But then it was too late. Elson was dead, and I heard a sound that was almost a chuckle deep in McGowan's throat. Then his voice slashed through the darkness and I realized that here was the acme of triumph in all his years of planning: "Drop your pistol, Marnick." Marnick whirled toward his voice and took a tense step toward us; but McGowan's pistol rayed across the rock and slashed dangerously near Marnick's feet. Marnick's pistol dropped from his fingers with a clanging sound. "That's better. You're a madman, Marnick, but not too mad to fail to realize when the game is over. I'm going to kill you, I want you to know that; and I want you to know who is speaking. This is McGowan. But before I kill you I want you to realize what you've done tonight. You've killed a man. Know who it is? Go take a look." Marnick stood there hesitant. I could almost picture the indecision on his face. But McGowan's pistol rayed again, very close to his feet, and Marnick stumbled out to where Elson lay. "Good," McGowan went on. "Now look at 'im. It's Elson, you see?" McGowan's voice seemed different now than I had ever heard it. It wasn't his voice at all. But it went on inexorably, and I felt chills chasing up and down my spine. "Do you know who Elson really is, Marnick? No, of course, you don't. I saw to that. He came to this prison planet about the same time I did. He was tall and straight and youthful then, but somehow you couldn't stand that; you made him your special victim, you tortured and maimed him and now you've killed him. Look very closely, Marnick. You still do not know? Then I suggest you turn him over--that's right. And I suggest you look very closely on the outer part of his left thigh. A curious blemish is there, an unmistakable birthmark. You realize now? Yes, I see that you do. "Your son, Marnick, never died on Mars. I was one of that party of men who--Well, I don't care to think about that now. The others left him there beside his mother, thinking him dead, but I knew better. I went back and took him, and kept him with me until he was sixteen, when we parted. Perhaps he inherited some of his criminal ways from his association with me. Anyway, when I was sentenced here, and he came a little later, I knew what I must do!" * * * * * It was a nightmare. I couldn't believe it. I glimpsed Marnick out there huddling over the body of the man he had just slain ... his own son ... and even at that distance and through that dimness there was something that made me feel sorry for him. He arose very slowly, turned to face McGowan and tried to speak something but could not. He took a few faltering steps in our direction and then McGowan rayed him down. There was still a satisfied little smile on McGowan's lips as he did it. I hated McGowan in that moment as much as I had ever hated Marnick, but I could do nothing, for my mind was a little numbed.