nt and pressed firmly on a special part of the machine, which
did not yield at all. Then he took a slip of plastic out of a slot in
the bottom.

"You can call this a good-luck charm," he said pleasantly, "or a
talisman. Actually it's a psionic unit. One like it works very well, for
me. Anyhow there's no harm in it. Just one thing. If your eyelids start
to twitch, you'll be headed for danger or trouble or something
unpleasant. So if they do twitch, stop and be very, very careful.
Please!"

He handed the bit of plastic to Fitzgerald, who took it without
conscious volition.

Then Brink said briskly: "If there isn't anything else--"

"You won't swear out a warrant against Big Jake?" demanded Fitzgerald
bitterly.

"I haven't any reason to," said Brink amiably. "I'm doing all right. He
hasn't harmed me. I don't think he will."

"O.K.!" said the detective bitterly. "Have it your way! But he's got it
in for you an' he's goin' to keep tryin' until he gets you! An' whether
you like it or not, you're goin' to have some police protection as soon
as I can set it up."

He stamped out of the cleaning-and-drying plant. Automatically, he put
the bit of plastic in his pocket. He didn't know why. He got into his
car and drove downtown. As he drove, he looked suspiciously at his pipe.
He fumed. As he fumed, he swore. He did not like mysteries. But there
was no mystery about his dislike for Big Jake Connors. He turned aside
from the direct route to Headquarters to indulge it. He drove to a
hospital where four out-of-town hoods had been carried two days before.
He marched inside and up to a second-floor corridor door with a
uniformed policeman seated outside it.

* * * * *

"Hm-m-m. Donnelly," he growled. "How about those guys?"

"Not so good," said the patrolman. "They're gettin' better."

"They would," growled Fitzgerald.

"A lawyer's been to see 'em twice," said the patrolman. "He's comin'
back after lunch."

"He would," grunted the detective.

"They want out," said the cop.

"I'm not surprised," said Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald.

He went into the sick room. There were four patients in it, none of them
looking exactly like gentle invalids. There were two broken noses of
long-ago dates, three cauliflower ears, and one scar of a kind that is
not the result of playing lawn tennis. Two were visibly bandaged, and
the others adhesive-taped. All of them looked at Fitzgerald without
cordialit