without paying the fare."

Braun snorted. "Then Donald Crowley, in eating his caviar, did
substantially the same thing. It's probably been a life's ambition of
his to eat in an ultra-swank restaurant and then walk out without
paying. To be frank," the doctor cleared his throat apologetically,
"it's always been one of mine."

Patricia conceded him a chuckle, but then said impatiently, "It's one
thing my saving fifteen cents on a bus ride, and his eating twenty-five
dollars worth of caviar."

"Merely a matter of degree, my dear."

Patricia said in irritation, "Why in the world did we have to bring him
to New York where he could pull such childish tricks? We could have
performed the experiment right there in Far Cry, Nebraska."

Dr. Braun abruptly ceased the pacing he had begun and found a chair. He
absently stuck a hand into a coat pocket, pulled out a crumbled piece of
paper, stared at it for a moment, as though he had never seen it before,
grunted, and returned it to the pocket. He looked at Patricia O'Gara.
"We felt that on completely unknown territory he would feel less
constrained, don't you remember? In his home town, his conscience would
be more apt to restrict him."

Something suddenly came to her. She looked at her older companion
suspiciously. "That newscast. Was there anything else on it? Don't look
innocent, you know what I mean."

"Well, there was one item."

"Out with it," she demanded.

"The Hotel Belefonte threatens to sue that French movie star, Brigette
whatever-her-name is."

"Brigette Loren," Patricia said, staring. "What's that got to do with
Donald Crowley?"

The good doctor was embarrassed. "It seems that she came running out of
her suite, umah, semi-dressed and screaming that the hotel was haunted."

"Good heavens," Patricia said with sudden vision. "That's one aspect I
hadn't thought of."

"Evidently Crowley did."

Patricia O'Gara said definitely, "My point's been proven. Our average
man is a slob. Give him the opportunity to exercise unlimited freedom
without danger of consequence and he becomes an undisciplined and
dangerous lout."

* * *

Ross Wooley had come in, scowling, just in time to catch most of that.
He tossed his hat onto a table and fished in his pockets for pipe and
tobacco. "Nuts, Pat," he said. "In fact, just the opposite's been
proven. Don's just on a fun binge. Like a kid in a candy shop. He hasn't
done anything serious. Went into a fancy