"War-heads!" someone shouted. "We haven't got any! They were outlawed in forty-two!"
"Presumably the Fireclown or some of his friends manufactured them. It is well known that several scientists have been aiding him with his peculiar experiments with fire."
"But he would need fantastic resources!" - Simon Powys spread his hands, aware that his moment of power had come.
"Presumably," he said, "the Fireclown has them. I told you all that he was more than a mere irritation. His power is even more extensive than I at first guessed."
Helen sat down, her face pale. She made no attempt to question Powys' statement.
She was baffled, yet as convinced of the truth as everyone else in the House.
The crowd in the public gallery was muttering and shoving to get a closer look at Simon Powys.
The old man's leonine head was raised. Evidently he no longer felt the need for oratory. The House was his.
"If the police discover the war-head cache we shall hear the news in a few moments." He glanced towards the towering central doorway and sat-down.
As the tension built up, Alan felt he could take no more of it. He was preparing to turn back into the crowd behind him when a uniformed figure appeared at a side door and made his way down the tiers towards the platform.
It was Chief Sandai, his brown-yellow face shiny with sweat. Watched by everyone, he climbed up the few steps of the platform and approached President Benjosef respectfully.
The microphone picked up his voice and relayed it throughout the House:
"Mr. President, it is my duty to inform you that, acting upon my own initiative, I have declared a state of emergency in the City of Switzerland. A cache of plutonium war-heads equipped with remote control detonators of a type used for setting off bombs from space has been found hidden on the first level. My men have impounded them and await orders."
Benjosef glanced at Powys. "Are you sure you have found all the bombs?" he said.
"No, sir. All we know of are those we found. There could be others. These were stored in a disused war-house cavern."
"You are certain that there was no oversight when the war-house was cleared of its armaments in the past?"
"Perfectly certain, sir. These are new additions. They were being kept in containers previously used for the same purpose, that is all." Benjosef sighed.
"Well, Minister Powys, this is really your department now, isn't it? How did you find out about the bombs?"
"My secretary, Eugene Junnar, first reported his suspicions to me two days ago.
Later investigations proved them to be true. As soon as I knew I informed the police." Powys spoke slowly, savoring his triumph.
Benjosef addressed Chief Sandai. "And have you any evidence to show who was responsible for this illegal stockpile?"
"Yes, sir. It is almost certain that the man concerned is the individual known as the Fireclown. The chamber was guarded by men known to be in his employ. They at first tried to stop us from entering, but offered no physical resistance. One of them has since admitted himself to be a follower of the Fireclown."
"And the Fireclown?" Powys asked urgently. Chief Sandai swallowed and wiped his forehead. "Not in our custody yet, sir."
Angry impatience passed rapidly across Simon Powys' face before being replaced by a further jutting of the jaw and an expression of resolve. "You had better find him and his accomplices as soon as you can, Sandai. He may well have other bombs • already planted. Have you sealed spaceports and checked all means of exit from the City itself?"
"Naturally, sir." Sandai seemed aggrieved.
"Then hurry and find him, man. The existence of the world may depend on locating him and arresting him immediately!"
Sandai galloped down the steps and strode hastily from the House.
Alan didn't wait for any further development in the debate. Simon Powys had made his point, illustrated it perfectly and punched it home relentlessly to the assembly. It was practically certain the Presidency was his.
Pushing through the crowded gallery, he left to take an elevator down and an escalator out of the House. The news must already have leaked to the Press, for laservid reporters were swarming around Chief Sandai, who was obviously flustered and trying to shove his way past them.
Careless of who saw him and the inference that might be put on his act, Alan began to run across the turf towards the nearest elevator cone.
He was sure that his earlier judgment of the Fireclown could not have been so hopelessly wrong. It was only instinct that drove him, but he was so sure that his instinct was right that he was going back, for the second time, to the labyrinthine first level to look at the evidence for himself:
By the time he got to the lower levels another group of vociferous reporters were already on the scene. Police guards surrounded a stack of square, heavy metal boxes, unmarked, at the bottom of the ramp which led down to the first level.
Taking advantage of the police guards' occupation with the reporters, Alan worked his way round them and entered the tunnel which he had gone down earlier-the one which led to the Fireclown's laboratory.
Two guards stood on each side of the entrance. Alan produced his City Administration card and showed it to the men, who inspected it closely.
"Just want to look round, sergeant," he said coolly to one of them. "C.A. would like to know what" s going on here so we can take whatever precautions are necessary."
They let him through and he found himself in a big chamber, equipped with all kinds of instruments and devices. He couldn't recognize the purpose of many of them. The place was dark, lit only by an emergency bulb burning near the door.
It seemed to have been vacated very rapidly, for there was evidence that an experiment had been taking place and had been hastily abandoned. The door of a cooling chamber was open; broken test tubes crunched beneath his feet; chemicals glinted in the half-light, splashed across floor, benches and equipment. He didn't touch anything but made his way to another door. It was an old-fashioned steel door, nearly a foot thick, but it opened when he pushed. In the room the darkness was complete. He went back to find some means of lighting and finally settled for a portable emergency bulb, picking it up by its handle and gingerly advancing into the next room.
The acrid smell of the spilled chemicals was almost unbearable. His eyes watered. This must have been a storeroom. Most of the chemical jars were still intact, so were the boxes of spare parts, neatly labelled. Yet there was nothing to suggest any warlike purpose for the laboratory. There was little manufacturing equipment. It was certain the place had only been used for research. Yet, of course, it was possible that a small manufacturing plant might have been housed in another section of the first level.
He came out of the store-room and pushed another door on his left. At first he thought it was locked, but when he pushed again it gave. Whereas the store-room had smelled of chemicals this one smelled merely damp. It was an office. Files and notebooks were stacked around, although a microfile cabinet had been damaged and its contents removed. He noticed also a small, old fashioned, closed circuit television screen and wondered what the cameras were aimed at. He switched it on. The screen flickered and showed part of the corridor outside. He turned the control but each picture showed an uninteresting corridor, a cavern or a room, until he turned once more and the screen brightened to show a well-lighted room.
In it were two men and a woman.
The woman was unknown to Alan. But the men were unmistakable-the skinless Corso, his red, peeled body even more repulsive in good light, and the Fireclown, his great bulk seeming to undulate as he breathed, his face still painted.
Excitedly, Alan tried to get sound, but there appeared to be no sound control on the set. He had no idea where the trio were, but it was fairly certain that cameras were only trained on parts of the first level. Therefore they must be close by.