"He must be asked and we must hear if this is the case."

Lord Turn raised his eyes to the ceiling. There were no regulations up there to be read. He looked back at Lady Arthrite. "Very well. We will go ask Gris."

Now, the Apparatus is an intelligence service and it has ways and means of getting information. And, this time through a warder's wife, Madison had learned that Soltan Gris had finished writing his confession.

Actually, Gris, these days, had put on some weight through lack of exercise, and food eaten regularly. Just now he was sitting in the tower cell wondering what to do with his time.

He had delivered the massive confession. For a couple of days thereafter he had worried a bit, thinking he would now be executed. Then he began to realize that judges take a long time to read things and maybe he had a few more breaths of life left to breathe.

The orders that he stay away from the window did not have to be repeated to him: he knew in his bones that Lombar Hisst would move the planet to get at him. He had heard some crowd shouting something or other outside the prison on some occasions but he had not dared go to the window to look and he could not understand what they were saying: they were too distant. No information had come to him. He knew nothing whatever about the press campaign against him.

He was somewhat puzzled therefore to hear many footsteps coming up the tower stairs and a buzz of voices. Female voices? How strange!

There was a jangle of opening plates and then the groan of his iron door.

A guard came in and pointed a weapon at him.

The room was suddenly full of women!

Gris's wits promptly went into a spin.

He recognized none of them.

Their gaze upon him was hostile in the extreme.

Panic gripped him and there was no place to run.

A hooded figure, very slight of build, advanced toward him. It came very close.

He felt a note being pushed into his hand.

Almost hysterical, he glanced down at the note. It said:

If you don't say yes I will tell them about the baby and they will tear you limb from limb.

The figure before him then lifted a hand and took hold of the top of her hood and pulled it off.

Gris went into petrified shock.

IT WAS PRATIA TAYL!

"For the good of the state," she said, carefully coached, "I have volunteered to marry you." And, out of sight of the others she jabbed a finger at the note.

Gris, very close to fainting, could not speak.

Lord Turn, at the back of the group, snarled, "Well, answer her! Speak up so we can get about our business!"

"Say yes," hissed the Widow Tayl.

Gris took a look at her slitted, determined eyes. He looked at the hostile faces of the other women.

It suddenly occurred to him that he could buy a little more life. He could postpone his execution simply by setting a forward date, a month away, for this marriage.

"YES!" he shouted.

Lord Turn was amazed.

Hope suddenly lit the faces of the women.

"Good," said the Widow Tayl, "we will be married right here this afternoon. Be ready."

Gris tried to open his mouth to speak.

The cell was empty and the door clanged shut.

Madison, of course, had the headlines set and ready to go. By noon, papers were all over the streets with variants of the headline:

SACRIFICIAL BRIDE

TO REFORM GRIS

Of course, there were statements by Crobe to the effect that it was a nearly impossible feat. He could not possibly guarantee any success due to the fact that Gris "had come to him too late"-the usual psychiatric hedge they used on Earth.

But what attracted public attention, as Madison knew it would, was the probable fate of a beautiful woman. Thousands upon thousands of people began to gather on the lower slopes of the Royal prison. Many were weeping, none had any hope, all thought it was a cruel thing to do and all thought that the nobility of Pratia Tayl was beyond any possible estimation.

Madison didn't even need his own camera crew. Hbmeview had covered the deputation going in and coming out and it was down there now in the afternoon sunlight, putting on the air live this vast throng of gathering people, getting close-ups of faces, getting opinions. He had hardly had to tell the manager of Homeview what to do at all.

For Madison had another mission of his own. With Apparatus-provided credentials and in the uniform of a General Services officer, he was going to act as the "bridegroom's friend," a necessary personnel of the ceremony.

The guards searched him for weapons and poison and promised him that they would be watching through the slot with a gun on him if he so much as made a gesture at Gris. And they let him in.

Gris was lying on his bunk in a state of collapse. He had failed utterly to buy his month. The thought of being married to the Widow Tayl was only offset by the fact that he would not live very long anyway.

The bunk was actually an inset ledge in the stone.

When a pad was on it, as now, it had only about four feet of clearance to its overhead.

He saw what he took to be a General Services officer being let in. That didn't necessarily mean Apparatus. He had expected they would send someone to help him get ready, and sure enough the fellow had some boxes under his arm. He was also reassured when he saw a gun barrel trained through the cell view-slot. So he lay there watching.

Then suddenly the features under the cap began to register.

In horrible shock he shot upright!

He hit his head!

It didn't knock him out. It sent his wits spinning. He thought he was at 42 Mess Street, New York City. No, he must be on the yacht Golden Sunset.

Madison? It was MADISON!

"Oh, no," said Gris. "No, no, no!"

Madison found a stool and sat down beside the bunk. "Well, Smith," he said in English, "I mean Gris. I certainly hate to see an associate of Mr. Bury's in trouble. Don't be concerned. I am here to help you out."

Gris went into terror. "Oh, please, dear Gods, Madi­son. Don't act as my PR!"

"Of course not," said Madison. "I am your friend. I will do everything I can to see you come out of this in great shape."

"Oh, no, no, please. Please Madison, don't help me."

"Oh, nonsense, Gris. That is what friends are for. Now listen to me carefully. You are going to get out of this with flying colors."

"You mean... you mean I have a chance of getting off?"

"Oh, more than a chance, Smith. There are people working day and night to keep you from being executed. It's the very last thing your friends want!"

"I have friends?"

"Why, of course you have! You have no idea how much has been done for you already. We're going to get you brought to trial."

"WHAT?"

"Absolutely. Not only that, it will be a fair trial. You don't think the Widow Tayl is desirous of becoming a double widow, do you? Why, no. She's got money by the ton and she will hire the very best attorneys. I can assure you that you have a very long and very interesting life ahead of you."

"Madison, for the love of your mother, don't torture me this way. I haven't got a chance. You're just up to something horrible. I know it!"

"Oh, Smith, I'm shocked. You are not my client. I'm still working on Heller."

"You are?"

"Of course. You and I are just the old team, Smith and Madison. Same as always. But I probably haven't got all day to talk to you, so you better remember what I'm telling you. When you get up on that stand, I want you to accuse Heller as the sole reason for all your woes."

"But that's true," said Gris. "He is!"

"Excellent! I knew you would agree. So when they put you on trial..."

"They won't try me. They'll just execute me. And if I ever walk out of this prison, Lombar Hisst will have me cut down ten feet from the gate."