"Here." Cardon gave him the prescription. "Nitrocaine bulbs. They're
for Chester Pelton; he's had a serious heart attack. He needs these
with all speed. I don't suppose I need tell you how many kinds of hell
will break loose if he dies now and the Fraternities are accused, as
the Illiterates' Organization will be sure to, of having had him
poisoned."

"Who are you?" the Literate asked, taking the prescription and
glancing at it. "That,"--he gestured toward Cardon's silver-laced
black Mexican jacket--"isn't exactly a white smock."

Cardon had his pocket recorder in his hand. He held it out, pressing a
concealed stud; the stylus-and-tablet insignia glowed redly on it for
a moment, then vanished. The uniformed Literate nodded.

"Fill this exactly; better do it yourself, to make sure, and take it
over to Pelton's yourself. I see you have a medic-trainee's badge. Ask
for Sergeant Coccozello, and tell him Frank Cardon sent you." The
Literate, who had not recognized him before, opened his eyes at the
name and whistled softly. "And fix up a sedative to keep him quiet
for not less than four nor more than six hours. Let me use your
visiphone for a while, if you please."

The man in the Literate smock nodded and hurried out. Cardon dialed
William R. Lancedale's private number. When Lancedale's thin, intense
face appeared on the screen, he reported swiftly.

"The way I estimate it," he finished, "Latterman put Bayne up to
making a pass at the girl, after having thrown out Pelton's nitrocaine
bulbs. Probably told the silly jerk that Claire was pining away with