"Yes. Getting around a little. Seeing the world."

A mad conversation in the light of the questions he had for Mr. Clifford; and the things Mr. Clifford could logically have had to tell him.

But a new and exhilarating independence had sprung up in Lee Hayden. He realized he was not the same man Clifford had rescued and drugged in New York.

"You really get around," Lee said.

"Oh, yes. I have a lot to do."

Lee turned away.

"See you again sometime."

"I hope so—and by the way, there's a man you might like to talk to. I think you'd feel free to ask him questions. Perhaps he'd feel free to answer."

"Good—where can I find him?"

Mr. Clifford considered for a moment, then said, "I'm going in that direction. Jump in."

Lee obeyed, throwing his rucksack in the back seat—the rucksack he'd acquired, along with cash, for his expensive pigskin two-suiter.

Mr. Clifford tooled the Ford carefully through the streets and out onto the dusty, country road leading northeast. No word was spoken for many miles; until Lee extended a hand toward the horizon. "Beautiful mountains."

"The Himalayas. The roof of the world."

"No mountains on earth quite like them."

"Rugged, aren't they?—and beautiful."

"By the way, how is Daphne?"

"In excellent health, I'm sure. I haven't seen her for a long time."

Mr. Clifford turned off the road and pulled up beside a parked Cadillac sedan. Nearby was a small hut and a tiny enclosure. Within the enclosure, a goat munched on dry, colorless hay.

In front of the hut a man sat cross-legged. He was very old and thin. His skin was burned black by the sun and he wore only a white sheet wound loosely around his body. His head was completely hairless and he looked as though he had sat there for years without moving a 

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