She said, "It's just starting. He sees all the ones he's killed. They return and plague him. He can't rid his mind of them. It's a psychological quirk...." She paused unsteadily. "Go on," Gavin urged. "You'll see." Her voice was faint. "You were a handsome tart, Paula," said Cabot, his glazed eyes following some figure invisible to Gavin. "A foul mind in a beautiful body. How many times did you deceive me? But I wasn't fooled." He laughed disagreeably. "I wasn't fooled. How did it feel to wake up with my fingers about your throat?" He paused, lean head cocked to one side, the cruel lines etched deeper about his mouth. "That fine body doesn't do you much good in hell, Paula?" The gloating slowly died from his features, his voice became resigned. "There's no use holding a grudge. You're dead, Paula, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's too bad you can't drink. You were fond enough of it alive. But I'll drink it for you," and he chuckled triumphantly. "I'm leaving." Nadia sprang to her feet, lips bloodless. "I can't stand it." Gavin escorted her to the door. He paused to salute Cabot. "Charmed to make your acquaintance, Paula," he added. Nadia glanced at him in surprise. "How can you make fun of him?" Gavin regarded the girl somberly. "I'm not making fun of him." His voice was grim. "This girl he murdered—Paula—she might be a person to cultivate." "My star, you're cold. You're not even human!" Nadia started off, but Gavin laid hold of her arm. "What happened to Trev, that Martian who sold out to X?" Nadia faced him again, biting her lip. "Cabot killed him," she replied in a whisper. "His body has been thrown out the disposal chute." "Who is this mysterious Mr. X?" "I don't know! I don't know, I tell you!" She wrenched away, fled down the passage. Gavin watched her until she was out of sight. Nadia had accompanied Cabot that day in Trev's office. The record on Captain Cabot in the T.I.S. file was brief but illuminating. Antecedents unknown. Master of the slave ship, Nova, Venusian registry. Suspected in connection with disappearance of two women: Paula duBois, a Terran of French descent; Aastra, a Martian girl of the house of Cor. Gavin whistled softly. It wasn't hard to imagine others. A modern bluebeard. Only Cabot didn't hang them in a closet; he threw them out a disposal chute. Villanowski's face was gray with fatigue when Gavin finally relieved him. The chief was a slight homely man with the quick darting movements of an old maid. His hair was iron gray, untrimmed, rumpled. He said wearily to Gavin, "We're going on regular watches after all. The second has her leg in a cast. We've rigged a special chair for her." Gavin nodded. "What's the little death, Mr. Villanowski? I've been hearing more about it, but no one seems inclined to explain."