"You were easy, easy," Vannevan was saying. "Did you think I _wanted_ to overtake you out there on the road? All I wanted was to get close enough to pop a tracer on the back of your vehicle, and then follow you." He was a very happy man, Vannevan. He had outwitted and beaten his enemies, and he was enjoying that part of it more than the actual capture. He strode up and down on the old, faded carpet, but he was careful not to get in front of Birrel and Kara and Holmer. The three sat in chairs and across the room stood Vannevan's two men. Each of them held one of the fluted metal cylinders, and each cylinder was pointing toward the three prisoners, reminding them how quickly they could be paralyzed again, or killed. The incongruity of it gave Birrel a crazy desire to laugh. The musty old farmhouse, the smoky kerosene lamp, the ticking cuckoo-clock on the wall--and five strangers from the stars. He wondered what a "tracer" was. He supposed it was some sort of tiny gadget that could be shot to stick onto a moving car, and broadcast a signal that could be read and followed. He doubted if he'd live long enough to find out if that was right. Vannevan said to Birrel, "You killed Jull, didn't you?" There was no amusement in his hard face now. It was cut out of cold iron, and Birrel had the feeling that Vannevan was every bit as tough as he thought he was. "Who," said Birrel, "is Jull?" "A man of Ir," said Vannevan. "My man. The man you trailed and killed. We found the blaster-scar in the ground." Birrel began to understand a little. He shrugged. "If you know, why ask me?" Vannevan came closer and his eyes had a yellow glow in their dark depths. "You wouldn't just blast him outright. You'd shock him and search him first. Just as we're doing to you. Where are the"--(he used another unfamiliar word)--"you found on him?" Birrel said, "I found nothing. I just blasted." Something exploded in his face. He reeled in the chair, putting up his hands blindly, half-stunned. Then he saw Vannevan's clenched fist drawing back. Vannevan, keeping carefully to one side, let the fist go again in Birrel's face. "You're lying," he said. "You wouldn't come all the way here from Ruun, spying on us, and trail Jull all that way, and then just blast him. Did you pass them on to Holmer before the Earthmen caught you?" Birrel felt blood running down his face, and he felt a hate and rage that he had never suspected he could experience. He started to get up, and the Irrians with the weapons across the room pointed their cylinders at him. He didn't want to die, any sooner than he had to. He sat down again. "The men of Ruun are brave," said Vannevan, mockingly. "Now will you tell me--" He stopped suddenly. An expression of interest and amazement crossed his face. He reached out his hand, toward Birrel's eyes. Birrel recoiled--but Vannevan's hand swiped across his forehead, across his eyebrows. Then Vannevan uttered an incredulous exclamation.