"Any normal man would have gotten out of there right then. Not Nestor. He went looking for a drink. Fortunately, he found a bottle of whisky in the kitchen. He was just getting in the mood to go back in after the girl when you two came charging in. "He saw you run to the bedroom, so he knew the girl's mother must have called for help. He decided it was time to run. Too late, of course." "Too late for a lot of things." I said. "Much too late far Angela Donahue, for instance. And, as a matter of fact, we were so close to being too late with Shirley Ebbermann that I don't even want to think about it. I should have let Shultz go ahead and tell the newsmen. At least people would have been warned." "There's no way of knowing," said the Duke, "But I think there's just as good a chance that he'd have gotten his hands on some other little girl, even if the warning had gone out. There will always be parents who don't pay enough attention to what their children are doing. They may blame themselves if something happens, but that may be too late. As it happens, we _weren't_ too late. Let's be thankful for that. "By the way, am I wrong in assuming that Nestor will not get your psychotherapy treatment?" "No, you're right," I said. "The warden at Sing Sing will be taking care of him from now on." I turned to Brownlee and said: "Which reminds me--what's going to be the disposition on the Hammerlock Smith case?" "I talked to Judge Whittaker and the D.A. Your recommendation pulled a lot of weight with them. They agreed that if Smith will plead guilty to felonious assault and agree to therapy, he'll get off with eighteen months, suspended. When I release him, he'll never bother young boys again." The Duke looked puzzled. "Hammerlock Smith? Odd Name. What's he up for?" I told him about Hammerlock Smith. He thought it over for a while, then said: "Just what is it you do to men like that? How can you be so sure he'll never hurt anyone again?" Brownlee started to answer him, but a uniformed officer put his head in the door. "Excuse me, Dr. Brownlee, the District Attorney would like to talk to you." Brownlee excused himself and followed the cop out, leaving me to explain things to His Grace. "Do you remember that, a couple of centuries ago, the laws of some countries provided the perfect punishment for pickpockets and purse-snatchers?" He gave me a wry grin. "Certainly. The hands of the felon were amputated at the wrist. Usually with a headsman's ax, I believe." "Exactly. And they never picked another pocket again as long as they lived." I said. "Society had denied them the means to pick pockets." "Go on." * * * * * "Do you remember Manny the Moog? The little fellow who was brought in yesterday?"