e began slapping at the smoldering
spots where the molten metal from the vibroblades had hit his clothing.
He wasn't afire; modern clothing doesn't flame up--but it can get pretty
hot when you splash liquid copper on it.

"Damn!" said Mike the Angel. "New suit, too."

"You're a fast thinker, laddie," said Old Harry.

"You don't need to flatter me, Harry," said Mike the Angel. "When an old
teetotaler like you asks a man if he's brought some scotch, the man's a
fool if he doesn't know there's trouble afoot." He gave his leg a final
slap and said: "What happened? Are there any more of them?"

"Don't know. Might be." The old man waved at his control panel. "My
instruments are workin' again!" He gestured at the floor. "I'm nae sure
how they did it, but somehow they managed to blank out ma instruments
just long enough to get inside. Their mistake was in not lockin' the
front door."

Mike the Angel was busy searching the two unconscious kids. He looked
up. "Neither of them is carrying any equipment in their clothing--at
least, not anything that's self-powered. If they've got pickup circuits
built into the cloth, there must be more of them outside."

"Aye. Likely. We'll see."

Suddenly, there was a soft _ping! ping! ping!_ from an instrument on the
bench.

Harry glanced quickly at the receiving screen that was connected with
the multitude of eyes that were hidden around the area of his shop. Then
a smile came over his small brown face.

"Cops," he said. "Time they got here."

3

Sergeant Cowder looked the room over and took a drag from his cigarette.
"Well, that's that. Now--what happened?" He looked from Mike the Angel
to Harry MacDougal and back again. Both of them appeared to be thinking.

"All right," he said quietly, "let me guess, then."

Old Harry waved a hand. "Oh no, Sergeant; 'twon't be necessary. I think
Mr. Gabriel was just waiting for me to start, because he wasn't here
when the two rapscallions came in, and I was just tryin' to figure out
where to begin. We're not bein' unco-operative. Let's see now--" He
gazed at the ceiling as though trying to collect his thoughts. He knew
perfectly well that the police sergeant was recording everything he
said.

The sergeant sighed. "Look, Harry, you're not on trial. I know perfectly
well that you've got this place bugged to a fare-thee-well. So does
every shop operator on Radio Row. If you didn't, the JD gangs would have
cleaned you all out long ago."