"No. I'm Dr. Manelli. Dr. Webber's been called away--an accident. He'll
be some time recovering. I'll be taking care of you."
Vaguely, Harry was aware that something was peculiar, something not
quite as it should be. The answer slowly dawned on him.
"The statistical analysis!" he exclaimed. "I was supposed to get some
data from Dr. Webber about an analysis, something about rising insanity
rates."
Dr. Manelli looked blank. "Insanity rates? You must be mistaken. You
were brought here for an immunity examination, nothing more. But you
can check with Dr. Webber, when he gets back."
6
George Webber sat in the little room, trembling, listening, his eyes
wide in the thick, misty darkness. He knew it would be a matter of time
now. He couldn't run much farther. He hadn't seen them, true. Oh, they
had been very clever, but they thought they were dealing with a fool,
and they weren't. He _knew_ they'd been following him; he'd known it for
a long time now.
It was just as he had been telling the man downstairs the night before:
they were everywhere--your neighbor upstairs, the butcher on the corner,
your own son or daughter, maybe even the man you were talking
to--_everywhere_!
And of course he had to warn as many people as he possibly could before
_they_ caught him, throttled him off, as they had threatened to if he
talked to anyone.
If only the people would _listen_ to him when he told them how cleverly
it was all planned, how it would only be a matter of months, maybe only
weeks or days before the change would happen, and the world would be
quietly, silently taken over by the _other_ people, the different people
who could walk through walls and think in impossibly complex channels.
And no one would know the difference, because business would go on as
usual.
He shivered, sinking down lower on the bed. If only people would listen
to him--
It wouldn't be long now. He had heard the stealthy footsteps on the
landing below his room some time ago. This was the night they had chosen
to make good their threats, to choke off his dangerous voice once and
for all. There were footsteps on the stairs now, growing louder.
Wildly he glanced around the room as the steps moved down the hall
toward his door. He rushed to the window, threw up the sash and
screamed hoarsely to the silent street below: "Look out! They're here,
all around us! They're planning to take over! Look out! Look out!"
The door burst open and there were two men moving toward him,
grim-faced, dressed in white; tall, strong men with sad faces and strong
arms.
One was saying, "Better come quietly, mister. No need to wake up the
whole town."