"That was before I knew your Washington stuffed shirts were holding out on me."
"It's nothing we can go to court with, Grammond. And the job you were doing might have been influenced if I'd told you about the Elsby angle."
Grammond cursed. "I could have put my men in the town and taken it apart brick by brick in the time—"
"That's just what I don't want. If our bird sees cops cruising, he'll go underground."
"You've got it all figured, I see. I'm just the dumb hick you boys use for the spade work, that it?"
"Pull your lip back in. You've given me the confirmation I needed."
"Confirmation, hell! All I know is that somebody somewhere is punching out a signal. For all I know, it's forty midgets on bicycles, pedalling all over the damned state. I've got fixes in every county—"
"The smallest hyperwave transmitter Uncle Sam knows how to build weighs three tons," said Tremaine. "Bicycles are out."
Grammond snorted. "Okay, Tremaine," he said. "You're the boy with all the answers. But if you get in trouble, don't call me; call Washington."