"Couldn't miss now."
The man nodded and looked at last at Harry. "You're upset," he murmured. "What's bothering you?"
"Webber," said Harry hoarsely. "He's following me here. He'll spot you. I tried to warn you before I came, but I couldn't."
The man at the desk smiled. "Webber again, eh? Our old friend Webber. That's all right. Webber's at the end of his tether. There's nothing he can do to stop us. He's trying to attack with force, and he fails to realize that time and thought are on our side. The time when force would have succeeded against us is long past. But now there are many of us, almost as many as not."
Harry stared shrewdly at the man behind the desk. "Then why are you so afraid of Webber?" he asked.
"Afraid?"
"You know you are. Long ago you threatened me, if I reported to him. You watched me, played with me. Why are you afraid of him?"
The man sighed. "Webber is premature. We are stalling for time, that's all. We wait. We have grown from so very few, back in the 1940s and 50s, but the time for quiet usurpation of power has not quite arrived. But men like Webber force our hand, discover us, try to expose us."
Harry Scott's face was white, his hands shaking. "And what do you do to them?"
"We—deal with them."