The youngster was musing over the editorial. “‘It has long been the policy of this paper to print all the news without bias and without questioning the sources, when we had reasonable assurance of the integrity of those sources,’” he read aloud. “I like this part down here better, though. ‘The people of the sabotaged former Government of the Free Americas have been made the victim of the most audacious coup in modern history--’” Someone knocked at the door. When Kerry drew back the bolt and looked out the morning sunlight glinted brightly on a metal service belt and the sombre color of a uniform. “Mr. Donalson?” the policeman asked. Kerry nodded, and stepped back from the doorway. The man showed credentials. “I believe you once knew a government scientist by the name of Benedict Thrusher?” he said. “Is that correct?” Kerry frowned. “Why, yes. We were very good friends at one time. When he died eight years ago--” Kerry paused in consternation. Lew Fallon’s muscles had gone rigid. He tried to telegraph to the youth, with a casual nod, that what he was witnessing was just the routine inquiry which he had been expecting all along. But it was no use. He knew he had to get Lew Fallon out of the room before he did something unwise. Kerry said to the policeman, “Excuse me just a minute.” Then he pointed to the editorial in Fallon’s hand. “Joe, take that down to the press room and tell them to give it a box on the front page.” He prayed that Fallon would see through the little comedy and would obey him without question. He had a bad moment--fortunately the policeman’s back was turned--when Fallon looked startled and indignant. But he need not have been alarmed. Fallon glanced down at the editorial and almost instantly departed. “Check, Mr. Donalson,” Fallon said. Kerry tried not to let his relief betray him. He turned abruptly and gave his attention to the policeman again. “You were saying?” The officer put his credentials away. “Please come with me, Mr. Donalson,” he said. Kerry’s solar plexus knotted. “Do you mind telling me why?” he demanded. “I’d rather not say here,” the officer replied. Kerry stood up and reached for his coat. It still might be the routine inquiry. More as a test than as a real question. “May I call my wife?” he asked. The policeman motioned Kerry to precede him through the door. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “You’ll be coming right back.” Kerry framed a silent “_Oh yeah?_” but he did not say it aloud. He sagged despondently in the seat of the prowlie, while the siren screamed through the jammed streets. After a few minutes, he decided that a too-stubborn silence could be as dangerously revealing as unguarded talk. “Why am I being taken in a police car?” he asked, in a dignified way. “Where am I going?” The officer answered at once. “Your friend didn’t die, Mr. Donalson. He’s up in the police-precinct hospital. I guess he asked for you.”