Around three o'clock Kent was taken to an interview room, where his manager Siskind introduced him to the attorney he had hired, and to a couple of police technicians.
"Mr. Lindstrom," the lawyer said briskly, "I believe we can wrap this business up in a hurry, thanks in no small part to your display of good faith during that jailbreak today. There is no real evidence against you in this arson business, but the police could hold you a couple of days on suspicion alone. I've explained to the proper authorities that you have an important schedule to maintain, and they're willing to be reasonable.
"Thus, Mr. Lindstrom, if you will submit to questioning under the polygraph, sometimes known as the lie detector, to demonstrate your innocence to these gentlemen—"
"I don't trust those polygraph gadgets," Kent broke in. "I read something somewhere about them being inaccurate."
"The device has shortcomings," the attorney admitted, "but these experts are aware of them, and take them into account. Also, I'm here to see that the questioning stays relevant, that no 'fishing expeditions' are attempted. This is a quick way to clear yourself, Mr. Lindstrom."
Kent hesitated. A polygraph could be dangerous for him, in more ways than one. Maybe he was last night's arsonist. Or, more precisely, maybe Pard was. Then there was the fact of Pard's existence. Only Kent knew that his brain had an extra occupant, and he wanted to keep that information to himself. A lie-detector test could betray Pard's presence in some manner.
He was about to reject the examination when Pard twitched a signal.
Yes.
Kent rubbed his nose to hide his mouth while he asked, "You mean take the test?"
Yes. I'm going to sleep.
That ought to solve the problem, Kent decided. With Pard asleep, he certainly could not react to the polygraph.
"O.K.," Kent said. "Let's get it over with."
The police technicians took several minutes to rig him for the examination, during which Kent assured himself that Pard had dozed off. The questioning had hardly started when the door opened and a distinguished, graying man was ushered in.
"This is Mr. Byers," said the officer with him. "He represents the owners of that warehouse."
"Yes," said Byers, "and if, as I've just learned upon arriving in the building, the charges against this young man are to depend on a single polygraph examination, I must insist on being present during the examination. I don't like these attempts to shortcut justice, gentlemen," he went on with a stern frown. "Nor do I like to see the law be made a respecter of persons, especially a respecter of a person who, while laying claim to a certain artistic notoriety, is not known for the stability of his deportment. But I'm a realist, gentlemen: I'm aware of the pressures under which the police must attempt to carry out their duties. Thus, since I have little choice in the matter, I'll go along with this procedure, provided I am present."
Kent had a feeling that Byers wasn't nearly so put out by the lie-detector test as he claimed to be.
"Any objections?" asked one of the officers.
"Nah," grunted Kent. "Let the old square stay."
"Providing Mr. Byers refrains from interfering with the proper conduct of the test," amended Kent's attorney.
"O.K. Let's proceed," said the officer.
First there were the usual trial questions to establish Kent's true-and-false reactions. Then the technician in charge got down to business.
QUESTION: When you retired last night, you found you could not go to sleep?
ANSWER: Well, I went halfway to sleep. Not fully.
Q.: Why didn't you take a pill?
A.: I don't take pills unless I'm really sick.
Q.: So you went walking?
A.: Yes.
Q.: Wasn't that a strange thing to do at that time of night, and in an unfamiliar city?
A.: Depends on what you think is strange. I do it every now and then.
Q.: Where did you walk?
A.: I don't know. As you said, Los Angeles is not familiar to me.
Q.: When did you leave the hotel?
A.: Between two and three. Maybe two forty-five.
Q.: Are you aware that two attempts were made on your life, yesterday and last night?
A.: I sure am!
Q.: Why didn't you report the first one to the police?
A.: Because I thought it might be some crazy accident at first. You know about it now, so what's the difference?
Q.: Who's trying to kill you?
A.: I don't know.
Byers was hovering over the other technician, watching the tale told by the polygraph needles. His frown was taking on a touch of puzzled doubt.
Q.: Why would someone want to kill you?
A.: It must be over some girl. I don't know what else.
Q.: What girl?
A.: I have no idea who she is.
Byers went over to whisper into the questioner's ear. The man looked annoyed, but nodded.
Q.: You've been intimate with a number of girls, then?
A.: Well, yes. A man in my position has so many—
Q.: Have you ever displayed homosexual tendencies?
A.: No!
Q.: Do you want to reconsider that answer?
A.: Oh, there was that foolishness in Washington last year. But that was just a put-on. An act! Maybe it was in bad taste, but that's all it was.
Q.: O.K. Now, about last night. Who were the men in the brawl with you?
A.: I don't know. I couldn't identify them if I saw them.
Q.: Are you sure one of them wasn't the night watchman of the warehouse?
A.: No, I'm not sure of that. I don't even know what building you mean when you say the warehouse. All I know is, I wasn't looking for a fight, with a watchman or anybody else.
Q.: We think someone got an oily rag out of a garage trash can, wrapped it around a rock, set it afire, and threw it through the warehouse window. Did you do that, or anything similar to that, last night?
A.: No.
Q.: Do you carry matches, or a lighter?
A.: Not often. I don't smoke. Sometimes I have matches if I've been with a girl who does. I don't recall having any last night.
The questioner sat back in his chair and glanced around. "Anything else?" he asked.
Byers was furious. "This whole thing's a farce!" he stormed. "This long-haired young ruffian is obviously abnormal in mind, and can fool your machine!"
The questioner glared at him. "You seem convinced of Lindstrom's guilt, Byers," he said coldly, "but if you have any evidence to that effect you've withheld it from the police. And let's remember two things. One, your clients are going to have some tall explaining to do about what the firemen found in their warehouse—"
"My clients were unaware of what use some unauthorized trespassers were making of their premises!" Byers protested.
"Two," the officer continued relentlessly, "somebody has tried to kill Lindstrom, and you're showing an unaccountable animosity toward him. Could there be a connection, Mr. Byers?"
"Absurd!"
"Will you sit in Lindstrom's chair and repeat that?"
"I'll have nothing to do with your rigged machines!" snapped Byers, drawing back. He headed for the door, firing a parting comment over his shoulder: "This country is in a sad condition when officers of the law start siding with hoodlums and beatniks!"
"Did I pass the test O.K.?" Kent asked as the technicians detached the monitoring devices from him.
"Yes. You're free to go. But you should ask for police protection till we get to the bottom of this."
He nodded and asked cautiously, "What was going on in that warehouse, anyway?"
"Illicit arms storage," the chief technician replied.
"Stolen rifles and such, huh?"
"Not exactly rifles. More fire-power than that. Military stuff. Enough to tear this city apart!"
Kent had a stunned feeling of unreality, as if he were involved in a silly dream. How could a harmless pianist get tangled up in this deadly game, he wondered plaintively.
But tangled up he was, thanks to Pard. That green disk was a military device. And now a cache of military armament! It tied together, and tied him in!