On Irene, the rich, iridescent material made her look like a queen out of a Technicolor extravaganza. "Wow!" said Peter feelingly. "It's too bad they don't have suits I can wear." "I'll show you something else, too," Irene said excitedly. "I accidentally spilled some water on it in the powder room, and look what happened!" She proceeded to demonstrate by pouring water on her skirts from the carafe on Peter's desk. The water rolled off without wetting the material. Then she took the desk pen and shook some ink on it. "See?" she chortled, "it rolls right off! It never has to be cleaned, because it can't get dirty!" Peter looked back at the Buck Rogers suit. "Maybe I can get a tailor to make a decent suit out of that thing." Irene shook her head. "I don't think so. There aren't any seams." Peter frowned and took a pair of scissors from his desk drawer. He took one sleeve of the suit and tried to cut it. It wouldn't cut. He jabbed at it with the point. The suit stubbornly refused to cut, snag, or tear. "I wonder," he then said thoughtfully, "if this Rolath Guelph would have a suit made for me; one that I could wear." He scribbled out a note and put it in with the next batch of stuff. The reply came back almost immediately. _I can't promise anything, Mr. Merton, but I'll see what I can do. R. G._ "Well, that's that," sighed Peter. "I'll just have to wait." Another week passed, and Peter got no word from Rolath Guelph. He did, however, get word from another group of men. He was sitting comfortably in his office, pondering on what to do with all his money, when the intercom on his desk buzzed. "There are some gentlemen from the Treasury Department to see you, Mr. Merton," said Irene's voice. She sounded scared. "Send them in," Peter said. Come to think of it, he felt a little uneasy, himself. The two brisk, official-looking young men who came into the office identified themselves as Mr. Brady and Mr. Brown, of the United States Treasury Department. They wasted no time in getting down to business. "Now, Mr. Merton," said Brady, "we'd like to know how you're getting all this money." "Well, ah--um--I saved it," he said. "That's not what I meant," said Brady. "I'm talking about several counterfeit bills that have been traced to you. Where did you get them?" "But they _can't_ be counterfeit," Peter protested. "They are perfectly good bills!" "Oh, they're good imitations, all right," Brown said. "The most amazing fakes I've ever seen. The paper is perfect, the engraving is beautiful; in fact, the only thing wrong is the serial numbers. Why, some of those numbers won't be printed on bills for twenty or thirty years yet." "Now, Mr. Merton," said Brady, "tell us where the plates are. Who printed these amazing phonies?" "I don't know," Peter said. "I--I--" he stammered. Frightened, he didn't know what to say. He was afraid to tell them about Rolath Guelph and the Time Transfer; they'd think he was crazy.