The Director glanced at him sourly. But the stamp of the World Controller's Office was at the head of the paper and the signature of Mustapha Mond, bold and black, across the bottom. Everything was perfectly in order. The director had no choice. He pencilled his initials-two small pale letters abject at the feet of Mustapha Mond-and was about to return the paper without a word of comment or genial Ford-speed, when his eye was caught by something written in the body of the permit.