All the fight had left the thief by the time he regained his breath. He cast one venomous look at Ostby as he climbed to his feet, and left the drinking place. The preliminaries were over. Now to await the main action. It was not long in coming. "That was pretty rough treatment," a coarse voice near Ostby said. He turned his head. The man had a day's growth of whiskers, and a long scar stretched his mouth into a permanent grin. Ostby shrugged noncommittally and turned back to his drink. "You a stranger in town?" the man persisted. Ostby nodded, as he frowned and brought his attention back to the harsh-voiced man. "I'm not being nosey," the man said, "but you handle yourself like a lad who's been around. And you must be afraid of the law or you wouldn't be hanging out down here. Right?" Ostby turned and faced the stranger squarely. "Is it any of your business?" he asked belligerently. The man held up his hand. "Take it easy," he said. "I'm looking for a fellow like you. Do you have the guts to kill a man?" * * * * * Ostby found a cellar window unlocked. He crawled through and let his legs hang down. When they touched a floor he pulled himself completely in. He paused and let his eyes become adjusted to the semi-dark. At the end of the cellar he could make out a short flight of stairs. Ostby climbed the stairs and softly opened the door. Directly in front of him, but half way across the room, a fat man sat in an over-stuffed armchair. He sat so quietly that at first Ostby thought that he was dead. Only when he reached the fat man's side did he see that the slate gray eyes of the man had been watching him since he entered. "If you were able to get this far," the fat man said, still not moving a muscle, "my guards have been bought off." "You're Siggen?" Ostby asked. "Who else?" Siggen twisted his lips into an ironic smile and bowed his head. "I'm Siggen, head of the thieves of Yarr. And you're here to kill me. May I ask who sent you?" "Can't you guess?" "Many men would like to see me dead. Most of them are afraid to try it themselves. Just as the one who sent you is afraid. But don't bother telling me who did it. Roka has coveted my place for a long time." Ostby said nothing. "I trusted too much in my guards," Siggen said, more to himself than to Ostby. "My reputation must have sunk low if they allowed themselves to be bought." He sighed. "Perhaps it's no use trying to save this old hulk, but hope dies hard." For a moment his tired face showed stark and very naked in the light of the lamp. And somehow Ostby felt a bond of sympathy with the old man. "How much will you take to spare my life?" "What will you pay?" Ostby asked. "Roka probably paid you a thousand heds," Siggen answered. "I'll pay you ten thousand." "A fair enough exchange," Ostby said. "Except that I don't want money." "Then what do you want?" "I want help--to enter the Stalls. And to get out again with my life."