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They flew swiftly toward Manhattan, cutting across air lanes with a monumental contempt for regulations, and they veered in for a landing on the towering Visiscope International building. Baque was bundled down an anti-grav shaft, led through a labyrinth of corridors, and finally prodded none too gently into an office. It was a huge room, and its sparse furnishings made it look more enormous than it was. It contained only a desk, a few chairs, a bar in the far corner, an enormous visiscope screen—and a multichord. The desk was occupied, but it was the group of men about the bar that caught Baque’s attention. His gaze swept the blur of faces and found one that he recognized: Hulsey. The plump agent took two steps forward and stood glaring at Baque. “Day of reckoning, Erlin,” he said coldly. A hand rapped sharply on the desk. “I take care of any reckoning that’s done around here, Hulsey. Please sit down, Mr. Baque.” A chair was thrust forward, and Baque seated himself and waited nervously, his eyes on the man behind the desk. “My name is James Denton. Does my fame extend to such a remote place as the Lankey-Pank Out?” “No,” Baque said. “But I’ve heard of you.” James Denton. Czar of Visiscope International. Ruthless arbiter of public taste. He was no more than forty, with a swarthy, handsome face, flashing eyes, and a ready smile. He tapped a cigar on the edge of his desk and carefully placed it in his mouth. Men sprang forward with lighters extended, and he chose one without looking up, puffed deeply, and nodded. “I won’t bore you with introductions to this gathering, Baque. Some of these men are here for professional reasons. Some are here because they’re curious. I heard about you for the first time yesterday, and what I heard made me want to find out whether you’re a potential asset that might be made use of, or a potential nuisance that should be eliminated, or a nonentity that can be ignored. When I want to know something, Baque, I waste no time about it.” He chuckled. “As you can see from the fact that I had you brought in at the earliest moment you were—shall we say— available.” “The man’s dangerous, Denton!” Hulsey blurted. Denton flashed his smile. “I like dangerous men, Hulsey. They’re useful to have around. If I can use whatever it is Mr. Baque has, I’ll make him an attractive offer. I’m sure he’ll accept it gratefully. If I can’t use it, I aim to make damned certain that he won’t be inconveniencing me. Do I make myself clear, Baque?” Baque, looking past Denton to avoid his eyes, said nothing. Denton leaned forward. His smile did not waver, but his eyes narrowed and his voice was suddenly icy. “Do I make myself clear, Baque?” “Yes,” Baque muttered weakly. Denton jerked a thumb toward the door, and half of those present, including Hulsey, solemnly filed out. The others waited, talking in whispers, while Denton puffed steadily on his cigar. Finally an intercom rasped a single word. “Ready!” Denton pointed at the multichord. “We crave a demonstration of your skill, Mr. Baque. And take care that it’s a good demonstration. Hulsey is listening, and he can tell us if you try to stall.” Baque nodded and took his place at the multichord. He sat with fingers poised, timidly looking up at a circle of staring faces. Overlords of business, they were, and of science and industry, and never in their lives had they heard real music. As for Hulsey—yes, Hulsey would be listening, but over Denton’s intercom, over a communication system designed to carry voices. And Hulsey had a terrible ear for music. Baque grinned contemptuously, touched the violin filter, touched it again, and faltered. Denton chuckled dryly. “I neglected to inform you, Mr. Baque. On Hulsey’s advice, we’ve had the filters disconnected.” Anger surged within Baque. He jammed his foot down hard on the volume control, insolently tapped out a visiscope fanfare, and started to