“QX.” Vesta accepted a pair of offered shears and began to cut off tiny pieces of the cloth. As each piece began to fall it was seized in mid-air by a Vegian man or girl who immediately ran away with it. And in the meantime other Vegians, forming into a long line, ran past Vesta, each taking a quick sniff and running on, out into the street. Cloud, reaching outside the building with his perceptors, saw that all vehicular traffic had paused. A Vegian stood on the walkway, holding a bit of cloth pinched between thumb and fingernail. All passersby, on foot or in any kind of vehicle, would pause, sniff at the cloth, and—apparently—go on about their business. But Cloud, after reading Vesta’s mind and the policeman’s, turned as white as his space-tan would permit. In less than an hour almost every Vegian in that city of over eight million would know the murderer by scent and would be sniffing eagerly for him; and when any one of them _did_ find him. . . . Except for the two Vegians and the six Tellurians, the vast hall was now empty. Vesta was holding a pose Cloud had never before seen—stiffly erect, with her tail wrapped tightly around her body. “Can they get a scent—a _reliable_ scent, I mean—that fast?” Cloud asked. “Zertainly,” Vesta’s voice was cold, level, almost uninflected. “How long would it take you to learn that an egg you started to eat was rotten? The man who wore this shirt is a class A Triple Prime stinker—his odor is recognizable instantly and anywhere.” “But as to the rest of it—_don’t_ do this thing, Vesta! Let the law handle it.” “The law comes second. He killed my brother; it is my right and my privilege to kill him. . . .” Cloud became conscious of the fact that Joan was in his mind. “You been here all along?” he flashed. “In or near. You and I are one, you know,” and Vesta’s voice went on: “. . . and besides, the law is merciful. Its death is instant. Under my claws and teeth he will live for hours—for a full day, I hope.” “But officer, can’t _you_ do something?” “Nothing. The law comes second. As she has said, it is her right and her privilege.” “But it’s suicide, man—sheer _suicide_. You know that, don’t you?” “Not necessarily. She will not be working alone. Whether she lives or dies, however, it is still her right and her privilege.” Cloud switched to thought. “Nordquist, _you_ can stop this if you want to. _Do_ it.” “I can’t, and you know I can’t. The Patrol does not and cannot interfere in purely planetary affairs.” “You intend, then,” Cloud demanded furiously, “to let this girl put her naked hands and teeth up against four trigger-happy gunnies with DeLameters?” “Just that. There’s nothing else I or any other Patrolman can do. To interfere in this one instance would alienate half the planets of Civilization and set the Patrol back five hundred years.” “Well, even though I’m a Patrolman—of sorts—_I_ can do something about it!” Cloud blazed, “and by God, I will!”