One evening in the spring of 1940 as Dr. Pearson was in the process of typing the final copy of an article he had been asked to write for the Scientific American, he was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door. Answering the door, he was taken aback to see the uniformed figure of a special government courier standing erectly before him.
“Dr. Stephan Pearson?” the courier demanded.
“Yes.”
“Please sign here,” the courier ordered, thrusting at him a receipt snapped to a clipboard on top of which was a large envelope.
Dr. Pearson took the board and glanced at the envelope. The return address stated: THE WHITE HOUSE.
Quickly he scribbled his name on the receipt and the courier disappeared. Ripping open the envelope with trembling hand he withdrew a heavy sheet of paper, unfolded it, and read:
Dr. Stephan Pearson:
May I respectfully request that you present yourself in the Oval Office at -:-- a.m. on -------- --, 1940, to discuss a matter of the utmost importance, and may I further request that you inform no one of this meeting.
I am not at liberty to disclose further details. You will be fully apprised of the matter in the course of our meeting.
This letter will gain you admittance into White House and the Oval Office at the stated time.
Sincerely,
Franklin D. Roosevelt (signed)
President
United States of America
Steve refolded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. He sank down on the sofa, his head in his hands. A wave of sickening loneliness passed through him. What in the world was this all about?
The meeting was only four days away.
He got up and stumbled into the bedroom. He turned on the lamp on the stand and then sat down on the bed facing it.
“Don’t leave me now, my love!” he whispered.
Taking the frame containing her portrait in both hands, he looked at her long and hard and then clasped her to his bosom and hung on.