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'I know that, Miss Dawson,' he said. 'But do they?' He paused, then gave that smile of his. 'Look, we've been friends ever since we started working together. Our Sunday mornings wouldn't be the same without those walks on the moors, and cooking lunch together at my cottage. Now why don't we forget all about it?' He made a little gesture to invite her to sit down again, but she remained standing exactly where she was, confused and not knowing what to do. Dr.

Quinn realised this, so continued with another argument. 'Poor Davis is dead, Miss Dawson. We cannot bring him back. But together we can make one of the greatest scientific discoveries of all tune.

Incidentally, may I call you Phyllis?'

Miss Dawson sat down on the chair. She had always wanted Dr. Quinn to call her by her first name. 'You're a very clever man, Dr. Quinn...'

'Oh, please,' he cut in, speaking gently. 'Matthew, if you don't mind.'

'All right,' she said. 'Matthew. But I don't want to steal the fame you are going to have.'

'It's not a question of stealing,' he said, 'but sharing.'

'I have heard something you ought to know,' she told him.

'These UNIT people are going to bring in their special scientific adviser, someone from London.'

Dr Quinn frowned. 'What's his name?'

'I don't know. I heard the Brigadier talking to Dr Lawrence about him. The Brigadier just calls him "the Doctor".'

'Oh well,' said Dr. Quinn, 'practically everyone in this place is a doctor of something. One more won't make any difference. At least, I hope not.'

4

Power Loss

When the Brigadier arrived at the research centre he set up his base in the conference room. The research centre was rather like the inside of a warship, in that every square inch of space was used to the fullest. The conference room was the only place where no one worked regularly, so that it was the obvious choice for a temporary UNIT headquarters. He had a telephone installed with a direct line to UNIT in London, and he had his sergeant get maps of Wenley Moor to pin up on the walls. He also had a plan of the entire research centre on the wall behind his desk. He started work by trying to detect some pattern to the power losses—were they daily, or every two days, or weekly? He soon discovered that there was no pattern to them, nor did they relate to any of the work being done by Dr.

Lawrence and his fellow scientists. The Brigadier then carried out a security check on everybody employed in the Centre, but could find nothing suspicious. So, finally, he called in the Doctor.

Now the Brigadier was seated at his desk, in a plush swivel-chair that he had 'borrowed' from one of the scientists' offices, with the Doctor and Liz Shaw facing him. He hoped sincerely that at least the Doctor could make some sense of the mysterious happenings at the research centre.

'Well, Doctor,' he said, 'what are your conclusions?'

'I was going to ask you the same thing,' said the Doctor.

The Brigadier was never quite sure when the Doctor was joking. He smiled, to show that he thought it was a joke. 'Come now, Doctor, I'm not scientist. Just a plain military man. Surely you have some ideas about these power losses?'

'The output of the turbine which is motivated by the nuclear reactor,' said the Doctor, 'is being drawn off.'

The Brigadier studied him. This didn't seem to be getting them any further. 'We know that must be the case,' the Brigadier said, as patiently as he could manage. 'The question is—how?'

Liz asked, 'Have you checked that no one's linked themselves up with the electrical circuits here?'

'My dear Miss Shaw,' the Brigadier beamed, 'my men have checked and double-checked every inch of cable in this entire centre.'

'I thought you would,' said the Doctor. 'Not very imaginative, but correct procedure. I'm more interested to know why that poor fellow Spencer is drawing pictures on the sick-bay wall.'

The Brigadier looked at the Doctor, wondering whether the Doctor had gone out of his mind. So many other people in this place were behaving oddly, although the Brigadier had always believed nothing