"It was suicide," said West. "Darling took you fellows down the line, neatly, all the way. He was away ahead of you." A soft sound like the brushing of a bird's wing swung West around. Rosie was coming through the door, her wings half-raised, exposing the hideousness of the furry, splotched body beneath the furry, death's-head face. "No!" screamed Belden. "No! I wasn't going to do anything. I wasn't--" He backed away, arms outthrust to ward off the thing that walked toward him, mouth still working, but no sound coming out. Rosie brushed West to one side with a flip of a furry wing and then the wings spread wider and shielded Belden from West's view. The wings clapped shut and from behind them came the muffled scream of the man. Then nothing; silence. West's hand dropped to the holster and his gun came sliding out. His thumb slammed down the activator and the gun purred like a well-contented cat. The ermine of Rosie's wings turned black and she crumpled to the floor. A sickening odor filled the room. "Belden!" cried West. He leaped forward, kicked the charred Rosie to one side. Belden lay on the floor and West turned away retching. For a moment West stood in indecision, then swiftly he knew what he must do. Showdown. He had hoped that it could be put off a little longer, until he knew a little more, but the incident of Belden and Rosie had settled it. There was nothing else to do. He strode through the door and down the winding staircase toward the darkened room below. The painting, he saw, was lighted ... lighted as if from within itself. As if the source of light lay within the painting, as if some other sun shone upon the landscape that lay upon the canvas. The picture was lighted, but the rest of the room was dark and the light did not come out of the painting, but stayed there, imprisoned in the canvas. Something scuttled between West's feet and scuttered down the stairs. It squeaked and its claws beat a tattoo on the steps. As West reached the bottom of the stairway a voice came out of the darkness: "Are you looking for something, Mr. West?" "Yes, Cartwright," said West. "I am looking for you." "You must not be too concerned with what Rosie did," Cartwright said. "Don't let it upset you. Belden had it coming to him for a long time. He was scarcely one of us, really, never one of us. He pretended to go along with us because it was the only way that he could save his life. And life is such a small thing to consider. Don't you think so, Mr. West?" CHAPTER FOUR The Last Man West stood silently at the bottom of the stairs. The room was too dark to see anything, but the voice was coming from somewhere near the table's end, close to the lighted painting. I may have to kill him, West was thinking, and I must know where he is. For the first shot has to do it, there'll be no time for a second.