"When?"
"On the day the capsule is due to open. Not a minute before. Meanwhile, I shall make myself comfortable here in your home, where the I.P. won't look for me, and I'll go on making myself comfortable until I'm ready to pull off my little job. Mix me a drink, Hinrik; there's a good fellow."
The Museum of Cultural History in Grosstat, Nordapfahl, positively bristled with arms and men. Its stone walls looked like those of a fortress instead of a museum.
Captain Whitter had taken every precaution. No guard over six feet in height was allowed within a block of the building; Hale couldn't disguise his height. Inside the building, technicians with sensitive equipment hovered over dials and meters.
"It's possible that he may try to tunnel under the building," the captain explained. "It wouldn't be too difficult with modern equipment. But if he tries it, we'll have him."
Around the capsule itself stood an honor guard of a dozen picked I.P. men; around them stood a second ring of Lieutenant-Marshal Dilon's men. All through the building, lights blazed brightly as the guard kept on a round-the-clock watch.
