Of course! He had arrived from the past, and the detectors had recorded his arrival, just as they would have pinpointed any time traveler. They never missed.

He turned, and walked toward the guards. He failed to recognize them, but this did not surprise him. The bureau was a vast and wide-ranging organization, and he knew only a handful of the many guards who customarily accompanied the tracers. It was a pleasant relief to see the tracer. The use of tracers had been instituted during his administration, and he was absolutely sure now that he hadn’t returned too early along the time stream.

“Good to see you,” he called to the approaching guards. “I had a little accident in the office.”

They ignored him, and began methodically to unpack a spacesuit from the storage trunk of the mechanical tracer.

“Never mind talking,” one said. “Get into this.”

He paled. “But I’m no jumper,” he protested. “Hold on a moment, fellows. This is all a terrible mistake. I’m Mahler—head of the bureau. Your boss.”

“Don’t play games with us, chum,” the tall guard said, while the other forced the spacesuit down over Mahler’s shoulders. To his horror, Mahler saw that they did not recognize him at all.

“Suppose you just come peacefully and let the chief explain everything to you, without any trouble,” the short guard said.

“But I am the chief,” Mahler protested. “I was examining a two-way rig in my office and accidentally sent myself back to the past. Take this thing off me and I’ll show you my identification card. That should convince you.”

“Look, chum, we don’t want to be convinced of anything. Tell it to the chief, if you like. Now, are you coming—or do we bring you?”

There was no point, Mahler decided, in trying to prove his identity to the clean-faced young medic who examined him at the bureau office. To insist on an immediate identification would only add more complications, No. It would be far better to wait until he reached the office of the chief.