il they
told me to get up. But at the time I wanted to say it, and I did, and
I said a few other things that were neither polite nor sensible. I was
a little upset, I think. It didn't matter. They paid no attention to
me, so I lit another cigarette and waited. The outer door opened and
one of the two that had left came back in. He came directly to me,
waving the others out as he came. They filed out and he stood in front
of me.

* * * * *

"Mr. Miller. This is rather an awkward situation for all of us,
particularly for you, obviously. I want to say this, Mr. Miller;
I--that is, we here in the Bureau are extremely sorry for the turn of
events that brought both of us here. We--"

At the first decent word I'd heard in days I blew up. "Sorry? What's
being sorry going to do for me? What's being sorry going to do for my
wife? Where is she? What's happened to her? Where is she, and what are
you doing to her? And when am I going to get out of here?"

He was a polite old man, come to think about it. He let me blow off
all the steam I'd been saving, let me rant and rage, and clucked and
nodded in just the right places. At last I ran down, and he moved a
chair to where he could be confidential. He started like this:

"Mr. Miller, I, speaking personally, know exactly how you must feel.
Close custody is as unpleasant for the jailor as it is for the jailee,
if there is such a word, sir."

* * * * *

I snorted at that one. A jail is a jail, and the turnkey can walk out
if he chooses.

"You must remember that you are and have been dealing with an official
agency of the Government of the United States of America, of which you
are a citizen; an agency that, officially or otherwise, can never be
too careful of any factor that affects, however remotely, the security
or safety of that Government. You understand that quite well, don't
you, Mr. Miller?" He didn't wait to find out if I did. "For that
reason, and for no other, you were brought here with the utmost speed
and secrecy, and kept here."

"Oh, sure," I said. "I'm going to blow up a tax collector, or
something like that."

He nodded. "You might."

"Blah. So you made a mistake. So you're sorry, so my wife is probably
completely out of her head by now, I'm crazy myself, and you want to
talk politics. All I want to know is this--when do I get out of here?"

He looked at me with an odd, queer smile. "This, Mr. M