Petchareff looked up as Pashkov was led forward by the guards. "Not bad," Petchareff said. "We could use Monsieur Fanti. What's his price?" "Don't you know me, chief? Me, Pashkov." "Curse me," Nadezhda said, staring at him. "Another Pashkov." A terrible howl came from Zubov. Petya and Kolya, imitating Petchareff's efforts to revive their master, were battering Zubov's face with their slouched hats. "Stand back!" Kolya screamed, smashing his hat into Zubov's face. "He is trying to say something!" "He's moving!" Petya kicked Zubov and looked up for approval, his hair standing up like spikes. Petchareff slapped Kolya's face and crushed the glowing end of his cigar on Petya's forehead. The apes reeled back to a tree. * * * * * Pashkov whispered to Colonel James. "Capitalist hell and damnation, now I can't tell them apart myself," Petchareff said. "Zubov!" "Hhng?" "Which one's the real Pashkov?" "Hhng?" But Colonel James was running to the flier, throwing Nadezhda's rock at Petchareff and running. "Grenade!" Pashkov yelled, and flung himself to the ground. At the same moment Boris Knackenpast ran from the house to the flier, his robot gear clattering like Don Quixote's armor. The guards scattered and dove for cover. "Down, lads! Grenade!" Pashkov yelled. The two apes took up the cry, "Grenade, grenade!" and flattened themselves behind the tree. Nadezhda and Medvedev collided, digging in behind the valet. Only Petchareff remained standing. "Stop the robot!" Nobody moved. Boris reached the flier, Colonel James pulled him in, the engine hummed, and they were off. A moment later the flier vanished in the clouds towards Stockholm. Petchareff relit his cigar. "Tfui, tastes of monkey hair." Medvedev shambled over. "Was the grenade a dud?" "One of these days I'll catch you, Pashkov," Petchareff spat. "Your deviousness, that's one thing. It could be useful. But your levity--" "Darling!" Nadezhda threw on Pashkov. "Not in public," Pashkov said. "Wait a minute," Petchareff said. "Nadezhda Brunhildova, how do you know he really is Pashkov? If he's actually Colonel James, I can shoot him summarily. He _does_ look like Colonel James to me." "But if you're mistaken?" Medvedev put in nervously. "We all make mistakes," Petchareff said. "What would history be without mistakes?" "I don't trust him either," Nadezhda said. "But I know my Pashkov. If he's not Pashkov, I shall let you know in the morning." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cool War, by Andrew Fetler