There was a rattle at the closed door and Manning ducked behind a crate. The door swung open and Forsythe came in, followed by another man. Forsythe flicked on the light switch and made himself comfortable at the desk. The stranger, a younger, somewhat smaller man, glanced shrewdly around the office. "You don't have much of a layout here, Forsythe." Manning watched the stranger carefully. He had the same sort of detached attitude that Forsythe seemed to have; the attitude you had when you went to a museum, Manning thought suddenly. "We do all right," Forsythe said cheerfully. "A volume of half a million dollars last year." "You trade right up to the limit, don't you?" the stranger asked casually. "Right to the limit. How about you?" "Not so good. I've got a poor territory. It seems capitalism went out of style thirty years ago." Forsythe chuckled. "That's the way it goes when the corporation hands out territories. You pays your money and you takes your choice." He paused. "What did you want to see me about?" * * * * * The stranger suddenly stood up. Something cold and metallic glittered in his hand. "You've got a good territory, Forsythe. Better than you deserve. And much better than mine." Forsythe paled. "What do you intend to do?" The stranger's voice was menacing. "This is a rough age, Forsythe. Any one of a dozen things can happen to a huckster in an age like this." There was the faint click of metal against metal and the stranger sighted down the weapon at Forsythe, pale and sweating in the chair. Manning stood up from behind the crate. "I wouldn't, if I were you." The stranger whirled. "Who are you?" "Just an interested spectator." Manning started to walk forward. "I think you ought to put that gun down." The weapon lined up with Manning's chest. "No further, please." It was quiet in the room. Forsythe was pale, his eyes darting from one to the other. The stranger's thin face was grim and a little frightened. Manning's was impassive. Of the three of them, he was the only one who didn't give a damn what happened. "Put it down, son." There was a slight muscular tensing in the stranger's hand and Manning dropped to the floor, rolling so he hit the stranger's legs. Then the man was down, grunting heavily as he hit the floor. Manning caught the gun hand and tried to bend it back, to force the stranger to release the weapon. Then the man kneed him in the stomach and Manning suddenly loosened his grip, gasping. The stranger ducked around Forsythe and dove for the door; then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Manning got up and dusted off his pants. Forsythe was standing by the door, looking somewhat dazed by the sudden turn of events. "Maybe I should've let him finish you off," Manning said in a tired voice. "It would have saved the state money." Forsythe brushed back his hair with a shaking hand. "Thanks a lot for saving my life, Manning. I appreciate it."