"Garth doesn't answer," he said.
He bit off the end of a cigar. "I'll send a squad."
Two brawny young cops forced their way through the massed throng. The crowd caught the news that they were headed out to Garth's Folly.
They didn't come back.
Another squad, with orders to make a careful investigation, reported that the car of the first squad had run into a tree beside the drive inside the grounds of Garth's place, that the two men were missing, and that Garth was not in his house but was probably inside his concrete tower.
"Maybe," Scoop whispered, as the report came through. "Maybe Garth is doing this. Or maybe—he talked about the end of the world two million years from now—maybe he was lying. Maybe the end of the world is coming right now. Maybe Garth can help us."
"If there is a chance that Garth is either responsible or can help us," the chief of police shouted. "By God, I'll get him out of that place if I have to blast."
The phone rang again. He grabbed it, listened. "We'll do all we can," he said.
He hung up, looked at his own men, at the reporters. "Another one gone."
His fist came down on the desk.