"I know the penalty," he answered respectfully, "but I have been seated here only five minutes, and I know nothing of this Peabody." The guard fingered his tube. "Let me see your tag," he said suddenly. * * * * * * * * * * The other opened his blouse obediently and exposed a thin copper disk suspended on his chest. The guard tugged at it brutally to bring it within range of his vision. The pull jerked the giant's head forward, and the thin metal strand cut cruelly into the back of his neck. Hilary saw a flush of red sweep like a wave up to his forehead, and the mild blue eyes turned hard like glinting blue pebbles. But not a word escaped his lips. "Grim Morgan," the guard read, "A46823 Great New York. Pah, what barbarous names you Earthmen have." He shoved the giant back heavily into his seat, and turned his baleful glare upon Hilary. "You, what do you know about this?" Grim Morgan interposed hastily. "Nothing, Magnificent. He came on the express conveyor after I did." The guard's free hand went back. Very deliberately he struck him across the face with three ridged fingers. An angry welt raised. "That will teach you to keep your mouth shut when not spoken to." The big man's eyes were mild, but his hands tensed as though they were curled around a throat. He said nothing. The guard turned to Hilary again. "Answer me," he barked. "My friend told the truth," Grendon said simply. "Your tag?" "I have none." Suspicion flared openly in the pink eyes. "Where is it?" "I never had one." "Ah!" There was a world of meaning to the exhalation. "You know of course that every Earthman must be registered. The penalty for non-obedience is--death." The angled tube came up with the swiftness of light. Grim Morgan cried out sharply, lunged out of his seat. Hilary tore at his gun, knowing sickeningly that the draw would be slower than the action of the strange weapon in the guard's hand. There was a sneer on the monster as he pressed something on the tube. Hilary's automatic was only half out of his blouse. Grim's lunge would never reach in time. He was too far away. CHAPTER III _The Death of Amos Peabody_ Just how any inkling of what was happening penetrated the pain-swept consciousness of the blind and deaf President could never be determined. Possibly a thin repercussion of Grim's cry, possibly an intuition that comes to sense-bereft men. But he had jerked spasmodically erect. There was a sharp tinkling as the weakened leg links broke. He threw himself in a queer, awkward movement forward, directly in the path of the tubed weapon. A blinding beam flashed out of the orifice, sheared through Peabody's middle as though he were cut cleanly in half with a gigantic knife. He toppled in two sections to the floor of the conveyor--released from all humiliation, all suffering.