"Who is this?" Doctor Fincher sounded startled. "Who the devil is this calling?"
Dane could barely keep his laughter from breaking into his voice. "Thandor, we can come to no conclusion but that the Terrestrials are definitely hostile. We should have expected that from their primitive stage of development. They have orders to shoot any of our propul-cruisers they can catch. I suggest that we withdraw all ships of the Franistan class immediately from their free orbits and send them on a standard Keplerian course to the home planet for further consultation."
"Is this some kind of joke?" Fincher sounded as if he were almost panicky.
"Furthermore," said Dane, "I recommend that we withdraw all agents from Earth. We can't conceal our superior mental development and advanced technology much longer.
"Someone's bound to catch on pretty soon. I was against this plan in the Galactic Council in the first place, you'll remember. Well, farewell, Thandor! I'll be seeing you soon in space!"
And Professor Dane hung up before he exploded with laughter.
He laughed until the tears came to his eyes. He held his stomach with both hands. He was weak. He supported himself on the stair railing and for minutes was unable to take the first tread. With his lively scientist's imagination he could picture the completely bewildered look on the young FBI man's face when he listened to this conversation on the tape recorder or whatever it was they used.
He was certainly going to have to try to get that recording from them. Play it back for Fincher some time—Lordy, Fincher would have apoplexy every time he heard it!
He finally gained enough strength to climb the stairs. He went into his bedroom, still chuckling weakly, still wiping the tears from his eyes, stomach muscles still aching.