I heard the Ford roar away.

I fumbled around, hoping to find my derringer and take a shot at her. And then I realized that (bleeped) (bleepch) had even stolen my gun!

I got some tissue out. I tried to wipe out my eyes.

Gods, they stung!

I could see some light now but the day was all washed gray, without details.

I fumbled along. I was afraid I would be late. I couldn't read my watch.

Things were becoming a little plainer. A trick and novelty store! I staggered in.

"Do you have any water pistols?"

Dimly I could see four or five being put on the counter in front of me. "How do I know they work?"

Whoever it was got a glass of water and filled them. I grabbed one and shot myself in the eyes. I grabbed another and did the same. I shot another one up my nose. I shot the last one into my mouth.

I could see!

"They don't work," I said and rushed out.

The water glass shattered on the door frame as I left.

I sprinted for my destination.

I ran into the right hall.

I hauled up, panting and spent.

My Gods, it was difficult trying to get around New York! They were laying for you at every turn!

But thank Gods, I was on time!

Right on schedule, tightly packed in the mobbed rush of quitting time, the target-subject was in view.

Miss Pinch! She was wearing a bulky, mannish overcoat. The target-object was swinging from her arm: her purse!

The flooding wave of workers crested against the traffic of Seventh Avenue.

Hat down, coat collar up, I had target-object in close view. An old hand at such campaigns, trained by the Apparatus to the keenest possible edge, I foresaw no trouble in obtaining target-object. A quick snatch, a fleet run, a stuffing of target-content into my pockets and a flinging of target-object into nearest trash can and victory would be mine!

I quivered with the thrill of the chase.

A $80,000 quarry does not every day enliven the spirit of the hunt.

I could see that the purse, black and hanging from her arm by a strap, was bulky, aching to be gutted by the skilled hunter. And after that, in victory, I would not have to steal moving vans or get hit in the face with Mace just to get around upon my duties.

Her masculine stride marked her. The heavy, light gray overcoat could not be missed. The gray slouch hat was like a beacon calling to the storm-tossed mariner adrift on the heaving and pitiless seas of New York.

She was heading, obviously, for a subway station. This gave me a sudden panic. I did not have enough to buy a token and get through the gate.

But fortune smiled. She was lingering before a newsstand.

Buffeted by hurrying humanity, I crept behind her. She was trying to choose between Muscle Making for Men Complete with Full Nude Photos and Panthouse Magazine with Full Nude Cover Folds. It seemed to be a difficult decision. She picked up one and then the other and then back to the first.

With $80,000 at stake, why delay?

With an expert hand from behind her, I removed the purse from her shoulder with an expert twist!

I darted away!

I had it! I thought I would win after all!

What trouble it was trying to operate with untrained employees! One had to resort to such extraordinary shifts!

I ran.

Thinly, I could hear a police whistle blowing!

I must be being pursued!

With too much cunning for my own good, my first thought was to possess the contents of the bag and discard the evidence.

Masked amongst the mob, I plunged my right hand into the purse.

SNAP!

YEEOWWW!

A hidden something had seized my hand with agony!

I tried to withdraw my hand!

Whatever it was was also fastened to the inside of the purse!

In agony, I sought to shake the purse off. It wouldn't leave!

With my left hand, I seized the bottom of the purse and tried to pull it off my hand.

AGONY!

In extremis, I stopped and tried to use my left hand to free my right. I plunged my left hand into the purse.

SNAP!

YEEOWWW!

Something had clamped down on my left hand!

I had both hands inside the purse! I couldn't get them out!

The faint sound of the police whistle kept blowing.

It was inside the purse!

A hard, smug voice behind my ear said, "I thought that you'd try that." Miss Pinch!

She touched the side of the purse with her finger and the faint police whistle went off.

But that was not all she did. She pushed something hard and round into my right kidney. A gun!

I was in agony. My fingers felt like they were caught in the teeth of a savage beast. Two savage beasts.

"I don't take the subway home," she said. "I live just a few blocks from here. So walk quietly and no yelling. This gun has a hair trigger. It is quite invisible to the passerby. Stop screaming. You are making a scene and I might have to call the cops after all. March along, Ink-switch."

I clamped my teeth on my lip. I somehow endured the excruciating pain. A bullet in the kidney does not help one's circulation a bit. I avoided it by walking.

We went across Broadway. We went north a couple blocks. We turned west again.

She halted me at a walk-down, the entrance to a basement apartment in an old shabby house that had survived the demolition of much of the nearby area. The steps were full of snow and garbage. I was seeing it all in a red haze of pain.

Miss Pinch pressed a bell three times.

Then she took a key and unlocked a wrought-iron grill. She took another key and unlocked the basement door. She gun-prodded me into a small hall. She shut and locked both the grill and the door.

"You can resume screaming, if you like," she said. "This basement is totally soundproof. It really is a find. It also has a nice back garden where one can bury unwanted bodies. So just be patient and do as you are told."

She kicked me into a second room.

In spite of my red haze of pain, the place gave me a shock. She sensed it and said with satisfaction, "Interior decorated by myself."

It was dull red of hue. Instruments of torture hung tastefully upon the walls. Festoons of whips served in lieu of curtains. A huge bed occupied the center of the room, its four posts topped with the grinning faces of gargoyles. The carcass—stuffed, I hoped—of a dead goat hung head down in the corner. It was full of darts.

"Now just sit down on the bottom of the bed, Inkswitch." She assisted the movement with a prod of the gun.

"Now, I know you are probably provoked," said Miss Pinch, looking at me with slitted eyes. "Men are violent and unreliable. Therefore, we cannot begin upon the removal of the bag until certain precautions are taken. You might kick out."

With her left hand she undid my overcoat. She reached to my waist and undid my belt. I would have lunged up but it looked like the gun was going to hit me in the teeth. I sat back. She pulled off my shoes. She shucked off my pants. She pried off my underpants. A chain rattled!

She was fastening a steel cuff to my right ankle. It was held to the right-side bottom of the bed with links. She clamped a steel cuff to my left ankle. It was connected with a chain to the left bottom post of the bed. Miss Pinch got up on the bed behind me. She pulled my overcoat, jacket and shirt up over my head and down on my arms.

She then hauled me backwards to the center of the bed. From the right-hand upper post of the bed she pulled a steel cuff on a long chain. She put it on my agonized right wrist. She did the same from the left-hand upper post and put that steel band on my left wrist.

Going to the posts, she shortened the leg chains until my feet were securely fastened wide apart.

She took up the slack on the wrist chains as far as she could with my hands still in the bag.