Tedor began to think of getting away. It was something to think about, but not at the moment, for Sertant seemed on the point of telling him something which might be of value. "Ruscar is here, right here in Twenty. It appears whatever is happening is sufficiently important to demand his presence." "Well, then, what's happening?" "My friend, that is what Ruscar will want to ask you. Actually, I don't know. So I'll simply have to detain you until Ruscar gets here--which could be soon. It could also be several weeks." Tedor did not like the idea of an indefinite wait. He eyed Sertant speculatively wondered just how much experience the young Agent had with the obsolete pistol--how much he had, in fact with violence of any sort. Tedor calculated the distance between them. Six feet, with Sertant sitting comfortably behind the desk, elbow propped on its surface, gun in hand; Tedor standing in front of the desk, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The desk? Tedor considered. It wasn't too heavy, but it also did not give him much of a hand-hold. If he could duck, grasp it firmly, spill it over on top of Sertant.... Sertant settled the problem himself. He stood up, came around the side of the desk and stopped near Tedor. "I really should put this antique weapon away," he admitted. "After all, we Agents can trust one another, and Ruscar probably wants you only for information on something." Tedor shrugged, beginning to feel like a heel, but realizing it was necessary. "Then why don't you?" * * * * * Sertant looked at the gun uncertainly, but continued holding it, the muzzle pointed half at Tedor and half at the floor. "You are going to be a headache," he said. "Obviously, I can't lock you in any of the 20th century jails. The natives would want reasons and I don't have the authority, anyway." "Then why don't you let me go--provided I promise to remain in the 20th century until I see Ruscar?" Tedor realized he could cheerfully make such a promise and keep it, for if they uncovered and defeated the monopolist in Russia, Ruscar assuredly would want to hear of it. Sertant shook his head. "Since Ruscar issued this directive for you personally, I have to detain you." At that moment, Sertant's office-intercom buzzed. Sertant leaned across the desk, his eyes still on Tedor, and flicked a switch. Tedor heard the secretary's voice. "Mr. Sertant, I'd like to see you about something." "What?" Sertant demanded irritably. "Your correspondence to Mr. Hoblan in Cairo." Hoblan's name was familiar to Tedor. C-20, middle-east, as he recalled. "Umm, yes. That can't wait. Come on in, Miss Peterson." The door soon opened. Sertant averted his eyes from Tedor for an instant, looked at Miss Peterson. Tedor leaped at him. The gun roared deafeningly, brought a cascade of plaster down from the ceiling. Miss Peterson screamed.