e who was "truly interested in the investigation of the
supranormal", as the ads in certain magazines put it, could pay five
dollars a year for membership, which, among other things, entitled
him to the Society's monthly magazine, _The Metaphysicist_, a
well-printed, conservative-looking publication which contained
articles on everything from the latest flying saucer report to careful
mathematical evaluations of the statistical methods of the Rhine
Foundation. Within its broad field, the magazine was quite catholic in
its editorial policy.

These members constituted a very effective screen for the real work of
the society, work carried on by the "core" members, most of whom
weren't even listed on the membership rolls. And yet, it was this
group of men and women who made the Society's title true.

Mr. Brian Taggert was a long way from being a crackpot. The big,
dark-haired, dark-eyed, hawknosed man sat at his desk in his office on
the fifth floor of the Society's building and checked over the mail.
Normally, his big wrestler's body was to be found quietly relaxed on
the couch that stood against a nearby wall. Not that he was in any way
averse to action; he simply saw no virtue in purposeless action. Nor
did he believe in the dictum of Miles Standish; if he wanted a thing
done, he sent the man most qualified to do it, whether that was
himself or someone else.

When he came to the letter from Coney Island, New York, he read it
quickly and then jabbed at a button on the intercom switchboard in his
desktop. He said three syllables which would have been meaningless to
anyone except the few who understood that sort of verbal shorthand,
released the button, and closed his eyes, putting himself in
telepathic contact with certain of the Society's agents in New York.

* * * * *

Across the river, in the Senate Office Building, a telephone rang in
the office of Senator Mikhail Kerotski, head of the Senate Committee
on Space Exploration. It was an unlisted, visionless phone, and the
number was known only to a very few important officials in the United
States Government, so the senator didn't bother to identify himself;
he simply said: "Hello." He listened for a moment, said, "O.K., fine,"
in a quiet voice, and cut the connection.

He sat behind his desk for a few minutes longer, a bearlike man with a
round, pale face and eyes circled with dark rings and heavy pouches,
all of which had the effect