They all have to learn it sooner or later. I rammed a good stiff lift in under her heart, and saw her knees buckle. She gasped, and then the lights went out. Pheola was beside me on the loveseat when my consciousness started to straggle back. Her hands were soothing my brow. That isn't where it had hurt. She had struck back, only twice as hard as I had managed. Fool around with somebody who had a good grip on my nervous system, would I? I was lucky to be alive. "Oh, darlin'!" she gasped, as my eyes opened. "You hurt me so, and before I knew it I had done it to you! Forgive me, Billy Joe! I'll _never_ do that again!" "Better not," I groaned, trying to get my breath. "They'll carry me out in a pine box next time." "I am so sorry," she said, beginning to cry. "Then tell me," I said. "What else do you know?" That only made her cry harder, but between sobs she got it out. "He won't die the first time," she said sniffling. "But the _next_ attack will kill him." "Soon after the first?" She nodded. "A couple days," she said. "I wish you hadn't made me tell it." "Good thing I did," I growled. "You're as nutty as a fruitcake. Maragon won't die. I've got it on good authority." "I'm _right_!" she insisted. * * * * * I took it to Maragon the next morning. The city was shrouded in a low layer of cloud, and his glassed-in penthouse office was gloomy with the morning. He motioned me to sit down. I dragged one of his Bank of England chairs through the ankle-deep pile of his rug and set it down next to his big desk. "I have a progress report on Pheola, Pete," I told him. "That skinny one you brought back from Nevada, Lefty?" I nodded. "She's not quite so skinny, thanks to my expense account," I said. "And she's ready to qualify." "Not on PC," he said, hot at once. "That remains to be seen, Pete. The lab has been tracking her predictions for better than two weeks now, and in a couple more weeks Norty will give us some stix on her scope, range and accuracy." He glowered at me, his bushy brows down about his eyes. "I thought I told you to concentrate on her healing," he said. "I have," I told him. "But I saw no harm in seeing what she is like with precognition," I said. "Flat on her face, that's what she's like," he said testily. "One of these days I'll have to convince you that what I say around here goes, do you hear?" "One of these days," I said. "But not when you're being a sour old goat. You're just sore at her because she said you'd have a heart attack." "Nonsense!" he bristled. "I've had Evaleen Riley doing a little PC work on you, too," I confessed, and saw his face get dark with anger. "Now hold your tongue, you old goat. I'm trying to help you," I cut in, to keep him from bellowing at me. "Evaleen is worried, too. But she's a little more cheerful than Pheola. She doesn't think you'll die." "Well," he growled. "That's nice. I won't write my will."