* * * *

In some unaccountable fashion, they knew. What if he refused to give up
his briefcase? Would they dare fire the automatic in the subway? It was
a very small caliber weapon. Its noise might not even be heard above the
subway's roar. And probably they felt justified in taking the risk for a
prize as great as the one Dennison carried.

He looked at them quickly. They were mild-looking men, quietly, almost
somberly dressed. Something about their clothing jogged Dennison's
memory unpleasantly, but he didn't have time to place the recollection.
The automatic was digging painfully into his ribs.

The subway was coming to a station. Dennison glanced at the man on his
left and caught the glint of light on a tiny hypodermic.

Many inventors, involved only in their own thoughts, are slow of
reaction. But Dennison had been a gunnery officer in the Navy and had
seen his share of action. He was damned if he was going to give up his
invention so easily.

He jumped from his seat and the hypo passed through the sleeve of his
coat, just missing his arm. He swung the briefcase at the man with the
automatic, catching him across the forehead with the metal edge. As the
doors opened, he ran past a popeyed subway guard, up the stairs and into
the street.

The two men followed, one of them streaming blood from his forehead.
Dennison ran, looking wildly around for a policeman.

The men behind him were screaming, "Stop, thief! Police! Police! Stop
that man!"

Apparently they were also prepared to face the police and to claim the
briefcase and bottle as their own. Ridiculous! Yet the complete and
indignant confidence in their shrill voices unnerved Dennison. He hated
a scene.

Still, a policeman would be best. The briefcase was filled with proof of
who he was. Even his name was initialed on the outside of the briefcase.
One glance would tell anyone ...

He caught a flash of metal from his briefcase, and, still running,
looked at it. He was shocked to see a metal plate fixed to the cowhide,
over the place where his initials had been. The man on his left must
have done that when he slapped the briefcase.

Dennison dug at the plate with his fingertips, but it would not come
off.

It read, _Property of Edward James Flaherty, Smithfield Institute_.

Perhaps a policeman wouldn't be so much help, after all.

But the problem was academic, for Dennison saw no policeman along the
crowded Bronx street. Peopl