So I left the room--ostensibly to look in on Benedetto, actually to
cool off a little. Benedetto seemed fine--that is, the dressings were
still in place, he had not moved, his breath and pulse were slow and
regular. I took my time before I went back to the room where Zorchi
still sat waiting.
He had taken advantage of the time to improve his mind. The man's
curiosity was insatiable; the more he denied it, the more it stuck out
all over him. He had thrown the Handbook on the floor when I gave it to
him, but as soon as I was out of sight he was leafing through it. He
had it open on his lap, face down, as he faced me.
"Weels." There was, for once, no sardonic rasp to his voice. And his
face, I saw, was bone-white. "Weels, permit me to be sure I understand
you. It is your belief that this intelligent plan of seeding the world
with poison to make it well will succeed, because you believe that a
Signore Carmody will evict Defoe from power?"