Read Online Three to Conquer by Eric Frank Russell - Free Book Online Page A

followed.
     
                  Harper strolled steadily on, smiling to himself as he filched data out of the shadower's mind. Robert Slade, thirty-two, F.B.I . agent, was obsessed by the notion that Harper bore a very close resemblance to Wade Harper. The encounter was purely accidental, but the boy intended to stick to the opportunity until he was sure enough to make a pinch.
     
                  Turning down a side street, Harper covered three more blocks and became a mite uncertain of his whereabouts. He was not very familiar with Washington. He stopped on a comer, lit a cigarette, gazed furtively over cupped hands and found Slade studiously examining a shop window.
     
                  Ambling back, he touched Slade's elbow and said, "Pardon me; I'm looking for F.B.I, headquarters. Can you direct me?"
     
                  It shook Slade more than if Harper had stuck a gun in his belly.
     
                  "Why ... er ... yes, of course." His mind was saying, "Hell of a coincidence!"
     
                  "You're Robert Slade, aren't you?" inquired Harper, pleasantly conversational.
     
                  The other rocked back. "I am. You have the advantage of me, though; I don't recall knowing you."
     
                  "Would it do you any good to make an arrest?"
     
                  "What d'you mean?"
     
                  "I'm seeking your H.Q. You can show me the way. If you would like to call it a pinch, it's all right with me. I'm Wade Harper."
     
                  Slade took in a deep breath. "You're not kidding?"
     
                  "Why should I? Don't I look like Harper?"
     
                  "You sure do—maybe you're fed up being mistaken for him. If so, there's little we can do about it."
     
                  "That can soon be settled. You have my prints on file." He felt under an arm. "Here's my gun. Don't let the comparison boys in the ballistics department lose it—I hope to get it back someday."
     
                  "Thanks." Openly baffled, Slade shoved it into a pocket and pointed down the street. "This way."
     
                  They moved along, side by side. Slade made no suggestion of using his handcuffs, nor was he particularly wary. Harper's attitude had put him into a state of skepticism; he was inclined to think that this capture would gain him no credit, because the captive was too self-possessed to be other than innocent.
     
                  Reaching the big building, they went inside. Slade showed Harper into a small room, said, "Wait there a minute," and departed. The exit and the open street were within easy reach. There was no obstacle to an escape other than that provided by a hard-looking character on duty at the door.
     
                  Taking his ease. in a pneumatic chair, Harper amused himself tracking Slade's mind. The agent went along a short corridor, entered an office, spoke to somebody there.
     
                  "I've just picked up Wade Harper. He's in room number four."
     
                  "By himself?"
     
                  "Are you cracked? He can make a dive, and— "
     
                  " He was on his way here when I found him," interjected Slade, honestly refusing the credit for the grab. "He wanted to come."
     
                  "Holy smoke! There's something mighty funny about this." A pause, then, "Bring him in here."
     
                  Harper got up, walked along the passage, and arrived at the door just as Slade opened it. For the third successive time, Slade was taken aback. He stood aside, silent and puzzled, while Harper marched boldly in, took a seat and gazed at the lean-faced man behind the desk. The latter returned his gaze and gave himself away without knowing it. William Pritchard,