rs. Think it's war?"

"That'll be all, Bridges."

* * * * *

The reporter closed the door behind him, and then strolled out of the
building into the sunlight.

He met Ruskin, the fat little AP correspondent, in front of the
Pan-American Building on Constitution Avenue. Ruskin was holding the
newspaper that contained the gossip-column item which had started the
whole affair, and he seemed more interested in the romantic rather than
political implications. As he walked beside him, he said:

"So what really happened, pal? That Greta babe really let down her
hair?"

"Where's your decorum?" Jerry growled.

Ruskin giggled. "Boy, she's quite a dame, all right. I think they ought
to get the Secret Service to guard her. She really fills out a size 10,
don't she?"

"Ruskin," Jerry said, "you have a low mind. For a week, this town has
been acting like the _39 Steps_, and all you can think about is dames.
What's the matter with you? Where will you be when the big mushroom
cloud comes?"

"With Greta, I hope," Ruskin sighed. "What a way to get radioactive."

They split off a few blocks later, and Jerry walked until he came to the
Red Tape Bar & Grill, a favorite hangout of the local journalists. There
were three other newsmen at the bar, and they gave him snickering
greetings. He took a small table in the rear and ate his meal in sullen
silence.

It wasn't the newsmen's jibes that bothered him; it was the certainty
that something of major importance was happening in the capitol. There
had been hourly conferences at the White House, flying visits by State
Department officials, mysterious conferences involving members of the
Science Commission. So far, the byword had been secrecy. They knew that
Senator Spocker, chairman of the Congressional Science Committee, had
been involved in every meeting, but Senator Spocker was unavailable. His
secretary, however, was a little more obliging ...

Jerry looked up from his coffee and blinked when he saw who was coming
through the door of the Bar & Grill. So did every other patron, but for
different reasons. Greta Johnson had that effect upon men. Even the
confining effect of a mannishly-tailored suit didn't hide her
outrageously feminine qualities.

She walked straight to his table, and he stood up.

"They told me you might be here," she said, breathing hard. "I just
wanted to thank you for last night."

"Look, Greta--"

_Wham!_ Her hand, small