I waited, curled up on the floor, but the kick didn't come. Instead, there was a high, crazy peal of laughter. I looked up. Beth had got up from her chair. Martell, sensing attack, had jumped back instinctively, but she had no time to spare for him. She was staring down at me, but her hands were clapped over her mouth, as if the sudden, wild laughter had startled even her. She took them down and giggled.

"Look at him!" she breathed. "Look at him, the big dangerous man, the man I divorced because… because I was afraid of him, God help me!"

It didn't seem like anything that required a reply. I merely picked myself up with as much dignity as I could muster. Then the idea came to me and I made an in-effectual gesture of protest.

"Now, Beth-"

"Now, Beth!" she mimicked, taking a step forward. "Now, Beth!"

"Now, Beth," I said mildly, "you're just upset because-"

"Upset!" she gasped. Her eyes were suddenly wide and a little mad. "Because! I suppose it's nothing to be upset about? And what did you do to prevent it? You just sat there and said you didn't want to be a dead hero."

I was watching her closely, looking for some hint, some sign, some signal that she was acting, but there was not. She was perfectly serious, in an overwrought way. She meant every word, so I'd have to play it on that basis.

I noted that Martell had pulled back near the table, behind me. My one glance told me that he was grinning. She'd made him feel like a lower form of life. Now it was somebody else's turn, and he liked it. He thought it was very funny; funny enough to watch for a while, just for laughs. Joey thought it was funny, too, but he was worried about how much time we were wasting. Mr. Fredericks would be getting impatient-and it wasn't wise to keep The Man waiting.

I said, "Beth, really! What did you expect me to do-"

"Do," she breathed, taking another step forward. "Do? I expected you to do something, anything! Larry would have done it, if he could!"

I said angrily, drawing back a step, "Larry's already had a leg shot from under him because of you! I suppose he would have been fool enough to get himself killed because of you!"

"Yes," she hissed, "yes, you would think that was foolish, wouldn't you, darling?"

I showed my teeth in something that was supposed to be a ratty grin. I said viciously, "What the hell are you squawking about, darling? There's Larry with a smashed leg. Here am I after a four-hour beating, and just what the hell, may I ask, is wrong with you? Nothing that, at the worst, can't be fixed by a small routine operation and a few shots of penicillin! Oh, and a visit to a good psychiatrist, if you're going to take it that big! I mean, just what the hell gives you the right to-"

It worked. I wasn't proud of it, I wouldn't want to have to do it again, but it worked. This was Beth, the girl you couldn't quarrel with, but I guess everybody's got a breaking point somewhere. She came for me then, clawing and scratching, spitting and snarling and kicking, calling me names I hadn't suspected her of knowing.

I covered up and backed away, hearing Martell laughing heartily behind me. I heard his laughter stop, but he'd made his mistake. He'd forgotten I was supposed to be dangerous. I'd worked hard for that forgetting, I'd paid high for it, but it was worth the price. When he realized his error, he was too late, I was too close. I was right there.

I dumped the table on top of Joey. The big Jaguar wheel helped. Sliding off, it took him right in the chest. I turned, and my timing was perfect. The gun was just coming out from under Martell's coat. I gave it to him right in the solar plexus; the dagger-thrust with the stiffened fingers that's worse than the blow of a fist. He doubled up, paralyzed, and I had the gun.

I shot him with it once and threw myself down, and Joey's first shot went over me. It was all he was entitled to. It was close range and I could aim for the head. The first bullet just punched a neat round hole, but the second kind of blew things apart a little. Scratch Joey, who'd had one good impulse in his life, if it was that. Well, many of them don't even have one.

I got up. Martell seemed to be still breathing, and I kind of kept an eye on him, but I was more worried about Joey's single wild shot, at the moment. Beth was sitting on the floor nearby. I went over and lifted her. She was making small, mindless, whimpering noises.

"Are you all right?" I asked. "Are you hit?"

The funny thing was, my worry was quite genuine. A minute or two ago, I wouldn't have given a nickel for her, with or without shirt, but now that it was over, more or less, I didn't want her to have been hurt. She didn't answer. She just kept on sobbing in a disconnected way.

Logan's voice spoke calmly: "The stray bullet struck the wall over here. Elizabeth is merely a bit hysterical, don't you know?"

I knew, all right. I'd be wearing the scratches to prove it for days to come. I helped her across the room. She sat down on the cot beside Logan and buried her face in her hands.

"And you?" I asked him.

"Feeling quite fit," he said. He glanced at his wife.

"You were a bit hard on her, old boy. It's not something women take in their stride, you know."

"It would be difficult to do," I said. "But no doubt it's been tried."

He looked a little baffled; then he said, "Ah, yes. Quite." Then he said, calmly, "You'd better attend to our friend over there. I believe he is reaching for another weapon. At least he is still alive."

"I can't see any necessity for that," I said, and I went over and shot Martell through the back of the head. I mean, it was the only thing to do. We weren't completely out of the woods yet, as I saw it; there was work left to be done. With his wound, Logan could pass out any time, and I couldn't trust Beth to look after a tame rabbit.

I heard her gasp, behind me. Apparently she'd come out of it enough to witness my brutal act. Even Logan seemed disturbed.

"I say, old boy-"

I turned Martell over with my foot. He'd been curled up on the floor like a baby, but he straightened out as he rolled over limply, and his hand swung outward, holding the little.38 revolver he'd taken from me earlier in the day. You had to hand it to the guy. He'd had the old team spirit. They'd slapped his face and sent him to Siberia-or America-but he'd still been right in there trying, to the end.

I reached down and took the revolver from his fingers. stuck his gun into my pocket, and got out spare shells to reload the two fired chambers of my own-the ones he'd used on young Logan. That was something I was going to have to break to the Duke, or somebody was, but this didn't seem like just the time. I looked down at the dead face with the thick sexy lips without any particular satisfaction.

It had been a personal matter, and it was settled. Paul was avenged, and so was a guy named Francis I'd never met. Come to that, you couldn't really say that Paul had been a very close friend of mine. However, Mac could relax and Smitty could transfer the card to the closed file. But I was still going to miss that little knife.

I sighed, and went to the tire on the floor, got out one of the shiny cans, found the screw-driver, and pried off the lid. I poked around in the white stuff, and drew out, cautiously, a small dull metal cylinder. It was quite heavy, and I could scratch the metal with my thumb-nail, which seemed to make it lead. Two small wires, neatly coiled, were attached to one end of the cylinder.

Beth had got up to look. "What is it?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, "but I don't think it would be a good idea to touch the ends of those wires together, at least not with a battery in the circuit."

"But I don't understand-"

"That makes two of us," I said.

Logan's voice was lazy: "I say, old boy-"