heart would break. Because a crazy,twisted, impossible idea was in his mind, an idea that had plagued himsince he had started reading that morning, an idea with an answer, anacid test, folded in the briefcase under his arm. He bumped into a fatman at the bar, grunted angrily, and finally reached the street,whistled at the cab that lingered nearby.
The car swung up before him, the door springing open automatically. Hehad one foot on the running board before he saw the trap, saw the tightyellowish face and the glittering eyes inside the cab. Suddenly therewas an explosion of bright purple brilliance, and he was screaming,twisting and screaming and reeling backward onto the sidewalk, doubledover with the agonizing fire that burned through his side and down oneleg, forcing scream after scream from his throat as he blindly staggeredto the wall of the building, pounded it with his fists for relief fromthe searing pain. And then he was on his side on the sidewalk, sobbing,blubbering incoherently to the uniformed policeman who was dragging himgently to his feet, seeing through burning eyes the group of curiouspeople gathering around. Suddenly realization dawned through the pain,and he let out a cry of anger and bolted for the curb, knocking thepoliceman aside, his eyes wild, searching the receding stream of trafficfor the cab, a picture of the occupant burned indelibly into his mind, aface he had seen, recognized. The cab was gone, he knew, gone like abreath of wind. The briefcase was also gone--
* * * * *
He gave the address of the Essex University Hospital to the cabby, andsettled back in the seat, gripping the hand-guard tightly to fight downthe returning pain in his side and leg. His mind was whirling, fightingin a welter of confusion, trying to find some avenue of approach, someway to make sense of the mess. The face in the cab recurred again andagain before his eyes, the gaunt, putty-colored cheeks, the sharpglittering eyes. His acquaintance with Frank Mariel had been brief andunpleasant, in the past, but that was a face he would never forget. Buthow could Mariel have known where he would be, and when? There wasprecision in that attack, far too smooth precision ever to have beenleft to chance, or even to independent planning. His mind skirted theobvious a dozen times, and each time rejected it angrily. Finally heknew he could no longer reject the thought, the only possible answer.Mariel had known where he would be, and at what time. Therefore, someonemust have told him.
He stiffened in the seat, the pain momentarily forgotten. Only oneperson could have told Mariel. Only one person knew where the file was,and where it would be after he left the restaurant--he felt coldbitterness creep down his spine. She had known, and sat there makingeyes at him, and telling him how wonderful he was, how she was with himno matter what happened--and she'd already sold him down the river. Heshook his head angrily, trying to keep his thoughts on a rational plane._Why?_ Why had she strung him along, why had she even started to helphim? And why, above all, turn against her own father?
The Hospital driveway crunched under the cab, and he hopped out, wincingwith every step, and walked into a phone booth off the lobby. He gave aname, and in a moment heard the P.A. system echoing it: "Dr. Prex;calling Dr. Prex." In a moment he heard a receiver click off, and afamiliar voice said, "Prex speaking."
"Prex, this is Shandor. Got a minute?"
The voice was cordial. "Dozens of them. Where are you?"
"I'll be up in your quarters." Shandor slammed down the receiver andstarted for the elevator to the Resident Physicians' wing.
He let himself in by a key, and settled down in the darkened room towait an eternity before a tall, gaunt man walked in, snapped on a light,and loosened the white jacket at his neck. He was a young man, no morethan thirty, with a tired, sober face and jet black hair falling overhis forehead. His eyes lighted as he saw Shandor, and he grinned. "Youlook like you've been through the mill. What happened?"
Shandor stripped off his clothes, exposing the angry red of the searedskin. The tall man whistled softly, the smile fading. Carefully heexamined the burned area, his fingers gentle on the tender surface, thenhe turned troubled eyes to Shandor. "You've been messing around withdirty guys, Tom. Nobody but a real dog would turn a scalder on a man."He went to a cupboard, returned with a jar of salve and bandages.
"Is it serious?" Shandor's face was deathly white. "I've been fightingshock with thiamin for the last hour, but I don't think I can hold outmuch longer."
