I picked up the phone and told the receptionist to send Harcourt in.
"Mr. Tompkins," he said. "I've been ordered to ask you to come up to the Bureau's headquarters right away."
"Am I under arrest?" I asked.
"Well," Harcourt admitted, "I haven't got a warrant but I think maybe you better come with me."
"What's the charge?"
"My chief will tell you what it's all about," he said. "My orders were to bring you in for questioning."
"Okay," I agreed. "I'll come along quietly. Phil, will you tell Miss Briggs to ring up my wife and say I won't be home tonight and not to worry. I'll be all right."
Harcourt came and laid his hand on my arm. "Come along then," he ordered gruffly.
"How about my lawyer?" I inquired. "Graham, will you phone Merry Vail and tell him I've been taken up to the F.B.I. for questioning?"
Harcourt looked up at me. "Is Merriwether Vail your lawyer?" he asked. "I wouldn't bother to call him. We've picked him up too. All your associates, outside of business and—er—pleasure, are being rounded up. The President's dead, Mr. Tompkins, and you're going to do some talking to my chief."