"No." The agent smiled a little. "I suppose, if we had to, we could get you for speeding and reckless driving; that was pretty fancy dodging you did. 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 to stick with you until we got word to pick you up. We got that word just shortly after you ... hm-m-m ... after you left us. Fortunately, we found you at home. It might have been difficult ..." "Can we go in my car?" Bending asked. "I'd rather not leave it unguarded just now." "Certainly. I'll go with you, and Steve can follow." He paused. "But I'm afraid you'll have to take that revolver out of your pocket and put it away." "Sure," Bending said. "Sure." * * * * * Bending's mind simply refused to function during the drive back to the city. The FBI agent beside him just sat silently while Sam drove the car. Once, Sam asked: "Who is it that wants to see me?" And the FBI man said: "Sorry, Mr. Bending; I can't answer any questions. My job is over as soon as I deliver you." A little later, Sam had another question. "Can you tell me where we're going, at least?" "Oh--" the agent laughed, "sure. I thought I had. The General Post Office Building, on Kenmore Drive." After that, Sam didn't say anything. That this whole affair had something to do with the Converter, Sam had no doubt whatsoever. But he couldn't see exactly what, and none of his wild speculations made sense. He pulled up at last into the parking lot behind the Post Office Building. The second FBI man came up in the steel-blue Ford, and the three of them got out of the cars and went towards the building. It was quite dark by now, and the street lights were glowing against a faint falling of February mist. Bending, in spite of his topcoat, felt chilly. They went in the back way, past the uniformed Postal Service guard, and took an elevator to the sixth floor. None of the three had anything to say. They walked down the hall, toward the only office that showed any light 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 gentle knuckles. "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 was the Honorable Bertram Condley, Secretary of Economics for the President of the United States. "Come in, Mr. Bending," the Secretary said pleasantly. Unnecessarily, he added, "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 to have to drag you up here like this, Mr. Bending, but we felt it best this way."