The Grandfather's hand reached out to his desk and his almost too long index finger darted out and pressed a button. Instantly the bonds that had held Comstock immobile in the chair loosened.
The Grandfather said slowly, "Bowdler chose wisely when he selected you as a rebel. Perhaps more wisely even than he knew."
Comstock moved his arms about in the chair, having no desire now that the bonds were no longer holding him, to get to his feet. He was afraid that his wobbling knees would fail to support him. Massaging his arms where the metallic bonds had bitten deep, he waited with some trepidation for what might happen. Whatever it was, he feared it would be highly unpleasant.
It was.
The Grandfather rose from behind the desk and looking down at Comstock from his not inconsiderable height of six feet ten inches, said, "Since, as you have so truly pointed out, the secret of my continued power is not fear, what then, is my secret?"
Comstock had devoted a great deal of cerebration to just this point, but that did not make it any easier to say it aloud.
In the lengthening silence, The Grandfather bent down from his great height till his gaunt, strong face was on a level with Comstock's. "Well?"
"The secret," Comstock said, "is the exact opposite of what you claimed."
"Ahh?" The exclamation was almost jubilant.
"Yes," Comstock hurried on, fearing that if he didn't say it in a rush he never would get out the words, "You don't rule because you are afraid but because there is nothing that you fear."