moment with three bits
of metal in his pocket. Unconsciously he voiced his thoughts: "Does
the President have nails in his shoes, I wonder?"

"What--what's that?" the Chief demanded.

But Delamater made no reply. He was picturing the President. He would
be seated at his desk, waiting, waiting ... and the bells would be
ringing and whistles blowing from distant shops when the bolt would
strike.... It would flash from his feet ... through the thick rug ...
through the rug.... It would have to ground.

He paid no heed to his Chief's repeated question. He was seeing, not
the rug in the Presidential office, but below it--underneath it--a
heavy pad of rubber.

"If he can be insulated--" he said aloud, and stared unseeingly at his
eagerly listening superiors--"even the telephone cut--no possible
connection with the ground--"

"For God's sake, Del, if you've got an idea--any hope at all! I'm--I'm
up against it, Del."

The operative brought his distant gaze back to the room and the man
across from him. "Yes," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "I've got the
beginning of an idea; I don't see the end of it yet.

"We can cut him off from the ground--the President, I mean--make an
insulated island where he sits. But this devil will get him the
instant he leaves ... unless ... unless...."

"Yes--yes?" The Chief's voice was high-pitched with anxious
impatience; for the first time he was admitting to himself his
complete helplessness in this emergency.

"Unless," said Delamater, as the idea grew and took shape, "unless
that wireless channel works both ways. If it does ... if it does...."

The big man made a gesture of complete incomprehension.

"Wait!" said Robert Delamater, sharply. If ever his sleepy indolence
had misled his Chief, there was none to do so now in the voice that
rang like cold steel. His eyes were slits under the deep-drawn brows,
and his mouth was one straight line.

* * * * *

To the hunter there is no greater game than man. And Robert Delamater,
man-hunter, had his treacherous quarry in sight. He fired staccato
questions at his Chief.

"Is the President at his desk at twelve?"

"Yes."

"Does he know--about this?"

"Yes."

"Does he know it means death?"

The Chief nodded.

"I see a way--a chance," said the operative. "Do I get a free hand?"

"Yes--Good Lord, yes! If there's any chance of--"

Delamater silenced him. "I'll be the one to take the chance," he said