T he Police Prefect of a city of seventeen and one half millions cannot be tied down to a desk. He does not have files, memoranda, notes, and reels of red tape. He has three Esper secretaries, memory wizards all, who carry within their minds the minutiae of his business. They accompany him around headquarters like a triple index. Surrounded by his flying squad (nick-named Wynken, Blynken, and Nod by the staff) Powell jetted through Center Street, assembling the material for his fight.