Chalmers looked around the room. Of the thirteen men around him, only
Whitburn was an enemy. Some of the others were on his side, for one
reason or another, but none of them were friends. Weill was his
lawyer, obeying an obligation to a client which, at bottom, was an
obligation to his own conscience. Handley was afraid of the
possibility that a precedent might be established which would impair
his own tenure-contract. Fitch, and the two men from the Institute of
Psionics and Parapsychology were interested in him as a source of
study-material. Dacre resented a slur upon his son; he and the others
were interested in Blanley College as an institution, almost an
abstraction. And the major in mufti was probably worrying about the
consequences to military security of having a prophet at large. Then a
hand gripped his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear:

"That's good, Ed; don't let them scare you!"

Old Max Pottgeiter, at least, was a friend.

"Doctor Whitburn, I'm asking you, and I expect an answer, why did you
make such statements to the press, when you knew perfectly well that
they were false?" Dacre demanded sharply.

"I knew nothing of the kind!" Whitburn blustered, showing, under the
bluster, fear. "Yes, I demanded this man's resignation on the morning
of October Seventeenth, the day after this incident occurred. It had
come to my attention on several occasions that he was making wild and
unreasonable assertions in class, and subjecting himself, and with
himself the whole faculty of this college, to student ridicule. Why,
there was actually an editorial about it written by the student editor