"The reason," I said, stiffly, hating to admit my mental weakness, "is that at that particular moment, the picture of Miss Snow White was on the stereo. That's why! I--I don't function properly when there are women about." Charlie and Foster exchanged a look, and both shrugged: I felt a hot blush of embarrassment and anger burning upon my face. "And that's the story!" I finished stubbornly. Charlie heaved himself lazily to his feet. "What do you think, Foster?" Foster, emulating the same lazy motion, looked thoughtful for a second, then nodded. "I think that's all we're going to get. Come on, let's stash him away." "Stash me away?" I cried indignantly. "What the hell are you talking about?" "You're going into a nice cell, buddy," said Charlie, an ugly smile on his face. "And you'll be let out when the time comes. So quit your bellyaching and come on. It'll be easier if you don't try to get rough." "You can't arrest me," I said. "I'm--or, I should be--the Amnesty-bearer!" It was as if they hadn't heard me. "Come on, come on," said Foster, crooking a finger at me. "You guys can't pull this kind of trick!" I said. "When Chief Baxter hears about this--" Charlie and Foster threw back their heads and laughed. "W-what's so funny?" I asked, a dreadful inkling growing inside my mind. The door opened and a third security man walked in. It was Chief Philip Baxter. He gave me a tolerant smile. "They're laughing, Delvin," he said smoothly, "because I gave the order for your arrest." * * * * * The cell was of cold Martian stone, and had no window. I sat, miserable, on the thin cot provided for me, and pondered all that had happened to me in the last few days. None of it made the slightest sense to me. Not my selection by the Brain, nor my arrest by Baxter's men. It was crazy! Baxter, when I'd demanded to know the reason for his duplicity, had merely said, "You've served your purpose." And then Charlie and Foster had taken me away, their collapser muzzles forming unarguable persuaders against my spine. I didn't even give a moment's consideration to thoughts of escape. I was in a Security prison, and a maximum-security Security prison at that. The door to my cell was a massive foot-thick stone which swung into place on ponderous hinges, and sealed by making a half-twist in the circular entrance. Air was provided through vents, vents which could be closed off if the prisoner showed signs of aggressive tendencies. A few hours without air made most men pretty docile.