Fearing his time was short. Tassone made his way to London to find Thorn and convince him of what must be done. He prayed that God was watching him and he feared that Satan was watching him as well. But he was not ignorant of the Devil's work and took every precaution to maintain life and breath until he could find Thorn and his story could be told. If he could do this, he knew he would be absolved of his sins and admitted into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Renting a one-room flat in Soho, he made it into a fortress as secure as a church. His armament was the scriptures; he covered every inch of wall space, even the windows, with pages torn from the Bible. It took seventy Bibles to do it all. Crosses hung everywhere, at all angles, and he made sure never to venture out unless his crucifix, impregnated with particles of broken mirror, could reflect the sunlight as it hung about his neck.

But he found that his quarry was hard to reach, and the pain in his back was all-consuming. The one meeting with Thorn, in his office, was a failure. He had frightened the Ambassador and was summarily dismissed. Now he followed him everywhere, his desperation growing; and this day he stood watching the Ambassador from the opposite side of a chain-link fence, as Thorn and a group of dignitaries dedicated a housing project in a poor section of Chelsea.

"I'm proud to dedicate this particular project . . ." shouted Thorn against the wind to the hundred or so people looking on, ". . . as it represents the will of the community itself to improve the quality of life!"

So saying, he dug a shovel into the earth; an accordion band struck up a polka as he and the group of dignitaries were led toward the chain-link fence to shake hands with people who reached through, straining to touch them as they neared. He was a consummate politician, a man who enjoyed adulation, and as he moved by the fence he made an effort to shake each of the greedy hands, even bending close to be kissed by a pair of eager protruding lips. But suddenly he was jarred; a hand reached through with sudden violence and grabbing him hard by the shirt-front, pulled him close to the fence.

'Tomorrow," panted Tassone into the Ambassador's frightened eyes. "One o'clock, Kew Gardens. . . ."

"Unhand me!" gasped Thorn.

"Five minutes, then you'll never see me again."

"Get your hands . . ."

"Your wife is in danger. She'll die unless you come."

As Thorn pulled back, the priest was suddenly gone; the Ambassador was left dazed, gazing into strange faces, flashbulbs going off in his eyes.