* * * * * Now Veta flung herself into the fray, beating vainly at Burrage's back and shoulders. She might as well have been a moth on the far side of the room. Groaning, Ross smashed the blaster down atop Burrage's bullet head. But the weapon was for shooting, not striking. At the second blow, the light metalloplast alloy shattered. Veta cried, "Back, Stewart! Roll him back!" Back bowing, Ross heaved. Together, he and Burrage toppled over. And now, Burrage's bullet head was close beside the closet door again. Panting and sobbing, Veta swung the portal at the close-cropped skull, slamming it home again and again. More animal sounds from Burrage. He let go of Ross' hips and, spasmodically, tried to twist away. Without avail. Ross held him tight. Another blow from the door-edge ... then another.... Of a sudden, Burrage went limp. Ross sagged back also, sucking in air in great, lung-deep gulps while Veta cradled his head, sobbing hysterically. Then, at last, Ross dragged himself up from her lap, and finally from the floor. Unsteadily, he lurched to the closet door, half-opened it, and once again stared into the space beyond. Veta started to join him. But he shoved her back. "No. You wouldn't want to." She stared at him blankly. "I wouldn't want to what?" "You wouldn't want to see what's in there." Ross shuddered. "Smelling it's bad enough." The girl turned pale. For now, the stench in the room was well-nigh unbearable. A hideous stench. The same appalling odor that had permeated the room in which Zoltan Prenzz died. Ross said, "Go over by the hall door, Veta. And stay there." Lips trembling, the girl obeyed. Stiff-faced, Ross opened the closet, then dropped to one knee and peered this way and that. The thing inside had been a man once. Now, there remained only an oozing heap of protoplasmic horror. From the far end of the room, Veta said faintly, "Is--is it Sanford?" "The clothes are his." Ross answered in a toneless voice. "Beyond that, I doubt that anyone could say." He straightened; turned to go. And there it was, written in slime, chest high on the door's inner side. 3/111 and the outline of a triangle squared. Standing so he blocked the closet, Ross swung the door all the way back against the wall. "Veta!" "Yes, Stewart--?" Quickly, she came to him. He pointed to the symbols on the door. "Do these mean anything to you?" "Three one-hundred-elevenths of a triangle squared--?" Brow furrowed, she stared at the inscription for a long moment. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't." "It does to me," Ross said. Veta's head came round. "It does--? What?" "It means we're getting closer." Ross smiled thinly. "And just in case you wonder what we're getting closer to, the answer is; closer and closer to Tornelescu's life catalyst, closer to the formula ... maybe even closer to Adjudicator Pike Mawson." Veta's eyes suddenly were shadowed. She looked away and bit her lip.