ence? Possibly.

At Humber Avenue, he turned left and drove southwards. The steel-blue
Ford turned, too. Coincidence? Still possible.

He kept on going down Humber Avenue for ten blocks, until he came to the
next cross street that would take him to a lower entrance to the
North-South Expressway. He turned right, and the Ford followed.

At the ramp leading to the northbound side of the Expressway, the Ford
was two cars behind.

Coincidence? No. That's pushing coincidence too far. If the men in the
car had actually intended to go north on the Expressway, they would have
gone on in the direction they had been taking when Bending first noticed
them; they wouldn't have gone ten blocks south out of their way.

Bending's smile became grim. He had never liked the idea of being
followed around, and, since the loss of one of his Converters, he was
even touchier about the notion. Trouble was, his fancy, souped-up
Lincoln was of no use to him at all. He could outrun them on a clear
highway--but not on the crowded Expressway. Or, conversely, he could
just keep on driving until they were forced to stop for fuel--but that
could be a long and tedious trip if they had a full tank. And besides,
they might make other arrangements before they went dry.

Well, there was another way.

He stayed on the Expressway for the next twenty miles, going far north
of where he had intended to turn off. At the Marysville Exit, he went
down the ramp. He had been waiting for a moment when the Ford would be a
little farther behind than normal, but it hadn't come; at each exit, the
driver of the trailing car would edge up, although he allowed himself to
drop behind between exits. Whoever was driving the car knew what he was
doing.

At the bottom of the ramp, Bending made a left turn and took the road
into Marysville. It was a small town, not more than five or six thousand
population, but it was big enough.

There weren't many cars on the streets that led off the main highway.
Bending made a right turn and went down one of the quiet boulevards in
the residential section. The steel-blue Ford dropped behind as they
turned; they didn't want to make Bending suspicious, evidently.

He came to a quiet street parallel to the highway and made a left turn.
As soon as he was out of sight of his pursuers, he shoved down on the
accelerator. The car jumped ahead, slamming Bending back in his seat.
At the next corner, he turned left again. A glance in the mirro