A foot away from a snarling, blazing-eyed ball of fury. Even in the darkness, he could see the animal clearly--a Vegan _ghoslik_, all teeth and ferocity and mindless hatred. It snapped at the intruder. Thornwald launched a vicious kick at the animal, and there was the sound of needle-sharp teeth splintering against his boot. The creature howled and bounded away into the darkness. _So much for your watchdog, Henderson. Now for the real job._ He tiptoed to a window and peered in. A uniformed man was in there, pacing up and down in a corridor. Thornwald smiled, picked up a rock, and hurled it through the window. The guard whirled instantly, presenting his blaster. "Who goes there?" Thornwald made no reply. The guard continued to peer out into the night. "Who's there?" he repeated. As if in answer, Thornwald hurled another rock through the window. This time the guard dashed out of the corridor, up the stairs, and out into the courtyard--where Thornwald was waiting for him with a third rock. "It's a good thing it wasn't my pitching arm I lost," he muttered gratefully as the guard crumpled. Swiftly Thornwald extracted the guard's blaster and stepped inside the building. He edged down the corridor, blaster ready, and turned the corner. There was the sound of laughter coming from a room at the end of the hallway. After a moment's thought, he crashed the butt of the blaster against a window in the corridor, then flattened himself against the wall and waited. A few seconds later, a man appeared from the room beyond. "What was that noise?" he asked loudly. Thornwald glanced down the hall. The man who approached was one of the customs inspectors who had beaten him up that afternoon. He fingered the blaster stud and stepped out to block the hallway. "What--?" "Put your hands up," Thornwald ordered quietly. "And if you say a word, I'll roast your brains in your skull." * * * * * He glared at the man. "All right, where's my luggage?" The customs man met his stare grimly. "I don't know." Thornwald's one arm whipped out and the blaster's barrel slapped the inspector across the face. A trickle of blood dribbled down. "Where's my stuff?" Thornwald repeated. "Henderson's got it," the customs inspector said sullenly. "And where's Henderson?" "I'm not telling." _Crack!_ with the gun barrel. "That's for this afternoon," Thornwald said. "Where's Henderson?" "Fourth floor," the man gasped. Thornwald hit him again. "You sure?" "I'm telling the truth! Fourth floor!" The gun descended once again. Satisfied, Thornwald left the other crumpled on the floor, and started up the stairs to the fourth floor. He wanted Henderson, now.