In the same instant a whistle shrilled. The other shadow-skulkers leaped forward from their hiding places, converging on the shop across the street where Tumek had his refuge. They made no effort at concealment now. There were shouts; a splintering crash as the door burst in. * * * * * Icy sweat drenched Craig. Shaking, he eased his unconscious prisoner to the ground in the shadows of the angle and stripped him of the weapon in his belt--one of the pistol-things that blazed green fire. Inside Notal's shop, another door went down. Craig glimpsed struggling figures silhouetted against a backdrop of yellow light. All along the street, windows swung wide and doors opened. Lights flared. Voices rang out in a startled babble. A man appeared in the entrance of the shop before which Craig stood, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What--?" In three quick steps Craig was beside him--jamming the fire-gun against his fat belly; shoving him back on his own tracks into the building; slamming and bolting the door behind them. Fear flared in the fat man's button eyes. His blubbery face went slack. "Quiet!" Craig stabbed the pistol against him harder. "One sound and I kill you!" The other's mouth worked, but no words came. He tottered backward and slumped down onto a bench. Craig opened the door a crack and shot a quick glance out. The raiders were leaving Notal's shop now. They dragged a captive with them, a short, balding man whose face showed the wrinkles of age. Craig turned back to his own prisoner. "Who is that?" The fat man's voice shook: "He is called ... Tumek." Tumek.... A chill shook Craig Nesom. Across the street, the last of the raiders inside the shop paused by the display window. Deliberately, he picked up one bust after another and smashed it. The last he hurled through the window itself, then swaggered out to join the others. Their laughter echoed raucously. Then someone barked a command. The laughter ceased. With chill efficiency a group fell in, formed a double rank facing Notal's shop. Another command. Two of the guardsmen caught the prisoner by the arms and jerked him forward, slamming him back hard against one of the uprights of the shop-front. Then, quickly, they stepped aside. Again, the harsh voice of command. The double rank raised weapons. Inside the shop across the street, Craig went rigid. Out there, mere feet away, stood the man who'd brought him to this planet, the Baemae genius, Tumek. Tumek, the one man who could tell him the things he so needed to know--the baron's plans; the dreams and schemes and power of Zenaor. Only Tumek stood before a firing squad. Ten seconds more and he'd be dead. Craig acted by instinct, then; not logic. Quite coolly, he brought up the fire-gun he'd taken from the guardsman ... leveled it with grim precision at the squad's commander.