It was the epitaph on ten years of marriage. I knew when I was licked. Dorothy was what she had been when I had picked her out of Middletown--as inaccessible as the root of a Greek aorist or as a book of curiosa in a Carnegie library. She had not shown a trace of recognizing Frank Jacklin inside the body of Winnie Tompkins, even though my morning calisthenics were reducing my circumference. I was licked. I was no Faustus to woo this Marguerite, especially when she obviously had someone else on the string. The Master of the Rat Race obviously meant me to play the hand he had dealt me, and no Joker. By Godfrey, it would go hard with Dorothy's boss when I came to grips with him. All the Navy men who had been hitched by Washington would applaud me--Marty Donnell who had been sent out against the "Nagato" with the wrong size shells for his guns; Abie Roseman, who had been cashiered because he had refused to okay a travel order for the Admiral's sweetie; Julius Winterbottom, who had died on the "Lexington"--and all the gobs who had died. Well, win or lose, I'd give the F.B.I. a run for its money and what could they do to me? Damn it! I was a civilian--one of the guys that paid their salaries! Colonel Ivor McIntosh of the Chicago McIntoshes was one of those who had been born with a platinum spoon and a broad "A" in his mouth. His face bore the marks of years of application to the more expensive tables, cellars and bedrooms. His uniform was in the U.S. Army but definitely not of it--having a Savile Row touch that suggested the Guards. He was, he told me, in charge of the O.S.S. "until Bill gets back," and what could he do for me? "Colonel," I said. "I came to you in the face of strong opposition from the F.B.I. I have first-hand information concerning the sinking of the Alaska." "Nonsense!" McIntosh replied cheerily. "It was on the map five minutes ago. I'm sure it's still there." I smiled. "The U.S.S. Alaska, sir," I explained. Colonels love to be called "Sir," especially by a civilian. "I have the inside story of the sinking of the carrier. The F.B.I. told me it was useless to try to see you or Admiral Ballister. In fact, they ordered me under no circumstances to mention the F.B.I. in connection with my mission." McIntosh toyed with a crystal elephant on his desk. "Exactly what _is_ your mission?" he asked. I drew myself up, not without dignity. "I am with Z-2, Colonel," I told him, "and as you know the Z Bureau reports only to the President." I had heard of G-2, A-2, even X-2. Why not Z-2--to end all 2's. "Of course," he agreed without bending an eyelash. "But why have you come to see me, Mr. Tompkins?"