"You had to be alone," said West. "That's right, West. We had to be alone." "Well," said West. "You've almost got it now. There's only two of you alive." "The two of us," Cartwright said, "and you." "You forget, Cartwright," said West. "You're going to kill me. You've got a gun pointed at me and you're all set to pull the trigger." "Not necessarily," said Cartwright. "We might make a deal." I've got him now, thought West. I know exactly where he is. I can't see him, but I know where he is. And the pay-off is in a minute. It'll be one of us or the other. "You aren't much use to us," said Cartwright, "but we might need you later. You remember Langdon?" "The one that got lost," said West. Cartwright chuckled. "That's it, West. But he wasn't lost. We gave him away. You see there was a--a--well, something, that could use him for a pet and so we made it a present of Langdon." He chuckled again. "Langdon didn't like the idea too well, but what were we to do?" "Cartwright," West said, evenly, "I'm going for my gun." "What's that--" said Cartwright, but the other words were blotted out by the hissing of his gun, firing even as he talked. The beam hissed into the wall at the foot of the staircase, a spot that had been covered only a split second before by West's head. But West had dropped to a crouch almost as he spoke and now his own gun was in his fist, tilting up, solid in his hand. His thumb pressed the activator and then slid off. Something dragged itself with heavy thumps across the floor and in the stillness between the bumps, West heard the rasp of heavy breaths. "Damn you, West," said Cartwright. "Damn you...." "It's an old trick, Cartwright," said West, "that business of talking to a man just before you kill him. Throwing him off guard, practically ambushing him." Came a sound of cloth dragging over cloth, the whistling of painful breath, the thump of knees and elbows on the floor. Then there was silence. And a moment later something in some far corner squeaked and ran on pattering, rat-sounding feet. Then the silence again. The rat-feet were still, but there was another sound, a faint shout as if someone far away were shouting ... from somewhere outside the building, from somewhere outside ... from outside. West crouched close against the floor, huddling there, the muzzle of the gun resting on the carpet. Outside ... outside ... outside.... The words hammered in his head. Outside of what, he asked, but he knew the answer now. He knew where he had seen the picture of the thing that had slept in the chair and the other thing that squatted on the bedpost. And he knew the sound of chirping and of chittering and of running feet. Outside ... outside ... outside.... _Outside this world, of course._ * * * * *