"Now, put your radio to your ear and tell him what I say," I told the chief guard.
Crobe looked at Madison. The public relations man was all groomed and sleek, the perfect example of the sincere, honest and appealing young American executive.
Repeating what I said, the chief guard addressed Madison. "Mr. Smith has sent us. We are here to present you with a perfect weapon in the war against the Whiz Kid."
"War?" said Madison. "Oh, no, you have it very wrong. We are engaged in the purest possible public relations and our motives are far beyond reproach."
Acting on my orders, the chief guard said, "May we introduce Doctor Phetus P. Crobe, the eminent psychiatrist."
"Who's talking on that radio?" said Madison. And before the guard could grab it back, he took it. "Hello. Who is this?"
"Smith," I said.
"You must be awfully nearby to be using such a little walkie-talkie," said Madison. "Why didn't you come in yourself?"
I realized I had to think fast. It was awfully close to a Code break. All he had to do was look at the nameplate on that radio to read:
Voltar Communications Industries
"I'm using Miss Peace's equipment," I said. "I have to be quick because it's in heavy demand. Look over the credentials of Doctor Crobe and I am sure you will be able to use him."
Madison sat down at his desk, laid the radio on his blotter and put out his hand for the credentials. He inspected them.
Unfortunately, Crobe got in the act. He reached across the desk and tapped Madison on the nose. He said, "Deed eet effer oggur to you dat you voot book moch butter rnit a libido instad of a nose dare? Or maybe a bellybutton? Unt your hands. Dey voot loook nicer mit fish flippers." And he got out an electric knife! A guard grabbed him from behind.
Madison stared at him. Then he snatched his telephone. He push-buttoned very fast.
I raised the sound volume on Crobe's viewer. The answering voice came through from the phone, "Bellevue Psychiatric Section," and then in a musical, lilting voice, "Good morning."
"This is J. Walter Madison, 42 Mess Street. Send a wagon quick."
The guard had retrieved his radio. But he wasn't listening to it. The other one was holding Crobe back from the desk, trying to get the electric knife away from him.
Madison pointed at the outer office with a quivering finger. "You hold him down at the foot of the stairs until the wagon comes!"
There was nothing I could do.
The Bellevue loony wagon shortly came, with all bells clanging. Two white-uniformed attendants leaped out and grabbed Crobe.
The guards, (bleep) them, handed Crobe's suitcase in. They pushed Crobe in. The doors closed.
In a terribly smug voice, the chief guard said into the radio, "Well, that's that, Officer Gris."
"Quick, quick," I said. "Follow that wagon! You've got to rescue him."
"As I was saying, Officer Gris. That's that. Those attendants looked pretty competent. One even had a blackjack handy. Our charge has been delivered into safe hands."
"WAIT!"
"I'll hand this radio over to Agent Raht at the office. If you want to discuss this further, you can talk to him. We're coming home. End of transmission." The radio gave a final emphatic click and went dead.
I mourned.
Bitter in my defeat, I wandered out into the yard. The day was very cold. The sky was gray. A wind was snarling through the bleak shrubs like a hunting wolf. And it was after me.
I saw Ters. I walked over to him and said, "Where is the taxi driver?"
He gave his evil laugh. "I think he giving Utanc new car a test drive."
"New car?"
"Just deliver this noon. Mercedes-Benz. Brand-new. Very nice. Taxi driver have friend who sell."
I frowned. I suddenly realized that Utanc had not come crawling on her knees to me for money as expected. And here she was with a new Mercedes-Benz! They cost a double fortune! Where was she getting any money? Credit cards? A surge of rage raced through me. I would have it out with her!
"Where did they go?" I demanded. "Which way?"
"I think Agricultural Station." And he laughed his evil laugh.
I jumped into the car. "Take me there!" I demanded. The station contained Faht Bey's office. Was this some sort of plot to impoverish me?
We roared away. I was looking up and down the road, trying to spot Utanc and the new car. We pulled up at the station. No sign of that car.
I rushed into the hall just outside Faht Bey's office. I was on the brink of stepping through the door. Fortunately, my reflexes are very fast. Faht Bey was in some sort of a conference. I stopped. Several Turkish women and men were sitting around his desk, backs to me.
Faht Bey saw me. He made a motion with his hand, a sign to go away. I backed up quickly.
As I backed, one of the women looked toward the door.
Yikes! Even through the veil, I recognized her as one of the first women I had had in the car!
Faht Bey crossed the room. He came into the hall and closed the door behind him. "Listen," he said, "I wouldn't go in there right now if I were you."
"Some kind of trouble?" I said.
"I don't know yet," said Faht Bey. "In fact, I don't know what it is all about yet. About an hour ago, that woman of yours, Utanc, came by to tell me that some people wanted to see me, and they've just now arrived."
"Have they said anything?" I pleaded.
"Only something about pregnancy. Listen, why don't you come back later? I may know what it is by then."
"Pregnancy?" I said. "Listen, if there's any trouble with pregnancy, it can be handled. Don't promise anything! But it can be handled!"
I rushed out. I jumped into the car. "Take me to the hospital!" I demanded.
If one of those women was pregnant, the answer was very plain. I had not been a Rockecenter family "spi" without learning anything. You handled pregnancy with abortion every time! And Prahd was the man to see on this. I would get his agreement to do an abortion on that woman and everything would be all right.
I rushed into the hospital, through the lobby and to Prahd's office. I leaped in. He was sitting at his desk.
"Pregnancy!" I said. "You've got to handle it!"
Young Doctor Prahd Bittlestiffender looked at me. In a sad voice he said, "I am glad you have finally come to confess."
"I didn't mean to," I said. "It was an accident. She looked so beautiful lying there, I could not resist."
"And you took no precautions."
"How was I to know she would get pregnant just that one time! It was up to her to take precautions!"
"And you expect a young girl to know these things?" he said.
"She's not that young!" I disputed.
"She's young enough that her father is raving mad about it! And she isn't even of age."
A horrible thought struck me. "Who are we talking about?"
"Nurse Bildirjin," said Prahd. "Oh, Officer Gris, to think that you would contribute to the delinquency of a minor behind my back, to leap on her and rape her– – "
"Hold it!" I cried. "If we're talking about Nurse Bildirjin, SHE raped me!"
"You just confessed that she was just lying there and you could not resist jumping on her!"
"No, no! That was somebody else!" My head was spinning. Suddenly I got a grip on it. "Wait, you sleep with Nurse Bildirjin all the time!"
"No, no," said Prahd. "I take the most careful precautions. You don't think a qualified cellologist would take a chance like that-she being a minor and all. Besides, I've made scope tests and examined the gene pattern, and just like the Widow Tayl's, it's indubitably yours. And now you infer there is some other woman, too! Officer Gris, you should control yourself! You can't just run around impregnating women left and right, day in and day out. And on two different planets, too!"