Back in my hotel room, I first turned down the volume of the defense
mech, then sat down at the visiphone and put in a call to New York. The
pudgy image of Carson Newell appeared.
"I'm stumped," I told him.
"What's the matter? Did you see Grogan?"
"Yeah. Just now."
"Well?"
"Nothing. I'm stumped. He's completely changed. If there was ever a case
of full and complete correction, I'd say Grogan is it."
Newell tapped his fingertips together, then shrugged impatiently. "Well,
hell, I don't think we're getting anywhere on this. I'll turn it over to
the C.I.D. and let them worry about it."
"So what happens now?" I asked. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Take a vacation. But hang on to that defense mech. Stay in Palm Beach
and contact me pronto if anything happens. Buzz me at least once a day,
even if anything doesn't happen."