He pulled the bottle out of his pocket. He had hoped to carry out more experiments on the serum before trying it on human beings. Now there was no choice. Dennison yanked out the stopper and drained the contents. Immediately he was running again, as a second bullet scored the granite wall. The great blocks of apartments loomed endlessly ahead of him, silent and alien. There were no walkers upon the streets. There was only Dennison, running more slowly now past the immense, blank-faced apartments. * * * * * A long black car came up behind him, its searchlight probing into doors and alleys. Was it the police? "That's him!" cried the shrill, unnerving voice of one of Dennison's pursuers. Dennison ducked into a narrow alley between buildings, raced down it and into the next street. There were two cars on that street, at either end of the block, their headlights shining toward each other, moving slowly to trap him in the middle. The alley gleamed with light now, from the first car's headlights shining down it. He was surrounded. Dennison raced to the nearest apartment building and yanked at the door. It was locked. The two cars were almost even with him. And, looking at them, Dennison remembered the unpleasant jog his memory had given him earlier. The two cars were hearses. The men in the subway, with their solemn faces, solemn clothing, subdued neckties, shrill, indignant voices--they had reminded him of undertakers. They _had_ been undertakers! Of course! Of course! Oil companies might want to block the invention of a cheap new fuel which could put them out of business; steel corporations might try to stop the development of an inexpensive, stronger-than-steel plastic ... And the production of an immortality serum would put the undertakers out of business. His progress, and the progress of thousands of other researchers in biology, must have been watched. And when he made his discovery, they had been ready. The hearses stopped, and somber-faced, respectable-looking men in black suits and pearl-gray neckties poured out and seized him. The briefcase was yanked out of his hand. He felt the prick of a needle in his shoulder. Then, with no transitional dizziness, he passed out. * * * * * He came to sitting in an armchair. There were armed men on either side of him. In front of him stood a small, plump, undistinguished-looking man in sedate clothing. "My name is Mr. Bennet," the plump man said. "I wish to beg your forgiveness, Mr. Dennison, for the violence to which you were subjected. We found out about your invention only at the last moment and therefore had to improvise. The bullets were meant only to frighten and delay you. Murder was not our intention." "You merely wanted to steal my discovery," Dennison said. "Not at all," Mr. Bennet told him. "The secret of immortality has been in our possession for quite some time."