Seth Martell’s craggy, strong face was set in harsh lines as he sat staring at a folded paper on his desk. Sunlight came warmly through the windows of the penthouse apartment above New York, silvering Martell’s iron-gray hair and clipped moustache. He looked hard as nails—till he lifted his lids and gazed at the three young men before him. Seth Martell was one of the biggest men in America. Connected with the military, high up in the government, his honesty had never been questioned, nor his devotion to his country. Always he had been unswerving in serving his own ideals, no matter what self-sacrifice it entailed. Now— Now there was pain in his gray eyes. He looked at his three sons and hesitated, tapping the folded document with stubby, calloused fingers. “Well?” None of the three spoke. Martell reached for a buzzer, and then drew back his hand. He looked at the tallest of the three. “Tony. Are you the Merlin?” Tony—a dark, lean young man, with very keen black eyes and a thin eager face—cocked up a quizzical eyebrow. “I, sir? The—” Martell’s restraint failed for an instant as he snapped, “Answer me!” Tony sobered. “No, sir,” he said quietly. “I’m not.” “Phil.” The second youth, blond and stocky, took a stubby pipe out of his mouth. “No, sir.” “Jimmy.” The third of the trio looked somewhat like Tony, though a less matured man. The eagerness in Tony’s face was enthusiasm in Jimmy’s, boyish and pleasant. He shot a quick glance at the others, hesitated, and finally said, with a little frown, “I’m not the Merlin, sir.” Martell sighed. “All right. Go in the sun-room and wait, boys. The investigators will be in presently.” He sat steadily regarding his nails till his sons had departed. Tony left them at the door. “Be with you directly,” he murmured, and hurried off along the corridor. The others went into the room, and ten minutes later the oldest of the three came in, his face blandly impassive. He went to the window and stood staring out over the skyscrapers of New York, waiting on the verge of the 21st century. He began to whistle ruminatively. “Seth insisted on interviewing us before the detecs. Good of him.” Young Jimmy, nervously lighting a cigarette, nodded. “Damn good. But all this.... I don’t understand it.” Phil’s serious eyes were questioning. “Are you sure? There’s no doubt the authorities think one of us is a crook. I wonder—” There was a little silence. Finally Jimmy asked, “Who is this Merlin, anyway?” “Cleverest crook in the world,” said Tony, turning. “At least, he’s been kicking around for two years. That means a lot these days. He’s pretty much of a Robin Hood. Only kills in self-defense—and never for personal profit.”