ogy reached Blanley that morning, having taken a
strato-plane from the East Coast. They had academic titles and degrees
that even Lloyd Whitburn couldn't ignore. They talked with Leonard
Fitch, and with the students from Modern History IV, and took
statements. It wasn't until after General European History II that
they caught up with Chalmers--an elderly man, with white hair and a
ruddy face; a young man who looked like a heavy-weight boxer; a
middle-aged man in tweeds who smoked a pipe and looked as though he
ought to be more interested in grouse-shooting and flower-gardening
than in clairvoyance and telepathy. The names of the first two meant
nothing to Chalmers. They were important names in their own field, but
it was not his field. The name of the third, who listened silently, he
did not catch.

"You understand, gentlemen, that I'm having some difficulties with the
college administration about this," he told them. "President Whitburn
has even gone so far as to challenge my fitness to hold a position
here."

"We've talked to him," the elderly man said. "It was not a very
satisfactory discussion."

"President Whitburn's fitness to hold his own position could very
easily be challenged," the young man added pugnaciously.

"Well, then, you see what my position is. I've consulted my attorney,
Mr. Weill and he has advised me to make absolutely no statements of
any sort about the matter."

"I understand," the eldest of the trio said. "But we're not the press,
or anything like that. We can assure you that anything you tell us
will be absolutely confidential." He looked inquiringly at the
middle-aged man in tweeds, who nodded silently. "We can understand
that the students in your modern history class are telling what is
substantially the truth?"

"If you're thinking about that hoax statement of Whitburn's, that's a
lot of idiotic drivel!" he said angrily. "I heard some of those boys
on the telecast, last night; except for a few details in which they
were confused, they all stated exactly what they heard me say in class
a month ago."

"And we assume,"--again he glanced at the man in tweeds--"that you had
no opportunity of knowing anything, at the time, about any actual
plot against Khalid's life?"

The man in tweeds broke silence for the first time. "You can assume
that. I don't even think this fellow Noureed knew anything about it,
then."

"Well, we'd like to know, as nearly as you're able to tell us, just
how y