Mooney chuckled in a superior way. "You aren't up on our local customs, are you? That's a convention, Harse. They dress up that way because they belong to a lodge. A lodge is a kind of fraternal organization. A fraternal organization is--" Harse said abruptly: "I want." Mooney began to feel alarm. "What?" "I want one for a. Specimen? Wait, I think I take the big one there." "Harse! Wait a minute!" Mooney clutched at him. "Hold everything, man! You can't do that." Harse stared at him. "Why?" "Because it would upset everything, that's why! You want to get to your rendezvous, don't you? Well, if you do anything like that, we'll _never_ get there!" "Why not?" "Please," Mooney said, "please take my word for it. You hear me? I'll explain later!" Harse looked by no means convinced, but he stopped opening the silvery metal case. Mooney kept an eye on him while registering. Harse continued to watch the conventioneers, but he went no further. Mooney began to breathe again. "Thank _you_, sir," said the desk clerk--not every guest, even in this hotel, went for a corner suite with two baths. "Front!" * * * * * A smart-looking bellboy stepped forward, briskly took the key from the clerk, briskly nodded at Mooney and Harse. With the automatic reflex of any hotel bellhop, he reached for Harse's silvery case. Baggage was baggage, however funny it looked. But Harse was not just any old guest. The bellboy got the bag away from him, all right, but his victory was purely transitory. He yelled, dropped the bag, grabbed his fist with the other hand. "Hey! It shocked me! What kind of tricks are you trying to do with electric suitcases?" Mooney moaned softly. The whole lobby was looking at them--even the conventioneers at the entrance to the ballroom; even the men in mufti mingling with the conventioneers, carrying cameras and flash guns; even the very doorman, the whole lobby away. That was bad. What was worse was that Harse was obviously getting angry. "Wait, wait!" Mooney stepped between them in a hurry. "I can explain everything. My friend is, uh, an inventor. There's some very important material in that briefcase, believe me!" He winked, patted the bellhop on the shoulder, took his hand with friendly concern and left in it a folded bill. "Now," he said confidentially, "we don't want any disturbance. I'm sure you understand how it is, son. Don't you? My friend can't take any chances with his, uh, confidential material, you see? Right. Well, let's say no more about it. Now if you'll show us to our room--" The bellhop, still stiff-backed, glanced down at the bill and the stiffness disappeared as fast as any truck-driver bathed in Harse's pale blue haze. He looked up again and grinned. "Sorry, sir--" he began. But he didn't finish. Mooney had let Harse get out of his sight a moment too long.