THE LAST TRESPASSER By JIM HARMON _There was nothing wrong with him that a Rider could not cure ... and the rougher, the better!_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] They would not believe Malloy was alone in there, in the padded cell. That made it worse. Malloy was in his month for lying on his stomach to avoid bed sores. He was walking from Peoria, Illinois, to Detroit, Michigan, currently and he had just reached Chicago. It was fine to see State Street again, and the jewelry stores stuck in the alcoves of churches with the handsomely barred windows. A man in Army-surplus green with an old library book was asking for carfare to a hiring hall when they began opening the door. Malloy rolled over on one elbow. It was peculiar. They hadn't done that for three years. Two of them came inside, thick men with disinterested faces. "Try no sudden moves," one of them advised him. "We will anticipate you," the other one added. Malloy went through the unfamiliar process of standing up. He looked at two men. "I wouldn't try anything against the four of you. I'm not _that_ crazy." "Time for an interrogation, Malloy," the orderly said. "Come with us." Malloy fell in between them and left the padded cell, frowning. "What kind of an interrogation?" he asked them. "What other kind?" one countered. "A sanity hearing." He felt his eyebrows jerk. _His sanity?_ He thought that had been established long ago. Or his lack of it. * * * * * Malloy remembered the doctor. He hadn't had much else to do for several years. He was Dr. Heirson, a graying man with starched face and collar. But the younger man sitting with Heirson behind the broad, translucent desk was a stranger to Malloy. He seemed to be a comic strip drawing, all in straight lines. "Yes, sir." "Step forward, Michael," Heirson said. Malloy stepped forward. It had been a long time since he had been allowed to travel so far. "Now relax, Michael," the doctor continued, leaning forward and grinning hideously. "All you have to do is tell me the truth." "No, I don't, Doctor. I'm under no compulsion to tell you the truth. I'm perfectly capable of lying if it would do me any good." "Hush that, Michael. You must not try to make believe you can lie. I know you tell me only the truth." "All right," Malloy said, exhaling deeply. "Believe that I speak only the truth if you like. But remember, I just told you that I'm a liar and that must be true." Heirson blinked in watery confusion. He was obviously senile; only the old man's Rider kept him from coming apart at his mental seams.