In my mind's eye I could visualize two plainclothesmen seated in the anteroom of the firm of Sponsor & Spacker, trying to appear like clients. I could see another detective or two, armed with photograph and paralyzer, keeping vigilance on the roof landing. A few more watching the ground level entrance. It was hard for me to believe I was that important to the state, worth a platoon of human blood-hounds. And yet, if the state was doing a thorough job at all, one had to assume they were there, and at our home in Mason City, Iowa, and at my club, and at all the space and air terminals as well. But it did not seem likely to me that a detective would actually be sitting in my private office, at my desk, waiting for me to come in through the window. That was the chance I'd have to take. We approached the massive Board of Trade Building, which resembled the glued-together pipes of an antique pipe-organ, and I pointed and said to the cabbie, "See that balcony. Let me off there." The driver stared back at me, wide-eyed. "We aren't allowed to do that, mister." "I realize that," I said, handing him a twenty credit note. "But I want to play a joke on a friend." "All right, buddy," he said, maneuvering his copter closer to the building. "Remember, if you land on the pavement below, I don't offer any guarantees." He hovered stationary beside my balcony and I leaped across the air space of two or three feet and slipped and clung, and finally scrambled to safety. I could see into my darkened office. It didn't look as if anyone was there. Then a new problem presented itself. How to open the unbreakable strontium-alloy window? There was no way at all to do it from the outside. Why hadn't I thought of that! I looked down sixty-eight stories, and looked up forty-one stories, and realized I was trapped. Unless I could reach the balcony outside Charlie's office. Oh my God, I thought--a human fly act! That was ten feet away, and I am six-foot-one tall. Moreover, the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. And the face of the building was perfectly smooth. Not a thing to use as a hand-hold. There was another possibility. I took off one of my shoes and hurled it at Charlie's window. It missed, but fortunately remained on the balcony. I took off the other one. It struck his window with a dull clonk. If Charlie was out of his office--. Well, I couldn't be any more in a jam without shoes than with shoes. A face appeared at the window. Our secretary Claire. She peered out for an instant, but the angle was too extreme for her to see me waving crazily. As she disappeared I let out an anguished shout. She reappeared, pressed the window lever, and stuck her head outside. "Mr. Sponsor!" she said in amazement. "Is Spacker there?" I had no time to dwell on the situation. "No, Mr. Sponsor, he's still in the pit." A frown crossed her forehead. "But there are some gentlemen--waiting to see you."