who probably suspected the Mexican might have been a Time Patrolman, and so he had decided to increase the guard around his house. Brek was called from his bank duties and taken up Palo Alto Mountain to the Sager mansion. His job was to patrol the grounds.

That evening, as dusk fell, Brek strolled around the grounds, going from one of the posted guards to another.

"Sam? It's me, Ed."

"Howdy, Ed. Seen anything?"

"Not a thing. You?"

"Nope. I think the boss is just jumpy."

Brek poured tobacco into a cigarette paper, rolled it deftly, and put it in his mouth. "Got a light, Sam?"

"Sure."

As the guard struck the match, Brek leaned forward to light his cigarette—and, at the same time, he put his hand on the other's shoulder. Automatically, a little device in his palm silently and painlessly injected hypnotene into the man's blood stream.

After a moment, Brek said: "How do you feel, Sam?"

Sam blinked slowly. "Just fine."

"You'll do anything I tell you—won't you, Sam?"

"Why sure, Ed. Whatever you say."

Brek grinned savagely. "You won't hear any noise from the house."

"No noise from the house," Sam agreed.

"No matter what happens, you won't hear anything out of the ordinary, or see anything out of the ordinary. This will seem just like any other night to you."

Under the influence of the drug, Sam nodded in agreement.

"And you won't remember what I just said. All you'll remember is that I bummed a light and went on."

Again Sam nodded.

"Well, so long, Sam."

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