A sullen rage began to grip me. Was there some way I could use this? Maybe even now I could steer Heller or the Countess Krak Crobe's way. Courts sent felons to Bellevue. Better: the courts sent people there just to be examined. An examination by Crobe would be fatal!

I cheered up.

I thought I had better keep track of Heller. Down as he was, an opportunity might arise to get him sent to Bellevue by court order for examination. Somehow, I felt, I could overcome Krak's influence. If Crobe didn't see Heller's face he wouldn't run. Yes, I had better watch Heller and see if he found the Countess Krak. Then I could work something out. I had all the resources in the world. Rockecenter's influence permeated everything and it was at my fingertips whenever I cared to use it.

I would strike back!

I phoned Dingaling, Chase and Ambo. I got Ambo.

"This is Smith," I said. "How is everything going?"

"Wonderful," said Ambo. "We've got his possessions tied in a knot. He's still on the sidewalks but he won't be long."

"How's that?"

"We've got a warrant now for bigamy. It's moved from civil to criminal. Once we have him held in jail on

this criminal charge we can beat him down and milk him for everything he has and then grab everything he ever will have. A wonderful case. He hasn't got a chance."

"You may have trouble arresting him."

"Oh, I think not," said Ambo. "We have connections in the police and we will now have every airport and bus station and train depot watched. They try to run when they get hit this hard. So we'll pick him up, throw him in the can and then make him squirm. Standard legal procedure. The old routine shakedown. Sue them civilly, trump up something criminal and then bleed them to death. Routine."

"There's something else you can do," I said.

"What?" he said eagerly. "We're always open to innovations that make people even more miserable."

"I want you to write a court order and put it on file that when he is arrested, he is to be sent for mental examination to Bellevue."

"Oh, wonderful! That implies that, committing bigamy, he is irresponsible and of unsound mind and we can be appointed executors of his estate, split it up amongst ourselves and be rich! This is wonderful."

"In the order," I said, "specify that as his face is too attractive, it might pervert nurses and so it is to be black­ened."

"Nothing easier. You can write anything in a court order. Then all you have to do is get the judge to sign it and he never reads what he signs. An absolutely novel idea. Will make good press, too. Gives the whole thing a sinister ring. You can't win these things, you know, unless you try them first in the press."

"There's another order you can write," I said. "He has a gun moll. Her name is Heavenly Joy Krackle.

She has been known to help him. What can you do about her?"

"Oh, nothing easier. You just allege conspiracy and undue influence prejudicial to the interests of our clients, issue a restraining order which puts her in prison if she violates it, issue another order to have her picked up as a material witness and imprisoned until she sees it our way. You know, the usual things. Do you have a description of her?"

"Five feet nine and a half inches tall, blond hair, gray-blue eyes. An absolute fiend in appearance. Goes into rages. Uses an electric whip. Hands like claws. Stamps men to death with scarlet heels caked with dried blood."

"Oh, my God," said Ambo. "That « a menace to the case. Yes, I'll get out the orders immediately! Oh, I'm certainly glad you told us about this!"

"Be sure you specify the woman is sent to Bellevue masked as well. Her face has been known to turn men to stone!"

"That I will!" said Ambo. "It's a relief to know that the courts and police always do their duty. This Wister and this Krackle should be locked up!"

"In Bellevue," I repeated.

"Oh, there's no trouble with that. Any citizen can be picked up and sent to Bellevue under existing laws. I'll get a doctor's commitment signature presigned to the order."

I had a momentary qualm. Supposing they were sent to Bellevue and despite all these precautions, Crobe still recognized them. That would undo the whole plot. Wasn't ordinary psychiatry enough? That would incapacitate them thoroughly forever.

"Specify in the order," I said, "that Dr. Phetus P.

Crobe, a leading psychiatrist there, is specifically forbidden to examine them. Get another psychiatrist to sign the order. After all, it is just a routine legal matter."

"As you say," said Ambo. "Just a routine order. My goodness, Mr. Smith, it's wonderful to have your help. You think just like a lawyer, nicely circuitous. You have greatly assisted this case." He rang off.

I glowed with the compliment. How unlike Madison's sneers. My genius was appreciated.

I sat back, feeling really great. Then I began to giggle. Even if Crobe spotted them, he would not recognize them. He did not know the names Wister or Krackle. They would probably be delivered drugged, placed in electric-shock machines and ruined for the rest of their lives. Ordinary psychiatry was quite good enough for them.

The courts and the law and psychiatry were a priceless team. Why had I bothered to hire a hit man when I had them at my beck and call?

How could I miss? If Heller was not caught at once, he might find Krak and if he found Krak he might bring her straight into this morass the lawyers had made so they could become rich. It was a bottomless pit and would swallow them both! With a grinning gulp! Bless the Earth legal-psychiatric liaison! It might be totally insane but, good Gods, was it useful to the power elite!

When I turned my attention to Heller, he was standing at the water's edge, watching a parade of ships en

route to sea. The water before him was tinged with the blue of cloud-flecked sky, almost innocent of smog. It was a bright morning of a spring day. There was no wind; when he looked to his right, the grass was fresh and green. Then his eye shifted to a monument.

The Battery! Heller was standing near the statue of Verrazano, discoverer of Manhattan, who had landed, the sign said, near this very spot, the southern tip of the island, in 1524.

In Voltarian, he said to the statue, "Did the natives try to raise the mischief with you, too?" Then he read a recently erected plaque that was more extensive. It said that four years later, Verrazano had been eaten by cannibals. "I'm not at all surprised." It seemed to make him restless and he scanned the walks of the park. "Where are you, Izzy?"

I acted!

Now that I knew for certain a warrant was out for him, I knew, too, that Police Inspector Grafferty, that glory hound, would be anxious to be in on the kill.

I got through to Grafferty's office. I said, "Give me the Inspector quick. I have his quarry in sight!"

"The Inspector is out on a case," his office man said.

"I'm sure it's the Wister case," I snapped. "You tell him that the man he wants is right down in Battery Park by the statue of Verrazano. He's waiting for a contact. PICK HIM UP!"

"Very good, sir." He rang off.

Heller drifted north up a curving path, the towering skyscrapers of the financial district visible past the stern, red sandstone walls of Castle Clinton. He was looking up at a gunport when a voice spoke behind him.

"Mr. Jet." It was Izzy.

"Have you found her?" said Heller, his voice anxious.

"No, Mr. Jet. We have three private detectives out. No word."

"Blast!" said Heller.

"Mr. Jet, you look awful," said Izzy. "You must have slept in the park. Oh, I can't tell you how sorry I am that you're being put through the wringer of this awful legal system. It's the law that's criminal, Mr. Jet."