Fighting insanely as the Thing was fighting, he could not identify it with Ortiz himself. One of the hands unclosed from about the revolver and clawed at his throat. It seemed to abandon that effort and attacked Ortiz's face in a frenzy of rage, struggling to claw his eyes open. The other held the weapon fast with maniacal strength. At the horror of feeling one of his own manacled hands attacking his face savagely as if it were itself a sensate thing, Ortiz opened his eyes. They were wide with despair. The hand with the revolver made a sudden movement, and Bell flung his weight upon it as the clutching hand pulled the trigger. There was a deafening report.... * * * * * The body seemed to weaken suddenly in Bell's grip. It fought less and less terribly, though with no lessening of its savagery. He managed to get the revolver away from the hands that shook with unspeakable rage. He flung it away and stood panting. There was a crowd of people suddenly all about the place. Staring, stunned, incredulous people who regarded Bell with a dawning, damning suspicion. Ortiz spoke suddenly. His voice was weak, but it was steady, and it was full of a desperate relief. "I wish to make a statement," he said sharply. "I--I wished to commit suicide for personal reasons. Senor Bell tried to dissuade me. The handcuffs upon my wrists were placed there with my consent. Senor Bell is my friend and has done me no wrong. I shot myself, with intention." Bell beckoned to the ship's doctor. "Get him bandaged up," he ordered harshly. "There's no need for him to die." The body was writhing only feebly, now. Ortiz looked up at him, and managed a smile. Again there was that incredible impression of the body not belonging to Ortiz, or Ortiz as a sane and whole and honorable, admirable man, and the feebly writhing body with its clutching hands as some evil thing that had properly been defeated and killed. * * * * * The doctor bent down. It was useless, of course. He made futile movements. "I wish to speak to my friend, Senor Bell," said Ortiz weakly. "I--I have not long." Bell knelt beside him. "The Master's--deputy in Rio," panted Ortiz weakly, almost in a whisper, "is--is Ribiera. In Buenos Aires I--I do not know. There was a man--the one who poisoned me--but I killed him. Secretly. I do not think--the Master knows. I pray that--" He stopped. He could not speak again. But he smiled, and a few seconds later Bell clenched his hands. Ortiz was gone. Someone touched his arm. Paula Canalejas. He stared down at her and managed to smile. It was not a very successful smile. He drew a deep breath. "I would like," said Bell wryly, "to think that, when I die, I will die as well as this man did. But I'm afraid I shan't." But Paula said: "The airplane can be heard outside. It seems to be moving on the surface." * * * * *