"Try what?" "I don't know." Gaya nodded. "Call Yord Tan Verde. He will understand." Into the penthouse went Gerd and Gaya, to call the field representative of the Galactic Ones. Verde answered at length, and listened to the entire story. He asked a number of questions that Gerd thought to have no connection, but Gerd answered. Then Yord Tan Verde laughed a bit and told Gerd Lel Rayne not to worry. It was very unsatisfactory. * * * * * Will Conan stood up and faced the others at the table. "I won't kill myself," he shouted, banging his fist on the table. "I'll kill him first!" "I tried that," remarked a tall man at the other end of the table. Conan smiled wryly. "Peter Wilks tried it, all right," he told the rest. "Tell us what happened, Pete." "I tried four times. Each time he stopped me in a bold way that seemed to be effortless. It was as though he knew--" "Well, what else can we do? Can we ignore him?" "Why not?" "Is there a man here that does not have his finger in your business?" Seventeen men shook their heads. "Is there a man among us that has one microscopic shred of evidence to the fact that Wanniston is dishonest?" There was not. "O.K.--so how do we go about it?" No one knew. Conan sat down. "We can't squeeze him out, is that it?" "We can not do anything at all," snarled another man. "No matter what we try, he betters us. He's a sharper. If we try something legal, he's our better. If we get dirty, he cleans us anyway--but the devil does it legally. You can't win." "There were once twenty-three of us," said Peter Wilks. "Three are in jail--for crimes they did not commit. One is in jail for a crime that he did commit, the crime of trying to frame Wanniston. Two are dead--suicides because they could no longer take defeat after defeat at Wanniston's fine Machiavellian hand. He's a menace." "We're like the mice that decided to hang a bell on the cat," laughed Conan bitterly. "Six of us have tried and failed. Must we try separately? Can he read minds?" Wilks jumped to his feet. "I say he can!" "Then he's more than a menace. He's a devil!" "So what? We've appealed to Gerd Lel Rayne. And what did he say? He said that we should hang tight because Wanniston was headed for trouble." "Do we wait until we are all dead before it happens?" snapped Wilks. "I'm no prophet," growled Conan. "I know this. We're licked. Or is this any good. Can we run him out?" "How?" "Superman he may be. Superior to even Gerd Lel Rayne--Sorry, Lel Rayne," he said, seeing the emissary as Gerd opened the door. "You heard?"