I stared at him. “Never mind,” he said gently. “You are the first break we’ve had. You’re the first victim to be recaptured alive—and now we find you remember what happened to you. That’s important. And your parasite is the first live one we’ve managed to capture and keep alive. We’ll have a chance to—”
He broke off. My face must have been a mask of terror; the notion that my master was still alive—and might get to me again—was more than I could stand.
The Old Man took my arm and shook it. “Take it easy, son,” he said mildly. “You are still pretty sick and pretty weak.”
“Where is it?”
“Eh? The parasite? Don’t worry about it. You can see it, if you wish; it’s living off your opposite number, a red orangutan, name of Napoleon. It’s safe.”
“Kill it!”
“Hardly—we need it alive, for study.”
I must have gone to pieces, for he slapped me a couple of times. “Take a brace,” he said. “I hate to bother you when you are sick, but it’s got to be done. We’ve got to get everything you remember down on wire. So level off and fly right.”
I pulled myself together and started making a careful, detailed report of all that I could remember. I described renting the loft and recruiting my first victim, then how we moved on from there to the Constitution Club. The Old Man nodded. “Logical. You were a good agent, even for them. ”
“You don’t understand,” I objected. “I didn’t do any thinking. I knew what was going on, but that was all. It was as if, uh, as if—” I paused, stuck for words.
“Never mind. Get on with it.”
“After we recruited the club manager the rest was easy. We took them as they came in and—”
“Names?”
“Oh, certainly. Myself, Greenberg—M. C. Greenberg, Thor Hansen, J. Hardwick Potter, his chauffeur Jim Wakeley, a little guy called ‘Jake’ who was washroom attendant at the club but I believe he had to be disposed of later—his master would not let him take time out for necessities. Then there was the manager; I never did get his name.” I paused, letting my mind run back over that busy afternoon and evening in the club, trying to make sure of each recruit. “Oh my God!”
“What is it?”
“The Secretary—The Assistant Secretary of the Treasury.”
“You mean you got him?”
“Yes. The first day. What day was that? How long has it been? God, chief, the Treasury Department protect the President!”
But I was not talking to anyone; there was just a hole in the air where the Old Man had been.
I lay back exhausted. I started sobbing softly into my pillow. After a while I went to sleep.
IX
I woke up with my mouth foul, my head buzzing, and a vague sense of impending disaster. Nevertheless I felt fine, by comparison. A cheerful voice said, “Feeling better?”
A small brunet creature was bending over me. She was as cute a little bug as I have ever seen and I was well enough to appreciate the fact, however faintly. She was dressed in a very odd costume, what there was of it—skin-tight white shorts, a wisp of practically transparent stuff that restrained her breasts, but not much, and a sort of metal carapace that covered the back of her neck, her shoulders, and went on down her spine.
“Better,” I admitted, then made a wry face.
“Mouth taste unpleasant?”
“Like a Balkan cabinet meeting.”
“Here.” She gave me some stuff in a glass; it was spicy and burned a little, and it washed away the bad taste at once. “No,” she went on, “don’t swallow it. Spit it out like a little man and I’ll get you some water.” I obeyed.
“I’m Doris Marsden,” she went on, “your day nurse.”
“Glad to know you, Doris,” I answered and stared at her with increasing appreciation. “Say—why the get up? Not that I don’t like it, but you look like a refugee from a comic book.”
She looked down at herself and giggled. “I feel like a chorus girl. But you’ll get used to it—I did.”