He screamed, and lifted his arms above his head. The pendulum ground to a halt, the mechanism groaning and screeching in protest. There was a second of silence, and then the blade fell to earth with the suddenness of an avenging sword. This time, the scream was cut off in his throat, and the giant weapon flattened him sickeningly against the edge of the precipice. Vaguely, as in a dream, he heard the sound of speech, and running footsteps. "My God! It broke! The pendulum broke!" "Somebody get the doctor!" "Look out for that Pit! It's a forty-foot drop!" "Come on!" A hand touched his shoulder, and a ring of anxious faces floated like pink balloons over his head. "I think he's still alive!" "_What?_" "He can't be! That thing weighs a ton!" "Well, he looks pretty bad, but I can see his eyes moving and he seems to be--" "Get that blade off him!" He knew that the great weight had been removed from his body, but he could feel no difference. He was looking with almost objective interest into the face of a fat man, a familiar face with wide eyes and an open, bow-lipped mouth. The face was covered with a film of nervous perspiration, and there was a strange sort of anxiety in the man's movements. "He's got to be! He's got to be!" The fat man was whispering intently. "But T.D.--" "Shut up! When you lift him up, I want you to--" He heard nothing more, but his eyes remained open, fixing the face of the fat man. Then he felt arms around his shoulders once more, and he felt himself slipping, slipping back towards the edge. With a spurt of strength, with a flash of sudden intelligence, he raised his left arm, and the fingers caught the collar surrounding the fat man's neck in loose folds. He held on grimly, until the fat man screamed with satisfying terror. "Look out, T.D.!" somebody shrieked. "He's dragging me with him!" The fat man flailed out helplessly. "He's pulling me over the edge!" Somebody else leaped to his aid, but the dying man's grip was tenacious, his purpose certain. "_We're going over!_" They did: the fat man and his victim, and Cameras Three, Four, and Five caught the action beautifully. * * * * * Miss Stitch slipped her compact back into her purse, and straightened the corners of the stack of mail on her desk blotter. She looked towards the empty office of the Producer, and smiled with secretive pleasure. Then she slit open the envelopes in front of her, and leisurely read the morning mail.