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still defeat it.”
    “No. It will be passed.”
    Henner tried to stare that knowledge out of Henry’s mind.
    “And you know the inevitability, Mr. Henner. None of your contacts can hold out any hope of defeating that measure, nor of defending your Beechwoods.”
    “And it’s your table-tilting tea-leaf readers who’ll infest my home?”
    “Your physical condition is poor, Mr. Henner, and your nerves damned near the breaking point. The solitude and privacy of this house and its grounds are vital to your life. It would be to any parapsychic mind forced to tune in on the emotional chaos that haunts the very air webreathe. You know you’ve been living on borrowed time for the past year. You know what alternative dwelling accommodations will do to you.”
    “Do you happen to know,” asked Henner casually for he’d got control of himself again, “the exact date of my death?”
    “As I know the exact time of mine, Mr. Henner. You will die of a heart attack, the aorta will be closed by a globule of the arteriosclerotic matter coating your veins, at nine-twenty-one PM , exactly one year, nine months and fourteen days from now.”
    A gleam of challenge livened the deadly intent of Henner’s gaze. “And if I don’t?”
    “If you don’t, then revoke the grant of Beechwoods to the Center. In the meantime, you’ll have secured your last days in the ancestral home, which is your prime concern at the moment.”
    “I could have a heart transplant …” Henner was clearly enjoying this.
    “Not with a diseased liver and the condition of your arteries.”
    “And that’s your prophecy, Darrow?”
    “A medical certainty,” Henry said. “I’ve toyed with the notion of a transplant myself since my death will also occur from myocardial infarction on a certain May twelfth, at ten-fifty-two PM . But by May twelfth of that year, I intend to have accomplished the major part of what needs to be done to establish a viable, self-sufficient Parapsychic Center in North America …”
    “On the Beechwoods estate?”
    “On the Beechwoods estate. By May twelfth, I shall be grateful for the peace and tranquillity of my grave.”
    Henner’s eyes flicked from Darrow’s to some inner middle distance, the harsh cynical lines of the financier’s face softened.
    “ ‘Ease after war, death after life does greatly please’?” The words were softly spoken but there was no quartet in the hard look Henner then turned on Henry Darrow.
    “In your scheming where does this house end up?”
    “As an integral part of the Center.”
    Henner’s expression was ironic. “And my money? I’ve no next of kin.”
    Darrow laughed. “You keep harping on your money, Mr. Henner. We don’t
need
your money. Check our books on that. But only the Center can offer one of its own members what his money hasn’t been able to secure for him.”
    For a long time Henner gazed out the French windows that gave on the flagged terrace, towards the sweep of magnificent lawn and the superb beech trees. When Henner finally turned back to Henry, his hand was extended. The two men shook three times in the ancient custom of binding a bargain.
    “Answer me one thing, Darrow! Did you foresee winning?”
    “I knew that we would eventually secure Beechwoods, Mr. Henner,” he said, permitting regret to tinge his voice. “But I wanted your cooperation.”
    “Cooperation? You goddamn well know I had no choice!”
    “Didn’t you?”
    George Henner had wandered into the Graph room just as the first of the three Incidents was recorded. He had the habit of appearing in the various departments, taking what he called a perverse interest in the eventual eviction of the Center from Beechwoods. In point of fact, Henner had admitted to Molly Darrow that the Center had given him something to live for. He’d been feeling much better since Henry’d conned him out of Beechwoods. Despite his professed intention of harassing Henry, George Henner’s passing suggestions were