The harassed officer stared at Martin, then grabbed his phone. Eventually he laid the receiver back on its hook. "Garth doesn't answer," he said. He bit off the end of a cigar. "I'll send a squad." Two brawny young cops forced their way through the massed throng. The crowd caught the news that they were headed out to Garth's Folly. They didn't come back. Another squad, with orders to make a careful investigation, reported that the car of the first squad had run into a tree beside the drive inside the grounds of Garth's place, that the two men were missing, and that Garth was not in his house but was probably inside his concrete tower. "Maybe," Scoop whispered, as the report came through. "Maybe Garth is doing this. Or maybe--he talked about the end of the world two million years from now--maybe he was lying. Maybe the end of the world is coming right now. Maybe Garth can help us." "If there is a chance that Garth is either responsible or can help us," the chief of police shouted. "By God, I'll get him out of that place if I have to blast." The phone rang again. He grabbed it, listened. "We'll do all we can," he said. He hung up, looked at his own men, at the reporters. "Another one gone." His fist came down on the desk. "I'm going to see Lee Garth. Come on, men." He led the way. Scoop piled into the car. Those who couldn't get into the car, hung on the sides. They came in sight of the tower of concrete. It was a squat fortress in the starlight. There wasn't a light in it. "There it is, men," the chief of police said. "Drive up to it. We'll find out if Garth knows anything about this." Suddenly, to the occupants of the car, the tower seemed to lean toward them. The trees seemed to shiver in a blast of passing air. But there was no wind. The air was very quiet. How could trees dance in a wind when there was no wind? The ground seemed to writhe. It seemed to twitch. Men screamed. The car left the drive, plunged forward into a tree. The motor sputtered, coughed indignantly, died. Then the night was silent, except for the deep, bull-throated roar pounding from the tower which Lee Garth had constructed. There wasn't a man in the car. Scoop Martin never wrote his story that night. Nor any night thereafter. * * * * * Garth had slumped forward, his head on his arms. He awakened to the touch on his shoulder, turned tired eyes up to the girl who had entered. "You?" his voice was dull and low. "You still here?" "Yes, Mr. Garth. Here, I have some breakfast for you." Her face was pinched and drawn and only her eyes were beautiful. He gulped at the food. While he ate, she went to a small opening and looked out. She returned to him, and when he had finished eating, she spoke. "The militia, or perhaps they are national guardsmen, are here. They have surrounded us." "What?" For a moment, he did not understand. "Oh. So soon? No! You must be mistaken."