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“We’re Special Agents of the FBI,” said a voice. “May we see you for a few moments, Mr. Bending?”

“Certainly. Come on in; the door’s unlocked.” Just walk in, you phonies! Just trot right on in, he thought.

And they did. The two men walked in, removing their hats as they did so.

“We–” one of them began. He stopped when he saw that he was addressing a round, black hole that was only a fraction more than a third of an inch in diameter but looked much, much larger from his viewpoint.

“Get your hands in the air and turn around very slowly,” said Bending. “Lean forward and brace your hands against the wall.”

They did as they were told. Bending frisked them carefully and thoroughly, thankful that the two years he had spent in the Army hadn’t been completely wasted. Neither one of them was carrying a gun.

Bending stepped back and pocketed his own weapon. “All right. You two can turn around now. If you want to try anything, come ahead–but I don’t advise it.”

The two men turned around. Neither of them was exactly a small man, but the two of them together didn’t outweigh Samson Bending by more than fifty pounds.

“What’s the idea of the gun, Mr. Bending?” the taller of the two asked. He seemed to be the spokesman for the team.

“I’ll ask the questions,” Bending said. “But first, I want to tell you that, in the first place, you can get in trouble for impersonating a Federal officer, and, in the second, I don’t like being followed. So you just trot right back to the boys at Power Utilities and tell them that if they want to play rough, I am perfectly willing to do likewise. That if they come after me again, I’m going to do some very unpleasant things. Understand?”

“I think we understand,” said the spokesman, still relatively unruffled. “But I don’t think you do. Would you care to look at our credentials, Mr. Bending?”

“Credentials?” Sam looked startled. Had he made a mistake?

“That’s right. May I take my billfold out?”

Bending took his gun out again. “Go ahead. But slowly.”

The billfold came out slowly. Bending took it. The identification card and the small gold badge said very plainly that the man was a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

“I … I’m sorry,” Bending said weakly. “I thought you were someone else. Some men were following me this afternoon, and–“

“That was us, Mr. Bending. Sorry.”

“May I verify this?” Bending asked.

“Certainly. Go right ahead.”

Bending phoned the local office of the FBI and verified the identities of the two men. When he cut off, he asked dazedly: “What was it you wanted?”

“Would you mind coming with us–downtown? We’d like to have you see some people.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.” The agent smiled a little. “I suppose, if we had to, we could get you for speeding and reckless driving; that was pretty fancy dodging you did. But we’re not supposed to be traffic cops.”

Sam smiled feebly. “What’s this all about?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion, Mr. Bending. Honestly. We were told to stick with you until we got word to pick you up. We got that word just shortly after you … hm-m-m … after you left us. Fortunately, we found you at home. It might have been difficult …”

“Can we go in my car?” Bending asked. “I’d rather not leave it unguarded just now.”

“Certainly. I’ll go with you, and Steve can follow.” He paused. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to take that revolver out of your pocket and put it away.”

“Sure,” Bending said. “Sure.”

* * * * *

Bending’s mind simply refused to function during the drive back to the city. The FBI agent beside him just sat silently while Sam drove the car.

Once, Sam asked: “Who is it that wants to see me?”