Sickly, he did so. He didn't care to consider the possible effects of a miscalculation. In the darkness, how far was five feet? Fortunately, his estimate was correct. The rapier encountered yielding resistance, the soggy kind: flesh. The tough blade bent, but did not break. His opponent gasped and broke away. "Attack!" howled Dimanche against the bone behind his ear. "You've got him. He can't imagine how you know where he is in the darkness. He's afraid." Attack he did, slicing about wildly. Some of the thrusts landed; some didn't. The percentage was low, the total amount high. His opponent fell to the ground, gasped and was silent. Cassal fumbled in his pockets and flipped on a light. The man lay near the water side of the alley. One leg was crumpled under him. He didn't move. "Heartbeat slow," said Dimanche solemnly. "Breathing barely perceptible." "Then he's not dead," said Cassal in relief. Foam flecked from the still lips and ran down the chin. Blood oozed from cuts on the face. "Respiration none, heartbeat absent," stated Dimanche. * * * * * Horrified, Cassal gazed at the body. Self-defense, of course, but would the police believe it? Assuming they did, they'd still have to investigate. The rapier was an illegal concealed weapon. And they would question him until they discovered Dimanche. Regrettable, but what could he do about it? Suppose he were detained long enough to miss the ship bound for Tunney 21? Grimly, he laid down the rapier. He might as well get to the bottom of this. Why had the man attacked? What did he want? "I don't know," replied Dimanche irritably. "I can interpret body data--a live body. I can't work on a piece of meat." Cassal searched the body thoroughly. Miscellaneous personal articles of no value in identifying the man. A clip with a startling amount of money in it. A small white card with something scribbled on it. A picture of a woman and a small child posed against a background which resembled no world Cassal had ever seen. That was all. Cassal stood up in bewilderment. Dimanche to the contrary, there seemed to be no connection between this dead man and his own problem of getting to Tunney 21. Right now, though, he had to dispose of the body. He glanced toward the boulevard. So far no one had been attracted by the violence. He bent down to retrieve the lighter-rapier. Dimanche shouted at him. Before he could react, someone landed on him. He fell forward, vainly trying to grasp the weapon. Strong fingers felt for his throat as he was forced to the ground. He threw the attacker off and staggered to his feet. He heard footsteps rushing away. A slight splash followed. Whoever it was, he was escaping by way of water. Whoever it was. The man he had thought he had slain was no longer in sight. "Interpret body data, do you?" muttered Cassal. "Liveliest dead man I've ever been strangled by."