"There are such things as doubles, you know. Come, come, now, let's not waste the whole night. We both have many other things to do." "I--look." Lancaster gulped down his panic and tried to speak calmly. "Suppose I am lying. The machine should tell you that I'm not doing so out of disloyalty. There are things I can't tell anyone without clearance. Like if you asked me about my work on the Project--I can't tell you that. Why don't you check through regular Security channels? There was a man named Berg--at least he called himself that. You'll find that it's all perfectly okay with Security." "You can tell me anything," said Harris gently. "I can't tell you this. Not anybody short of the President." Lancaster caught himself. "Of course, that's assuming that I did really spend the summer for something other than my vacation. But--" Harris sighed. "I was afraid of this. I'm sorry, Lancaster." He nodded to his policemen. "Go ahead, boys." * * * * * Lancaster kept sliding into unconsciousness. They jolted him back to life with stimulant injections and vigorous slaps and resumed working on him. Now and then they would let up and Harris' face would swim out of a haze of pain, smiling, friendly, sympathetic, offering him a smoke or a shot of whiskey. Lancaster sobbed and wanted more than anything else in the world to do as that kindly man asked. But he didn't dare. He knew what happened to those who revealed state secrets. Finally he was thrown back into his cell and left to himself. When he recovered from his faint--that was a very slow process--he had no idea of how many hours or days had gone by. There was a water tap in the room and he drank thirstily, vomited the liquid up again, and sat with his head in his hands. So far, he thought dully, they hadn't done too much to him. He was short several teeth, and there were some broken fingers and toes, and maybe a floating kidney. The other bruises, lacerations, and burns would heal all right if they got the chance. Only they wouldn't. He wondered vaguely how Security had gotten onto his track. Berg's precautions had been very thorough. So thorough, apparently, that Harris could find no trace of what had really happened that summer, and was going only on suspicion. But what had made him suspicious in the first place? An anonymous tip-off--from whom? Maybe some enemy, some rival on the Project, had chosen this way of getting rid of his sector chief. In the end, Lancaster thought wearily, he'd tell. Why not do it now? Then--probably--he'd only be shot for betraying Berg's confidence. That would be the easy way out. No. He'd hang on for awhile yet. There was always a faint chance. His cell door opened and two guards came in. He was past flinching from them, but he had to be supported on his way to the questioning room. Harris sat there, still smiling. "How do you do, Dr. Lancaster," he said politely. "Not so well, thank you." The grin hurt his face.