ..."

"Dreaming? No. I'm surprised at--well, at your surprise. You have a
trained mind. You should have learned, long ago, to trust your senses."

"I don't understand."

"Don't look at the doorway. Nobody's coming in. Look at me. Give me a
little attention and I'll explain."

"Explain?" Lorry pulled her eyes down to the cherubic little face as she
parroted dully.

"I'll begin by reminding