"I don't believe your fantastic theories," he told Delamater. "Impractical--impossible! But--" He handed the waiting man a paper. "We must not leave a stone unturned." Delamater said nothing; he looked at the paper in his hand. "To the President of the United States," he read. "Prepare to meet your God. Friday. The eighth. Twelve o'clock." The signature he hardly saw; the staring, open eye was all too familiar. "That is to-morrow," said Delamater softly. "The President dies to-morrow." * * * * * "No!" exploded the Chief. "Do you realize what that means? The President murdered--more killings to follow--and the killer unknown! Why the country will be in a panic: the whole structure of the Government is threatened!" He paused, then added as he struck his open hand upon the desk: "I will have every available man at the White House." "For witnesses?" asked Delamater coldly. The big man stared at his operative; the lines of his face were sagging. "Do you believe--really--he can strike him down--at his desk--from a distance?" "I know it." Delamater's fingers played for a moment with three bits of metal in his pocket. Unconsciously he voiced his thoughts: "Does the President have nails in his shoes, I wonder?" "What--what's that?" the Chief demanded. But Delamater made no reply. He was picturing the President. He would be seated at his desk, waiting, waiting ... and the bells would be ringing and whistles blowing from distant shops when the bolt would strike.... It would flash from his feet ... through the thick rug ... through the rug.... It would have to ground. He paid no heed to his Chief's repeated question. He was seeing, not the rug in the Presidential office, but below it--underneath it--a heavy pad of rubber. "If he can be insulated--" he said aloud, and stared unseeingly at his eagerly listening superiors--"even the telephone cut--no possible connection with the ground--" "For God's sake, Del, if you've got an idea--any hope at all! I'm--I'm up against it, Del." The operative brought his distant gaze back to the room and the man across from him. "Yes," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "I've got the beginning of an idea; I don't see the end of it yet. "We can cut him off from the ground--the President, I mean--make an insulated island where he sits. But this devil will get him the instant he leaves ... unless ... unless...." "Yes--yes?" The Chief's voice was high-pitched with anxious impatience; for the first time he was admitting to himself his complete helplessness in this emergency. "Unless," said Delamater, as the idea grew and took shape, "unless that wireless channel works both ways. If it does ... if it does...." The big man made a gesture of complete incomprehension.