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of—”
    â€œI view it less emotionally—”
    â€œI’m curious, Englehardt. How do your people like watching me? Do I keep them amused? Maybe I should join the NAACP …”
    â€œWait, Charles.” Phillip leaned forward, holding up one hand as John Carey turned to watch him. “We’re getting into personalities, to no point. We at least owe Mr. Englehardt a hearing …”
    â€œUnder HUAC rules, I hope.”
    â€œWell, I for one don’t wish to publish books which aren’t in the national interest …”
    â€œAs defined by whom, J. Edgar Hoover?” Charles spun on Englehardt before Phillip could respond. “He’s my author. I speak for the firm here. Our answer is no. If it’s subversive the public won’t buy it, and we’ll lose money. Their choice, our risk: that’s the American Way, not snoopers destroying lives to enhance their own. You know where the door is, I imagine.”
    Englehardt’s returning stare at Charles Carey was expressionless; once more John Carey felt fear, sensed the effort with which he masked his fury. When Englehardt turned toward Phillip Carey, appraising him as he would a slide beneath a microscope, he smiled with a curious look of comprehension that softened his face. For a long, silent moment they regarded each other, as if no one else were there. Without turning, he said to John Carey, “You might do well to listen to your younger son.”
    â€œWhatever differences we have do not concern you.” John Carey leaned into his line of vision. “I respect your motives, if not your methods. But Van Dreelen and Carey is something other than a ward of Congress. We must make our own decisions.”
    Englehardt was still; only his pupils seemed to widen. He spoke with equal quiet. “Then when you make them, Mr. Carey, you should consider the scope of our investigative powers. Your decision may have great consequences—for this firm, for you, and all those who come after.” He looked back at Charles. “I’ll particularly expect to hear from you .”
    â€œOh you shall, Mr. Englehardt, you shall. I’ve been rather hoping you’d train your investigative powers on Mr. Hoover, though.” He smiled faintly. “One hears distressing rumors that he likes little boys. A lot of us who know that are curious as to which side he’s on.”
    Englehardt’s gem-cutter’s stare at Charles Carey was the more piercing for his stillness. Then he shook his head, and rose from the table with a faint, lingering smile at Phillip. He walked to the door, turning back once more to survey Charles as if absorbing his thoughts and features, and left, closing the door with fearful gentleness. The room sounded with its echo.
    In biting tones, Charles said to his father, “I thought for a moment that you were sitting this one out.”
    John Carey looked at him with contempt. “I know you’re spoiling for the day I’m dead and you can ruin this firm singlehanded. But that’s if , Charles—only if I will it. So I find it necessary to determine just how long that job would take you.”
    â€œI appreciate your support …”
    â€œMy concern is to support writers , not you. Compare us to the film studios, or even other publishers. Not one of our authors has had a book bounced back because these fools have pilloried him in public, or blown his brains out because we’ve helped them choke off his livelihood. Most important, I’ve still got a firm to pass on, intact. I’ve seen to that by not begging for trouble …”
    â€œThis man Englehardt came here …”
    â€œAnd then you gave him no way out.” John Carey’s voice hardened. “Never, ever, humiliate a man in front of others unless you have the power to destroy him. With this man it’s the other way around: in time he may have the power to destroy you , and