, just as
mournfully as ever. "You've come to the right place, believe me, Mr.--
ah--"

"Malone," Malone said. "Kenneth J. Frankly, I didn't think I'd hit the
jackpot this early--I mean, you were the first on my list--"

The doctor seemed suddenly to realize that the two of them were
standing out on the portico. "Won't you come inside?" he said, with a
friendly gesture. He stepped aside and Malone walked through the
doorway.

Just inside it, three men grabbed him.

Malone, surprised by this sudden reception, fought with every ounce of
his FBI training. But the three men had his surprise on their side,
and three against one was heavy odds for any man, trained or not.

His neck placed firmly between one upper and lower arm, his legs
pinioned and his arms flailing wildly, Malone managed to shout: "What
the hell is this? What's going on?"

Dr. Blake was watching the entire operation from a standpoint a few
feet away. He didn't look as if his expression were ever going to
change.

"It's all for your own good, Mr. Malone," he said calmly. "Please
believe me."

"My God!" Malone said. He caught somebody's face with one hand and
then somebody else grabbed the hand and folded it back with
irresistible force. He had one arm free, and he tried to use it--but
not for long. "You think I'm nuts!" he shouted, as the three men
produced a strait-jacket from somewhere and began to cram him into it.
"Wait!" he cried, as the canvas began to cramp him. "You're wrong!
You're making a terrible mistake!"

"Of course," Dr. Blake said. "But if you'll just relax we'll soon be
able to help you--"

The strait-jacket was on. Malone sagged inside it like a rather large
and sweaty butterfly rewrapped in a cocoon. Dimly, he realized that he
sounded like every other nut in the world. All of them would be sure
to tell the doctor and the attendants that they were making a mistake.
All of them would claim they were sane.

There was, of course, a slight difference. But how could Malone manage
to prove it? The three men held him up.

"Now, now," Dr. Blake said. "You can walk, Mr. Malone. Suppose you
just follow me to your room--"

"My room?" Malone said. "Now, you listen to me, Doctor. If you don't
take this stuff off me at once I promise you the President will hear
of it. And I don't know how he'll take interference in a vital
mission--"

"The President?" Blake asked quietly. "What President, Mr. Malone?"

"The President of the United S