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father-in-law. What is it you want?

I'm John Baron, special agent,

Federal Bureau of Investigation.

These are my men.

Do you suppose I could have

a few words with Mr. Benson?

Just a moment,

won't you come in? Dad!

- Oh, how are you gents?

- John Baron, special agent.

- For heavens' sake. FBI?

- May we come in?

Why sure, come right in and

make yourselves at home.

- Thanks.

- Not at all.

I get quite a kick out of this, used to be

with the Treasury Department myself.

Really?

- Back in the old days.

- Collector of Internal Revenue, eh.

Tax Collector, not on your life.

Secret Service.

You don't say?

Grandpa was President

Coolidge's bodyguard.

You don't say?

Yep, back in 1928. Youngest retirement

in the service, account of my heart.

Not heart trouble you understand,

an accident on one of Cal's fishing trips.

- A hunter, got the slug right here.

- Say, that's a nasty one.

How come you're still alive?

I don't know, lodged in my heart.

They took it out. Had to take it easy,

so they retired me.

- You're lucky.

- Luckier still if it hadn't hit me.

I'm gonna' be in the

Secret Service someday.

Thought you was gonna'

be a Sheriff, like Tod.

Squirts like you are supposed

to grow up to be President.

- Name's Pidge, Mr Baron.

- Glad to meet you, Pidge.

I ain't a squirt!

Mr Baron, what did you want to

see us about, is something wrong?

Nothing wrong yet Mrs Benson, but

there might be. We're just checking.

On us?

On the house.

Do you mind if we a look around?

Help yourself,

but I wanna' know...

We're gonna' look around, with or

without your permission, Mr Benson.

It's an emergency.

Check it.

There must be

something the matter.

Anyone else live here,

besides you three?

- No.

- Anyone been by here today?

No.

Just the usual routine.

Willy Harris left the milk.

- What's this all about Mr Baron?

- Just being careful, I'll explain later.

- Two bedrooms, one bathroom, clear.

- One here, just like they said.

Kitchen, pantry, back door, stairs go

down to the garage under kitchen,

cellar door in hall, clear.

Car in the garage.

Look at this for a setup...

Sorry folks, but I'm afraid we're gonna'

have to hang around for a while.

- Why?

- What's the matter?

- Don't be alarmed, nothing's wrong.

- Of course there is.

The FBI

doesn't pay us a visit for nothing.

- I won't stay. I'll take Pidge and go.

- No Ma'am, nobody leaves until we do.

Why not?

What's happened?

Look just go about your business, like

it was any other Saturday afternoon.

Read your papers, watch TV,

anything, but nobody leaves the house.

- Something fishy about all this.

- It's official business.

What sort of official business?

Mr Benson, as a former agent of the

Secret Service, you should understand.

Either I'm getting old

and stupid, or else I'm...

At 5pm, the President

will arrive in town on a special...

- What?

- Golly!

The President,

well that's different.

You mean the President's

gonna' get off the train here?

That's right.

Gramps,

we gotta' see it.

That's the greatest thing ever

to happen to this town.

Can we go down

and see it Gramps? Can we?

Sorry kid, no! Benny, bring in

the gear. Put the car out back.

Bart, you see the back door's

locked tight and check the cellar.

I still don't understand.

Mr Benson, if anyone wanted to kill the

President, he could do a beautiful job,

right from this window of yours.

For the love of Mike, that may be true,

but you don't think that Ellie and me...

Of course not,

but we have to remain here

to protect you and the President,

from someone who might.

Oh.

- Carney?

- Yeah.

Is all this checking routine?

Looks like you expect this town to...

Sheriff, have you noticed any strangers

in town during the past week.

- No.

- Are you sure?

Yes I'm sure. I know everybody here.

The only strangers we get are tourists.

We get 'em all the time, stopping

for gas, a bite to eat. That's all.

We wanna' know from you

or your deputies, if any stranger stays!

- Then this isn't routine.

- No it isn't.

Can you tell me?

The LA police picked up a small-time

stool pigeon night before last,

shot through the lungs

and left for dead.

Smiley Bitters. Before he died,

he told them something was up.

What do you mean,

something was up?

- An assassination attempt.

- Well, can you believe that?

- In our business we can't afford not to.

- I mean the tip of a dying stool pigeon.

The Stoolie seemed very proud of being

an American, before he kicked off.

Meaning crime is crime,

but this is something else again.

Right, so we can't take

any chances. Let's go.

Can we see the President,

grandpa? Can we Mom?

No Pidge, we have to stay here.

You can watch him from here.

But I wanna' get up close.

Well, use your telescope boy.

Bring him right up to your eye.

- Aah!

- Sorry Pidge, no dice.

Back door locked. How about the phone

in the kitchen, want me to yank it?

No, we don't change the pattern.

Give Benny a hand.

Mr Baron, I don't understand,

I was in the service myself...

So you told me.

Though we made every precautionary

check, we never went to extremes...

...unless you were tipped

about an assassination attempt.

- You don't mean it?

- I mean it.

But you're FBI Secret Service

is responsible for the President.

We're using everybody this trip,

Mr Benson, have a look down there.

State troopers, your local law

enforcement agencies and us.

Do you know if old Dan

Carney is down there?

We worked together in the old days.

He's chief of the presidential staff now.

- That's confidential information.

- This is a terrible thing.

Not your worry,

Mr Benson.

Of course it's my worry; I'm an

American ain't I? It's everybody's worry.

Car. Somebody's

driving up to the house.

- Who is it?

- It's Tod.

He's the Sheriff, Mr Baron.

- There's someone with him.

- Who is it?

- I don't know, never seen him before.

- Well for the love of Mike!

What?

It's old Dan Carney, greyer than an old

shirt and redder in the face as ever!

Hi Pop, got an old friend

of yours here.

Hi Pop, got an old friend

of yours here.

- Dan, you dirty old Irishman!

- Hello Pop, how are you?

- Hey, why aren't you dead?

- Oh, Buzzards like me live forever!

Hey old Hawkeye,

you're getting bald.

What do you expect

after 25 years?

Come on in,

make yourself at home.

This is my daughter-in-law.

- This is my grandson, Pidge.

- Hi 'ya Pidge.

Pidge, this is Mr. Carney, Secret

Service. He guards the President.

- Like Mr Baron.

- Who?

Baron. Oh, you didn't know.

Your boy's got here ahead of you.

Sheriff!

Mom!

One sound from the kid,

Pop, and he's dead.

Train muffled it...

Get rid of him. Put him in the cellar.

And you'd better take the rug with you,

it's a give-away...

You get the message,

brave boy?

Mom! Mom!

Pidge, you've gotta'

be still, no noise.

- You stink!

- Pidge shut up!

- Guts.

- He's only eight.

Lots of guts.

Mom.

No trouble with you,

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