"You've got the wrong scoop, mister," I said. "I don't bite." "I'd rather you wouldn't move suddenly, Mr. Legion," he said. He coughed, his eyes on mine. "My nerves aren't what they used to be." The gun was still on me. "Which side are you working for?" I said. "And can I put my shoes on, or are you afraid I'll pull a gat out of my sock?" He rested the pistol on his knee. "Get completely dressed, Mr. Legion." "Sorry," I said. "No can do. No clothes." He frowned slightly. "My jacket will be a little small for you," he said. "But I think you can manage." I was sitting on the bed again. "I'm going to get out a cigarette," I said. "Try not to shoot me." I reached for a package on the table, lit up. His eyes stayed on mine. "How come you didn't figure I was dead?" I asked, blowing smoke at him. "We checked the house," he said. "No body." "Why, you incompetent asses. You were supposed to think I drowned." "That possibility was considered. But we made the routine checks anyway." "Nice of you to let me sleep it out. How long have you been here?" "Only a few minutes," he said. He glanced at his watch. "We'll have to be going in another fifteen." "What do you want with me?" I said. "You blew up everything you were interested in." "The Department wants to ask you a few questions." "Look, I'm just a dumb guy," I whined. "I don't know nothing about all that stuff. I was just the guy that peddled it, see?" He took a drag on his cigarette, squinted at me through the smoke. "You ran up an A average in college," he said, "including English." "You boys really do your homework." I looked at the pistol. "I wonder if you'd really shoot me," I mused. "I'll try to make the position clear," he said. "Just to avoid any unfortunate misunderstanding. My instructions are to bring you in, alive--if possible. If it appears that you may evade arrest ... or fall into the wrong hands, I'll be forced to use the gun." I pulled my shoes on, thinking it over. My best chance to make a break was now, while there was only one watchdog. But I had a feeling he was telling the truth about shooting me. I had already seen the boys in action at the house. He got up. "Let's step into the living room, Mr. Legion." I moved past him through the door. In the living room the clock on the mantel said eleven. I'd been asleep for five or six hours. Margareta ought to be getting back any minute.... "Put this on," he said. I took the light jacket, wedged myself into it, looked at my reflection in the big rectangular mirror that occupied most of a wall above the low divan. "It's not the real me," I said. "I usually--" The telephone rang. I looked at my watchdog. He shook his head. We stood and listened to it ring. After a while it stopped. "We'd better be going now," he said. "Walk ahead of me, please. We'll take the elevator to the basement and leave by the service entrance--" He stopped talking, eyes on the door. There was the rattle of a key. The gun came up.