There was a commotion in front of the mayor's house, where only one of the gunmen was visible. Presently the door opened. There was loud talking, much pointing. The gunman's voice was pleading, the mayor's was indignant. Finally, the mayor ducked inside and McLeod hoped he would stay there. Soon he emerged, however, dressed in a jumper. He ran along at the heels of the gunman and neared McLeod just as the other man had finished removing identification cards from the three still figures. "McLeod, is that you? I knew I could depend on you. You have no idea how much better I'm able to relax now. No, sir. If you said I don't have to worry, I don't have to. What's going on out here? He said you wanted to see me but couldn't move from the spot. Something I can do? What's wrong with them?" There were not three figures in the snow, but four. "Take a look," the man with Mayor Spurgess said. The mayor waited for McLeod to answer him, then shrugged and crouched. It was exactly as if he were still under the parabeam, McLeod realized. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. The _Star-Times_ gunmen had sized up the situation too well. The three men from the _World_ were as good as dead now, which would make it close to impossible for McLeod to turn on the _Star-Times_ and expect help from Wainwright, even if that were what he wanted. He had better play along. It was still a show on television and he could only watch. But now he knew the outcome. The fourth still figure on the snow suddenly erupted into violent motion. A leg snaked out, an arm--the mayor grunted and fell, staring mutely at McLeod, surprised, offended and outrageously indignant the moment before he died. A knife flashed quickly, expertly, gleaming for a split second before it disappeared through the mayor's jumper. The standing gunman twirled his parabeam to full intensity and sprayed the _World_ men with what was now lethal radiation, halting involuntary actions such as blinking--and breathing. The gunman smiled at McLeod. "Well, you have your story now. We'd better get out of here while you phone for the police." McLeod had his story, all right. He felt sick. He would call the police and then go write his story about how Mayor Spurgess had chased three unidentified vandals from his house, only to be stabbed to death while protecting his family. McLeod who was visiting the mayor on business, had naturally joined in the chase, in time to overtake and kill the unidentified vandals but not in time to save His Honor's life. The police investigation, if any, would fail to uncover anything. "Thanks a lot," McLeod said. "Don't mention it." The two gunmen ran to join their companions and soon disappeared through the snow. In tomorrow's _Star-Times_, McLeod would be a hero. CHAPTER VI