"Sellors, I want you to send out a general order for a Dr. Lamarre. You'll find his appearance recorded on the entrance tapes for today; he came to see me earlier. The first name is—ah—Elliot. T. Elliot Lamarre, gerontologist. I don't know where he lives."
"What should I do when I find him, sir?"
"Bring him here at once. And if you catch him at home, slap a seal on his door. He may be in possession of some very important secret documents."
"Yes, sir."
"And get hold of the doorsmith who repaired my office door; I want the lock calibration changed at once."
"Certainly, sir."
The screen faded. Walton turned back to his desk and busied himself in meaningless paper work, trying to keep himself from thinking.
A few moments later the screen brightened again. It was Fred.
Walton stared coldly at his brother's image. "Well?"
Fred chuckled. "Why so pale and wan, dear brother? Disappointed in love?"