It was a Godolphian equivalent of an alley, narrow and dark, oily slow-moving water gurgling at one side, high cavernous walls looming on the other. He would have to adjust the curiosity factor of Dimanche. It was all very well to be interested in the man who trailed him, but there was also the problem of coming out of this adventure alive. Dimanche, an electronic instrument, naturally wouldn't consider that. "Easy," warned Dimanche. "He's at the entrance to the alley, walking fast. He's surprised and pleased that you took this route." "I'm surprised, too," remarked Cassal. "But I wouldn't say I'm pleased. Not just now." "Careful. Even subvocalized conversation is distracting." The mechanism concealed within his body was silent for an instant and then continued: "His blood pressure is rising, breathing is faster. At a time like this, he may be ready to verbalize why he wants to murder you. This is critical." "That's no lie," agreed Cassal bitterly. The lighter was in his hand. He clutched it grimly. It was difficult not to look back. The darkness assumed an even more sinister quality. "Quiet," said Dimanche. "He's verbalizing about you." "He's decided I'm a nice fellow after all. He's going to stop and ask me for a light." "I don't think so," answered Dimanche. "He's whispering: 'Poor devil. I hate to do it. But it's really his life or mine'." "He's more right than he knows. Why all this violence, though? Isn't there any clue?" "None at all," admitted Dimanche. "He's very close. You'd better turn around." * * * * * Cassal turned, pressed the stud on the lighter. It should have made him feel more secure, but it didn't. He could see very little. A dim shadow rushed at him. He jumped away from the water side of the alley, barely in time. He could feel the rush of air as the assailant shot by. "Hey!" shouted Cassal. Echoes answered; nothing else did. He had the uncomfortable feeling that no one was going to come to his assistance. "He wasn't expecting that reaction," explained Dimanche. "That's why he missed. He's turned around and is coming back." "I'm armed!" shouted Cassal. "That won't stop him. He doesn't believe you." Cassal grasped the lighter. That is, it had been a lighter a few seconds before. Now a needle-thin blade had snapped out and projected stiffly. Originally it had been designed as an emergency surgical instrument. A little imagination and a few changes had altered its function, converting it into a compact, efficient stiletto. "Twenty feet away," advised Dimanche. "He knows you can't see him, but he can see your silhouette by the light from the main thoroughfare. What he doesn't know is that I can detect every move he makes and keep you posted below the level of his hearing." "Stay on him," growled Cassal nervously. He flattened himself against the wall. "To the right," whispered Dimanche. "Lunge forward. About five feet. Low."