ossed a grenade in it and had done with it. At least
the results would have been random and more evenly dispersed.

But whoever had gone about the wrecking of the lab had gone about it in
a workmanlike way. Whoever had done the job was no amateur. The vandal
had known his way about in a laboratory, that was obvious. Leads had
been cut carefully; equipment had been shoved aside without care as to
what happened to it, but with great care that the shover should not be
damaged by the shoving; the invader had known exactly what he was after,
and exactly how to get to it.

And he--whoever he was--had gotten his hands on what he wanted.

The Converter was gone.

* * * * *

Sam Bending took his time in regaining his temper. He had to. A man who
stands six feet three, weighs three hundred pounds, and wears a
forty-eight size jacket can't afford to lose his temper very often or
he'll end up on the wrong end of a homicide charge. That three hundred
pounds was composed of too much muscle and too little fat for Sam
Bending to allow it to run amok.

At last, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his tense
nerves, muscles, and tendons sag--he pretended someone had struck him
with a dose of curare. He let his breath out slowly and opened his eyes
again.

The lab still looked the same, but it no longer irritated him. It was
something to be accepted as done. It was something to investigate,
and--if possible--avenge. But it was no longer something to worry about
or lose his temper over.

_I should have expected it_, he thought wryly. _They'd have to do
something about it, wouldn't they?_

But the funny thing was that he _hadn't_ expected it--not in modern,
law-abiding America.

He reached over to the wall switch to turn on the lights, but before his
hand touched it, he stopped the motion and grinned to himself. No point
in turning on the switch when he knew perfectly well that there was no
power behind it. Still--

His fingers touched the switch anyway. And nothing happened.

He shrugged and went over to the phone.

He let his eyes wander over the wreckage as his right index finger spun
the dial. Actually, the room wasn't as much of a shambles as it had
looked on first sight. The--burglar?--hadn't tried to get at anything
but the Converter. He hadn't known exactly where it was, but he'd been
able to follow the leads to its hiding place. That meant that he knew
his beans about power