"You could beat the hell out of me," said Dalgetty, "but it wouldn't teach you a science that it takes years to learn." "No, but we'd know just what you have and where to find it. We have some good brains on our side. Given your data and equations they can figure it out." The pale eyes grew wholly chill. "You don't seem to appreciate your situation. You're a prisoner, understand?" Dalgetty braced his muscles. He didn't reply. Bancroft sighed. "Bring him in," he said. One of the guards went out. Dalgetty's heart stumbled. _Dad_, he thought. It was anguish in him. Casimir walked over to stand in front of him. Her eyes searched his. "Don't be a fool," she said. "It hurts worse than you know. Tell us." He looked up at her. _I'm afraid_, he thought. _God knows I'm afraid._ His own sweat was acrid in his nostrils. "No," he said. "I tell you they'll do everything!" She had a nice voice, low and soft, but it roughened now. Her face was colorless with strain. "Go on man, don't condemn yourself to--mindlessness!" There was something strange here. Dalgetty's senses began to reach out. She was leaning close and he knew the signs of horror even if she tried to hide them. _She's not so hard as she makes out--but then why is she with them?_ He threw a bluff. "I know who you are," he said. "Shall I tell your friends?" "No, you don't!" She stepped back, rigid, and his whetted senses caught the fear-smell. In a moment there was control and she said, "All right then, have it your way." And underneath, the thought, slowed by the gluiness of panic, _Does he know I'm FBI?_ _FBI!_ He jerked against the straps. Ye gods! Calmness returned to him as she walked to her chief but his mind whirred. Yes, why not? Institute men had little connection with the Federal detectives, who, since the abolition of a discredited Security, had resumed a broad function. They might easily have become dubious about Bertrand Meade on their own, have planted operatives with him. They had women among them too and a woman was always less conspicuous than a man. He felt a chill. The last thing he wanted was a Federal agent here. The door opened again. A quartet of guards brought in Michael Tighe. The Briton halted, staring before him. "_Simon!_" It was a harsh sound, full of pain. "Have they hurt you, Dad?" asked Dalgetty very gently. "No, no--not till now." The gray head shook. "But you...." "Take it easy, Dad," said Dalgetty. The guards hustled Tighe over to a front-row bench and sat him down. Old man and young locked eyes across the bare space. Tighe spoke to him in the hidden way. _What are you going to do? I can't sit and let them--_ Dalgetty could not reply unheard but he shook his head. "I'll be okay," he answered aloud. _Do you think you can make a break? I'll try to help you._ "No," said Dalgetty. "Whatever happens you lie low. That's an order."