Prex shrugged. "You didn't get enough to do any permanent damage, ifthat's what you mean. Just fried the pain-receptors in your skin to acrisp, is all. A little dose is so painful you can't do anything butholler for a while, but it won't hurt you permanently unless you get itall over you. Enough can kill you." He dressed the burned areascarefully, then bared Shandor's arm and used a pressure syringe for amoment. "Who's using one of those things?"
Shandor was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Look, Prex. I need somehelp, badly." His eyes looked up in dull anger. "I'm going to see a mantonight, and I want him to talk, hard and fast. I don't care right nowif he nearly dies from pain, but I want him to talk. I need somebodyalong who knows how to make things painful."
Prex scowled, and pointed to the burn. "This the man?"
"That's the man."
Prex put away the salve. "I suppose I'll help you, then. Is thisofficial, or grudge?"
"A little of both. Look, Prex, I know this is a big favor to ask, butit's on the level. Believe me, it's square, nothing shady about it. Themethod may not be legal, but the means are justified. I can't tell youwhat's up, but I'm asking you to trust me."
Prex grinned. "You say it's all right, it's all right. When?"
Shandor glanced at his watch. "About 3:00 this morning, I think. We cantake your car."
They talked for a while, and a call took the doctor away. Shandor slepta little, then made some black coffee. Shortly before three the two menleft the Hospital by the Physicians' entrance, and Prex's little beat-upDartmouth slid smoothly into the desultory traffic for the suburbs.
* * * * *
The apartment was small and neatly furnished. Shandor and the Doctor hadbeen admitted by a sleepy doorman who had been jolted to suddenattention by Tom's PIB card, and after five minutes pounding on theapartment door, a sleepy-eyed man opened the door a crack. "Say, what'sthe idea pounding on a man's door at this time of night? Haven't you--"
Shandor gave the door a shove with his shoulder, driving it open intothe room. "Shut up," he said bluntly. He turned so the light struck hisface, and the little man's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Shandor!" hewhispered.
Frank Mariel looked like a weasel--sallow, sunken-cheeked, with ayellowish cast to his skin that contrasted unpleasantly with the coalblack hair. "That's right," said Shandor. "We've come for a little talk.Meet the doctor."
Mariel's eyes shifted momentarily to Prex's stoney face, then back toShandor, ghosts of fear creeping across his face. "What do you want?"
"I've come for the files."
The little man scowled. "You've come to the wrong man. I don't have anyfiles."
Prex carefully took a small black case from his pocket, unsnapped ahinge, and a small, shiny instrument fell out in his hand. "The files,"said Shandor. "Who has them?"
"I--I don't know--"
Shandor smashed a fist into the man's face, viciously, knocking himreeling to the floor. "You tried to kill me tonight," he snarled. "Youshould have done it up right. You should stick to magazine editing andkeep your nose out of dirty games, Mariel. Who has the files?"
Mariel picked himself up, trembling, met Shandor's fist, and sprawledagain, a trickle of blood appearing at his mouth. "Harry Dartmouth hasthe files," he groaned. "They're probably in Chicago now."
"What do you know about Harry Dartmouth?"
Mariel gained a chair this time before Shandor hit him. "I've only methim a couple of times. He's the president of Dartmouth BearingCorporation and he's my boss--Dartmouth Bearing publishes '_FightingWorld_.' I do what he tells me."
Shandor's eyes flared. "Including murder, is that right?" Mariel's eyesw
ere sullen. "Come on, talk! Why did Dartmouth want Ingersoll's personalfiles?"
The man just stared sullenly at the floor. Prex pressed a stud on theside of the shiny instrument, and a purple flash caught Mariel's littlefinger. Mariel jerked and squealed with pain. "Speak up," said Shandor."I didn't hear you."
"Probably about the bonds," Mariel whimpered. His face was ashen, and heeyed Prex with undisguised pleading. "Look, tell him to put that thingaway--"
Shandor grinned