It was what Walker called the Critical Period. Something had to happen on this day or the next, or Cronus was a monkey's dutch uncle.
"If we could only pick Gregory up and hold him for a couple of days, maybe we could beat this," I told the Captain. "We've eliminated Stella Emerson, we've locked the apartment, and caging Gregory should snap the last thread."
He laughed sarcastically. "You think that would solve the problem? Listen. We spotted a holdup, and I recognized the crook. He had a long record. I had him picked up, and he was carrying a gun so we slapped him in jail on a concealed weapons charge. He escaped, got another gun, and committed the holdup right on schedule. I'm telling you, Cronus shows exactly how the future is. We can't change it. I'm working as hard as anyone else to prevent this, but I know for a certainty that sometime today or tomorrow the girl and Gregory are going to meet in that apartment—or in one exactly like it."
"We're going to change it this time," I said. On my way out I stopped for a good look at Cronus. Nothing but a monster would give you a murderer, and a victim, and the place and approximate time, and make you completely helpless to do anything about it. I felt like giving Cronus a firm kick in a vital part of its anatomy.
I called off my dinner date with Stella and prowled around Manhattan looking for a big man with a pronounced limp. One speck of dust among the millions. I noticed with satisfaction that I was not alone in my search. Aircars were swooping in low for a quick look at pedestrians. Foot patrolmen were scrutinizing every passerby. And detectives would be making the rounds of the rooming houses and hotels with photographs. Cab and bus drivers would be alerted.
For a man who had no reason to hide, Michael Rolland Gregory was doing an expert job of keeping out of sight.
I radioed police headquarters at 10:00 P.M., and the Captain's voice exploded at me. "Where the hell have you been? The stakeout at the girl's apartment got Gregory. They're bringing him in."
I cut off without any of the formalities, and sprinted. I tore down the corridor to the D. F. C. room, and burst in on what might have been a funeral celebration. Walker sat with his face in his hands, and the Captain was pacing in a tight circle.
"He got away," the Captain snarled. "Snapped the handcuffs like toothpicks, beat up his escort and ran. The man must have the strength of a utility robot."
"How did they happen to pick him up?" I wanted to know.