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lab with the police.

  That made sense. The first one they'd tried to open had fused, so theydecided to try to get a second one. Only how had they known he had hadmore than one? He hadn't told anyone that he had three--or even two.

  Well, no matter. They _had_ found out. The question was, what did he donext? Inform the police of the two thefts or--

  There was a car pulling up outside the house.

  Sam stood up and glanced out the window. It was a steel-blue Ford.

  By Heaven! Did they intend to steal the third Converter, too? And rightin front of his eyes, before it even got decently dark?

  Sam was so furious that he couldn't even think straight. When the twomen climbed out of the car and started walking toward the house, Sam ranback into his study, pulled open his desk drawer, and took out the .38Special he kept there. It was the work of seconds to thumb sixcartridges into the chambers and swing the cylinder shut.

  The door chime sounded.

  * * * * *

  Sam went back into the front room with the revolver in his jacket pocketand his hand ready to fire it.

  "Who is it?" he called, in what he hoped was a steady voice.

  "We're Special Agents of the FBI," said a voice. "May we see you for afew moments, Mr. Bending?"

  "Certainly. Come on in; the door's unlocked." _Just walk in, youphonies! Just trot right on in, he thought._

  And they did. The two men walked in, removing their hats as they did so.

  "We--" one of them began. He stopped when he saw that he was addressinga round, black hole that was only a fraction more than a third of aninch in diameter but looked much, _much_ larger from his viewpoint.

  "Get your hands in the air and turn around very slowly," said Bending."Lean forward and brace your hands against the wall."

  They did as they were told. Bending frisked them carefully andthoroughly, thankful that the two years he had spent in the Army hadn'tbeen completely wasted. Neither one of them was carrying a gun.

  Bending stepped back and pocketed his own weapon. "All right. You twocan turn around now. If you want to try anything, come ahead--but Idon't advise it."

  The two men turned around. Neither of them was exactly a small man, butthe two of them together didn't outweigh Samson Bending by more thanfifty pounds.

  "What's the idea of the gun, Mr. Bending?" the taller of the two asked.He seemed to be the spokesman for the team.

  "I'll ask the questions," Bending said. "But first, I want to tell youthat, in the first place, you can get in trouble for impersonating aFederal officer, and, in the second, I don't like being followed. So youjust trot right back to the boys at Power Utilities and tell them thatif they want to play rough, I am perfectly willing to do likewise. Thatif they come after me again, I'm going to do some very unpleasantthings. Understand?"

  "I think we understand," said the spokesman, still relatively unruffled."But I don't think _you_ do. Would you care to look at our credentials,Mr. Bending?"

  "Credentials?" Sam looked startled. Had he made a mistake?

  "That's right. May I take my billfold out?"

  Bending took his gun out again. "Go ahead. But slowly."

  The billfold came out slowly. Bending took it. The identification cardand the small gold badge said very plainly that the man was a SpecialAgent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  "I ... I'm sorry," Bending said weakly. "I thought you were someone else.Some men were following me this afternoon, and--"

  "That was us, Mr. Bending. Sorry."

  "May I verify this?" Bending asked.

  "Certainly. Go right ahead."

  Bending phoned the local office of the FBI and verified the identitiesof the two men. When he cut off, he asked dazedly: "What was it youwanted?"

  "Would you mind coming with us--downtown? We'd like to have you see somepeople."

  "Am I under arrest?"

  "No." The agent smiled a little. "I suppose, if we had to, we could getyou for speeding and reckless driving; that was pretty fancy dodging youdid. But we're not supposed to be traffic cops."

  Sam smiled feebly. "What's this all about?"

  "I haven't the faintest notion, Mr. Bending. Honestly. We were told tostick with you until we got word to pick you up. We got that word justshortly after you ... hm-m-m ... after you left us. Fortunately, wefound you at home. It might have been difficult ..."

  "Can we go in my car?" Bending asked. "I'd rather not leave it unguardedjust now."

  "Certainly. I'll go with you, and Steve can follow." He paused. "But I'mafraid you'll have to take that revolver out of your pocket and put itaway."

  "Sure," Bending said. "Sure."

  * * * * *

  Bending's mind simply refused to function during the drive back to thecity. The FBI agent beside him just sat silently while Sam drove thecar.

  Once, Sam asked: "Who is it that wants to see me?"

  And the FBI man said: "Sorry, Mr. Bending; I can't answer anyquestions. My job is over as soon as I deliver you."

  A little later, Sam had another question. "Can you tell me where we'regoing, at least?"

  "Oh--" the agent laughed, "sure. I thought I had. The General PostOffice Building, on Kenmore Drive."

  After that, Sam didn't say anything. That this whole affair hadsomething to do with the Converter, Sam had no doubt whatsoever. But hecouldn't see exactly what, and none of his wild speculations made sense.

  He pulled up at last into the parking lot behind the Post OfficeBuilding. The second FBI man came up in the steel-blue Ford, and thethree of them got out of the cars and went towards the building. It wasquite dark by now, and the street lights were glowing against a faintfalling of February mist. Bending, in spite of his topcoat, felt chilly.

  They went in the back way, past the uniformed Postal Service guard, andtook an elevator to the sixth floor. None of the three had anything tosay. They walked down the hall, toward the only office that showed anylight behind the frosted glass. The lettering on the glass simply said:_Conference Room A-6_.

  The FBI man who had driven with Sam rapped on the door with gentleknuckles.

  "Yes?" said a questioning voice from the other side.

  "This is Hodsen, sir. Mr. Bending is with us."

  The door opened, and Sam Bending felt mild shock as he saw who it was.He recognized the man from his news photos and TV appearances. It wasthe Honorable Bertram Condley, Secretary of Economics for the Presidentof the United States.

  "Come in, Mr. Bending," the Secretary said pleasantly. Unnecessarily, headded, "I'm Bertram Condley."

  He held out his hand, and Sam took it. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Secretary."

  Condley gave out with his best friendly-politico smile. "I'm sorry tohave to drag you up here like this, Mr. Bending, but we felt it bestthis way."

  Sam smiled back, with a trace of irony in the smile. "It's a pleasure,Mr. Secretary," he repeated.

  Condley nodded, still smiling--but there was a spark in his eyes now. "Isee we understand each other. Come on in; I want you to meet theothers." He looked at the FBI men. "That's all. For now."

  The Federal agents nodded and moved away into the dimness of thecorridor.

  "Come in, man, come in," the Secretary urged, opening the door wider.

  Sam hesitated. The light within the room was none too bright. Then hestepped forward, following the Secretary.

  * * * * *

  The outer room was dark. Not too dark, but illuminated only by the dimlight from the corridor and from the inner room. From that inner room,there was only a glow of light from the frosted glass panel of the doorthat separated the two rooms.

  Condley closed the hall door, and, as Sam stepped forward toward thelighted door, held out a hand to stop him. "Just a moment," he whisperedsoftly. "I think you ought to know what you're walking in to, Mr.Bending."

  Bending stood stock-still. "Yes, sir?" he asked, questioningly.

  "I s
uppose you know what this is all about?" Secretary Condley askedsoftly.

  "The Converter, I imagine," Sam Bending said.

  Condley nodded, his gray hair gleaming silver in the dim light."Exactly. I'm sorry we had to drag you up here this way, Mr. Bending,but, in the circumstances, we felt it to be the best way." He took abreath. "Do you know why we called you here?"

  "No," Sam said honestly.

  Condley's head nodded again. "You're in for an argument, Mr. Bending. Avery powerful one, I hope. We want to convince you of something." Againhe paused. "Are you an