One of three

by George O. Smith

In a small but comfortable room in Maddox's laboratory Bronson found time to object to Kingston's statement that anyone adhering to a principle is automatically a fanatic. A fanatic, according to one of Bronson's rather cynical definitions, was any man who adhered to a set of principles at variance with your own.

Time went on slowly and it became dark eventually. Bronson could hardly believe that he had been a free and happy scientist but a few days ago, that all that had happened to him had occurred in so short a time.

He had taken a few hours of sleep not long ago but it was insufficient. Now, with the entire program at a standstill, nervous reaction set in and the enforced inactivity drove Bronson deep into the fatigue he had been ignoring because of nervous energy. He sprawled on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a short time—and then slept.

Bronson awoke much later and saw by his watch that it was about three o'clock in the morning. By then he was slept out and quite ready to test his brain and his body against Kingston and Maddox.

Lying on the bed Bronson tried to plan.

The main problem was to effect an exit and take a look around—cooped up here he could do nothing at all. His mind, having been geared to fast action for days, was now craving more action. It was like a drug. And a portion of his mind told him that if all this could happen in a short time, there was reason to believe that more concentrated action might solve the puzzle.

So Bronson arose and inspected the door. The place had not been designed as a prison. The door was a normal door and the lock was a flimsy affair intended to serve merely as a warning to the uninvited that the room was forbidden. It would give no trouble at all to someone determined to enter—or to get out.

Bronson smiled in the dim moonlight. Undoubtedly, Kingston felt that, with no place to go, Bronson's freedom was unimportant.

He went to the closet and found a couple of wire coat-hangers. One of these he twisted into a small hook to probe the lock. It was a simple single-tumbler bolt lock and Bronson lifted the tumbler easily and slid the bolt back. The door opened on oiled hinges and he was in the clear.

His first move was to the street door. That was heavily locked and barred and, engineer that Ed Bronson was, picking a lock of that calibre was beyond his ability. He checked the windows but every window was equipped with a slender, ornamental grille-work that was as effective a barrier as the plain bars of the average jail.