"Come off it!" snapped Barbara. Dusty sat up weakly. He looked around for a moment as if he weren't quite sure of where he was. Then he caught sight of Scyth and it all came back to him. He scrambled to his feet and took the bottle from Barbara's hand. He took a healthy slug himself and then said, "He tried to--tried to--" Barbara laughed hysterically. Between gales of half-mad laughter, she said, "Tried to beat the fastest man--in The Space Patrol--to the draw!" Dusty slapped her across the face with the flat of his hand. "Shut up!" he roared. "Shut up and make sense!" She came out of the hysteria instantly, shrinking back from Dusty with a hand against the growing redness on her face. "Dusty--don't--" He shook his head hard. "Sorry. You needed it." "I know. But he--? Look, Dusty, what do we do now?" Dusty looked down at the bleeding man. "Cops," he said thickly. "I've just shot a--" He could not finish; his face was turning green again. "Cops nothing," snapped Barbara. "But shooting--" "Come off it, Dusty. The cops will only delay and investigate and generally botch things up until it will be two months and a thousand years from here." "Cops aren't that stupid." "Cops aren't stupid at all," she snapped. "They're just smart enough to insist on knowing all the answers. So tell you what. You go to the phone and call Lieutenant Yonkers and explain carefully that you've just shot a Marandanian Marauder in my living room. Tell him you've collected one of your Great Galactics, only he's defunct. See how far you'll get!" Dusty looked at her blankly. "The first stop will be the bull pen," she went on hotly. "The second stop is the nut-locker. And the third stop is some unknown star a thousand years from now while the F.B.I. try to match the guy's fingerprints. Then you call on me for a witness and that gets us the front page in big black letters saying: 'Former Hero Shoots Rival In Leading Lady's Boudoir!' Start thinking right, Dusty Britton. Or," she added scathingly, "call up one of your writers." Dusty considered. "I could slope out of here and--" "Like hell you will!" she screamed. "You're not leaving me here with a body to explain." "But defending your--" Barbara's scorn was high. "Look, Dusty, ever since we were sighted off-shore in the Buccaneer I haven't had a shred of virtue and everybody knows it." "Trouble is that we can't even run," grumbled Dusty. "This is your apartment." Barbara looked down at Scyth. "Damned nuisance," she said. The damned nuisance groaned. The sound was hollow and weak but it seemed to ring through the room like the cry of a wailing ghost. Barbara cried: "He's alive--" "--not dead!" blurted Dusty. "Get water and stuff." * * * * *