thing so lightly. When the gun had disappeared he had suddenly felt very weak. He sank back on the couch, wiping the sweat from his face. He noticed that his hands were shaking when he dropped them back to his lap. There was a fine sharp pain running up his arm from his left hand. There, on the back of it, he saw the reddish skin of the healed wound where the sheriff had sapped him. Only the skin wasn’t all healed. It had cracked again and a little dark blood was running out.

“Did you hurt Mr.—ah, Mr.—?” Smith looked concerned.

“I didn’t touch him. His name’s Catell.”

“Is this true, Mr. Catell?”

“You Smith?” Catell was back on his feet, but his voice had a sudden crack in it.

“Mr. Smith,” said the punk. He stepped up to Catell and grabbed him by the lapels. “The name to you is Mr. Smith,” and he jerked the lapels hard. Catell didn’t try to resist. His head had started to spin and he felt like a rag. Then his strength came back as suddenly as it had gone, but now Smith had come up close.

“You may stop that,” he said to the gunman, and there was a hint of coldness in his voice. “And you, sir, I’m sure you will overlook our hot-blooded friend. Would you care to introduce yourself properly now?”

Catell shook his jacket back into shape and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Sure. As your friend said, my name’s Catell. Tony Catell. A friend of mine in Detroit—”

“Paar,” said Smith. “Yes, I’ve heard of you. And you wanted to speak to me?”

“If you got the time.”

“Come in, come in. There’s been too much ceremony already, so let’s sit down and get to it.” He laughed with a short, hiccuppy gurgle.

The inner office was larger than the anteroom, but it looked much smaller, full with a large desk, couch, chairs, files, and telephones.

Smith sat down behind the desk and Catell settled himself into an easy chair. Tailor-made put his hand on the back of the chair, the knuckles touching Catell’s shoulder.

Smith looked at Catell with a winning smile on his round face, and Catell looked back at Smith, trying to get his bearings. For a while nobody said anything.

“Well, Catell, let me help you along. I understand from your good friend Paar that you have something to sell. Now you, of course, know nothing about me, except that I’m a friend of Paar’s, that I do business on the West Coast, and that I might be able to help you. Now then, what’s your story?”

“How about Monkey Boy here? How about him getting the hell outa here?”

“Oh, well now,” said Smith, and he made benign sounds.

Catell turned around in his seat, looking up at the gunman. They stared at each other without moving.

Smith said, “You were saying, Catell?”

“I wasn’t saying anything. And I’m not saying anything, Smith, unless Monkey Boy gets out.”

A knuckle dug into Catell’s shoulder from behind and the gentle voice said, “It’s Mr. Smith, Blue Lips.”

Catell jumped up, kicking the chair backward. It didn’t move much, but the gunman stumbled. Half crouched, he was reaching into his jacket when Catell gave the chair another kick. The back of the chair slapped the gunman’s knees, making him buckle again. With the edge of his hand Catell knifed down on the man’s neck, jamming his face down against the top of the chair. But when the man rolled over, half on the floor now, the gun was in his hand and coming up fast.

“Enough!” Smith’s voice was sharp.

Catell saw that the gun stopped moving instantly and then disappeared again under the jacket.

“In fact, I think you’d better leave. I won’t need you now. I feel Mr. Catell and I will get along quite nicely. I can reach you at the club?”

“Sure, Mr. Smith.” The gunman got off the floor. His face was soft and calm. Without looking at Catell he turned and went out. Catell noticed he was carrying his head at a slight angle.

“I’m sorry you had this little brush,” Smith said. “Topper is a very fine young man. A little too exacting sometimes, but perhaps for that reason particularly valuable to me.”

There was a noticeable undertone in Smith’s words, the kind of tone that Catell would ordinarily resent. But he hadn’t caught it. He’d caught only the name Topper, and there was a thin twitch in Catell’s left cheek. He ran a hand over his face and sat down again.

“Do you