was tall and thin, a bit too tall and a bit too thin in the doctor's estimation. He was thirty to Maculay's thirty-eight, but did not smoothe his impatience and ambition behind a cloak of politeness.

"Sit down, Mister Redmond. I'm interested in you."

"Where is Maculay?" came the repeated demand.

Hanson smiled slowly. "I'm interested in trying to discover just what it is about abstract mathematicians that makes them think that they can stamp their way through life, disregarding not only the rights of others, but their own as well."

"Enough of this damned foolishness—"

"Shut up, you young whippersnapper!" roared the doctor in a voice that rattled the windows. Redmond shut up. "I'll have respect from you, Redmond. And if I don't get it, you'll leave. Understand?"

Redmond bristled.

"Relax," said Hanson. "I'm no longer able to punch your face as you request by your actions, but I know several men who would be most happy to help me in this matter. Now, what is it that you want?"

"I want to know where Maculay is."

"I don't know."

"Damn it, you do know."

"Redmond, I'm not a liar."

Redmond leaned forward over the doctor's desk. "Maculay came here," he said, "and I know why. Maculay did not return from here, and I want to know why."

Hanson leaned back in his chair. "Doctor Maculay came here and discussed his difficulties with me," he said. "During the course of the discussion, it became quite evident that Maculay was on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of too much hard work and too little relaxation. I convinced him that a long vacation would enable him to live and be productive longer than he might enjoy if he went back and killed himself on his job."

"So where did he go on this vacation?"

"Maculay admitted that if a single soul knew his address, they'd be sending him problems within a week. He took off, destination unknown."

"Did he say when he would be back?"

"In one year."

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