"Oh, he did? Yeah. Well, I'll take it as well meant. Might find someone who could use it." Masterson opened a drawer and thrust the bottle inside. "He have anything else to say?" Don nodded, looking at Masterson's suddenly watchful eyes. "He said if you'd come up our way, he'd show you how to hold 'em and squeeze 'em. Said maybe you might like to bring up some friends some time and give them a chance to find out what border life is like." "Huh! You mean he's still playing games with those antique lead tossers?" Masterson grinned suddenly. "Thought he'd have outgrown that foolishness years ago. By the way, how's he shooting these days?" "Fired a pinwheel after I told him about the row yesterday. Meant he only dropped three points on the target--standing." "So? Maybe he could do damage with one of those antiques of his, at that--if he could get someone to hold still long enough for him to shoot at them. But nobody makes ammunition for the things any more. Where's he getting that?" "Makes it himself." Don smiled. "He's got quite a workshop down in the basement." Masterson nodded. "That's Kent Michaels, all right. O.K., youngster, I knew who you were in the first place. Just checking. Tell me, did he get you mixed up with that antique craze of his?" Don nodded. "I beat him at it once in a while, sir." "Did you hand him another beating yesterday? When you went out of here, it looked as though you were going to have to whip somebody." Don frowned. "He made a monkey out of me. I couldn't stay on target." "Uh, huh." Masterson nodded slowly. "Figures. Remember that, that it'll be the most valuable match you ever lost." "Sir?" "That's right. Yesterday, you got pretty well charged up. Even managed to warm up a secret police agent. Doesn't pay, believe me. About the time you get emotionally involved in a problem, the problem turns around and bites you. You're lucky. Someone else got bit instead--this time. You see, one of us didn't get shook up." "I don't----" Masterson tilted his head. "We had an unfortunate accident here right after you left. Dr. Rayson went rushing out of here and took off in his flier. Something went wrong--nobody's sure what. Maybe he didn't let his stabilizing rotors have time to lock in. Maybe a lot of things. Anyway, he flipped about fifty meters up. Came down pretty fast, and burned right by the parking lot. Quite a mess." He nodded sadly. "Shame. Fine psychologist, and one of the best secret policemen in the realm." "You----" Masterson held up a hand. "Let's just say he was careless." He motioned. "Sit down. No, not in the hot seat. Take that one over there. Then you can see things." He drew a long breath. "Your father say anything about Stern?" Don nodded. "He doesn't like him too well." "He's got company. Know what Stern's trying to do, don't you?"