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ElapticAI-512

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when we had reached the roof, an easier job yet to hurry him down a
fire escape to the ground. And as my ever-logical friend had guessed,
the fire-laddies put out the blaze before it spread to adjacent
buildings; thus what might have proved a serious loss to America's
offense was held to a minimum. One building which could be easily
replaced.
We didn't leave town that night. We were exhausted, for one thing; for
another, Hank was in no condition to board a train. His suitcase had
been destroyed in the fire, and as he ruefully confessed to me when I
asked his reason for backing away from the wildly cheering mob that
escorted us to our hotel, the fire had got in one last, farewell lick
just as we escaped. Said caress had singed a neat, round hole in Hank's
southern exposure.
And the next day there came a hurry-call from Johnny Day. They had
caught the saboteurs, or thought they had, and would we please come and
identify them?
So we did, and they were, and the Jerries were taken into custody by a
detail of granite-eyed soldiers who gripped their Garands as if they
hoped Hitler's hirelings would break for freedom. Which of course
they didn't. No longer holding the whip-hand, they were the meekest,
humblest looking skunks you ever saw.
It was then that Grimper, so trim and fresh that you would never know
he'd almost been baked Grimper au jus, moved forward to shake Hank's
hand.
"Last night, Mr. Cleaver," he said, "I apologized to you. This morning
I want to repeat that apology and wish you all possible success when
you leave here."
Hank just blushed and wriggled a bulldog-tipped shoe into the carpet.
"Aw, that's all right, Mr. Grimper"
But if he could take it like that, I couldn't. In a fury I stepped
forward and shoved my nose into Grimper's pan.
"You may be an agent for Uncle Sam," I snarled, "and a joy to your
loving mama but you're a pain in the pants to me, Grimper! You've got
one hell of a nerve. This man saved your life and MacDonald's plant
after you fired him. And now you've got the almighty guts to wish him
bon voyage! Well, I for one"
But, surprisingly, it was Old Mac who stopped me.
"Now, take it easy, Blakeson," he said. "'Tisna the time to gripe and
growse. Mr. Grimper kens his dooties as an agent o' Oncle Som. There's
a cairtain amount o' accuracy in whut he says. There is no fitting
place here for Hank's peecoolyar talents"
"If not here," I howled, "then where on earth?"
"Now, Jim!" begged Hank mildly.
But the answer came from Mr. Grimper. A smile split the lips of the
scrawny little fighting-cock.
"Why, in Washington, of course," he said. "Like all humans, I make
mistakes, Mr. Blakeson. But when I discovered I erred, I try to rectify
my hastiness. Therefore I have today wired Washington that Mr. Cleaver
is on his way. He will act as personal and confidential adviser to the
President. Mr. Cleaver, do you think you'll like that?"
I rested on reaching what seemed to be the top of the incline, and
leaned back against the wall of the cave. For a moment the silence was
unbroken. And then in the darkness there was a whisper of movement,
an unseen stirring that was stilled by my involuntary, voiceless cry,
"What's there!"
With only a blurred memory of having reached for it, I found my gun in
my hand.
"Don't shoot!" said a burry voice. "Allow me to introduce myself:
Mister J. J. Abrogado, A-b-r-o-g-a-d-o, Serbo-Croat prospector, at your
service!"
I lowered the gun hesitantly, letting it waver in the general direction
from which the voice came. It was a strange introduction, but the
possessor of the voice must have been as frightened by my bursting
suddenly into the cave as I had been on finding it already occupied.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"That's supposed to be my question," said Mister J. J. Abrogado. "Who
are you? And what was it that frightened you?"
"Sorry," I apologized. "My name's Ross. I'm an archeologist. I was on
a trip alone in my ground car when it broke down. Being no mechanic, I
couldn't fix it. I decided to walk back to Marsport. I walked all day
and most of this night, when Well, listen!"
I bent my head to one side. Through the earphones of my headwarmer I
could hear from far away a vague presentiment of movement, a dim blur
upon the horizon of sound.
"The nightrunners," said Abrogado in recognition. "I thought it might
have been something else that frightened you." There was an unspoken
question in his silence.