- Why did you, Grandpa?
- You got me there, boy.

I'll get it. Jud says he'll be up
in a little while.

- I'm sorry.
- Honestly...

- Yes?
- Mrs Benson?

- That's right.
- Is your husband at home?

My hus...
No I'm a widow.

What I should have asked was,
are you the owner of this house?

No I'm not. It belongs to my
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.

- 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.