"He didn't mail it! No one need ... you're safe ... your secret.... Put down the phone, Bud. Please, now. _Put down the phone!_" Very clever nonsense, Bud thought, not believing it for a moment. What package? There was no.... He must shoot this creature, now, before she.... The operator said in his ear: "Here is your number, sir." "Put me on!" The Devil was nearer. It was too late, he thought. Norma thought: Now, now, _now_. Bud's hand whitened at the knuckles. His throat was dry. He was ready to scream the Name. He did not see Herb's hand close on the weapon nor see the muzzle elevate. "Bud, Bud, Bud, please, please, Bud!" Norma said. The trigger of her gun would not respond. "Get away," Bud said. He opened his mouth. "Frank C----" And Herb fired until the weapon was empty. There was echoing silence, and then Bud fell. Norma was upon the telephone, ripping it free from the wall. Herb staggered erect. Blood covered his suit. It hurt to move. A broken collar bone, he thought. Too high for the lungs. He found Norma weeping hysterically in his arm. The other arm hung limp, and he winced with pain as he drew her tight. He choked and bent to her ear and said, "Yes, yes," and suddenly he bent to kiss her tear stained lips, and he wanted to brush away the hair from her face, but that arm refused to move. She trembled against him, and he whispered, "Yes." The sunlight came in the broad windows and slanted across Bud's face, boyish and petulant still in death; the sun, moving toward noon, bathed the whole awakening world with light, and far beyond it, in space but not in time, lay other stars. And Herb felt free. For the first time in his life. Here, on Earth.... It was a wonderful feeling.