companions immediately behind.

He put his finger on the doorbell and cocked his head to one side. There
was no sound from the depths of the house. Dr. Braun muttered, "Bell out
of order."

"It would be," Ross chuckled sourly. "Remember? Average. Here, let me."
He rapped briskly on the wooden door jamb. They stood for a moment then
he knocked again, louder, saying almost as though hopefully, "Maybe
there's nobody home."

"All right, all right, take it easy," a voice growled even as the door
opened.

He was somewhere in his thirties, easygoing of face, brownish of hair,
bluish of eye and moderately good-looking. His posture wasn't the best
and he had a slight tummy but he was a goodish masculine specimen by
Mid-Western standards. He stared out at them, defensive now that it was
obvious they were strangers. Were they selling something, or in what
other manner were they attempting to intrude on his well being? His eyes
went from the older man's thin face, to the football hero heft of the
younger, then to Patricia O'Gara. His eyes went up and down her figure
and became approving in spite of the straight business suit she
affected.

He said, "What could I do for you?"

"Mr. Crowley?" Ross said.

"That's right."

"I'm Ross Wooley and my friends are Patricia O'Gara and Dr. Frederick
Braun. We'd like to talk to you."

"There's nobody sick here."

Patricia said impatiently, "Of course not. Dr. Braun isn't a practicing
medical doctor. We are research biochemists."

"We're scientists," Ross told him, putting it on what he assumed was the
man's level. "There's something on which you could help us."

Crowley took his eyes from the girl and scowled at Ross. "Me?
Scientists? I'm just a country boy, I don't know anything about
science." There was a grudging self-deprecation in his tone.

Patricia took over, a miracle smile overwhelming her air of briskness.
"We'd appreciate the opportunity to discuss it with you."

Dr. Braun added the clincher. "And it might be remunerative."

Crowley opened the door wider. "Well, just so it don't cost me nothing."
He stepped back for them. "Don't mind the place. Kind of mussed up. Fact
is, the wife left me about a week ago and I haven't got around to
getting somebody to come in and kind of clean things up."

He wasn't exaggerating. Patricia O'Gara had no pretensions to the
housewife's art herself, but she sniffed when she saw the condition of
the living room. There was a dirty sh