 Who was in the black sedan that rushed off past Tremaine a block from the hotel?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow April 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He was as ancient as time—and as strange as his own frightful battle against incredible odds! In his room at the Elsby Commercial Hotel, Tremaine opened his luggage and took out a small tool kit, used a screwdriver to remove the bottom cover plate from the telephone. He inserted a tiny aluminum cylinder, crimped wires and replaced the cover. Then he dialed a long-distance Washington number and waited half a minute for the connection. Grammond's boys are supposed to keep me informed. Meantime, I'm not sitting in this damned room crouched over a dial. "I want to see results," the thin voice came back over the filtered hum of the jamming device. Project Officer for the hyperwave program—he's been on my neck day and night. You elected me to be a leg-man: now let me do it my way." And since it seems to be pinpointed in your home area—" "You don't have to justify yourself. Now I want answers, not questions! I'm warning you, Tremaine. Tremaine left the hotel, walked two blocks west along Commerce Street and turned in at a yellow brick building with the words ELSBY MUNICIPAL POLICE cut in the stone lintel above the door. Inside, a heavy man with a creased face and thick gray hair looked up from behind an ancient Underwood. "Jimmy," he said, "Jimmy Tremaine." In a back room Tremaine said, "To everybody but you this is just a visit to the old home town. Between us, there's more." Tremaine covered the discovery of the powerful unidentified interference on the high-security hyperwave band, the discovery that each transmission produced not one but a pattern of "fixes" on the point of origin. It showed a set of concentric circles, overlapped by a similar group of rings. "I think what we're getting is an echo effect from each of these points of intersection. "The point is this, Jess: we think we've got it narrowed down to this section. I'm not sure of a damn thing, but I think that transmitter's near here. "Course," said Jess, "there's always Mr. Bram ..." "Mr. Bram," repeated Tremaine. "I've never seen any harm in Bram," said Jess.
 Grammond’s men
 Jess  Mr. Bram  The men who stole the transmitter  Grammond’s men