While the nurse drew the sheet over what had been Ben Thrusher, Kerry stood motionless, unnerved by tension and grief and a sense of futile wrath. He looked up suddenly and realized that Commander Lal seemed equally unnerved. The Indian was looking down at the shrouded form, and his fists were tightly clenched. He said aloud, and not to Kerry, “If he could have waited only three more years he would have seen the end of it. He could have had the glory he deserved.” He raised his head, and now he was speaking to Kerry. “There’s nothing more that anyone can do now for him here. Mr. Donalson, will you join me in the office downstairs?” He left the room without a backward glance, walking with an air of authority as if it never occurred to him that anyone could question his orders. Kerry’s brain, cold with anger, began working again as soon as he stepped out into the corridor. He knew that downstairs were precinct headquarters, offices, the barracks of the city’s enormous force of Night Police, and the detention cells where he supposed they’d hold him incommunicado--like Ben’s colleague. But if he could get away-- They’d expect him to hide, naturally. What else does a fugitive do? But all he wanted was to make sure that his editorial got printed and the _Times-Telegram_ reached the streets. After that he couldn’t disappear, or be listed as--he understood it better now--another Pharig casualty. He could do that much for Ben’s memory, and he would do it, or die in the attempt. At the end of the corridor, past the elevators, a small and narrow stairway led down to what was evidently a back alley. Kerry waited until the commander had stepped into the elevator, followed by the policeman who had brought Kerry here. Then he abruptly stepped back, dodged, and made a break for the stairs. Someone behind him gave a startled shout. There was the sound of a door slamming shut, running feet, and then, just as Kerry reached the top step, someone yelled, “Stop that crazy fool!” A blinding light stabbed at Kerry’s eyes, and a paralyzing cold hit him over the heart. Then every nerve and muscle contracted in agony and he collapsed in a bundle of jerking reflexes. Conscious, but powerless to control his body, he felt himself rolling, twisting and bumping, down the stairs. His head struck marble, and he blacked out. V Kerry became aware again of his surroundings very slowly. First there was light and air and the jab of a needle in his biceps. Then his eyes blinked open, and sunlight pierced them like another needle. There was a painful prickling in every part of his body and he groaned when he tried to move his feet. He was lying, without his coat and shoes, on a hospital bed, and a young man in a white jacket was standing beside him.